Tell No Lies

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  TELL NO LIES

  JULIE COMPTON

  Praise for TELL NO LIES

  "Compton’s debut is a taut, tense cautionary tale complete with courtroom drama and a surprise ending."

  Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  Tell No Lies is "an absorbing account of an honourable man gradually yielding to multiple temptations," and "a strong debut from a writer who knows her law, and more importantly, can depict the ebb and flow of relationships, the conflict between love and desire and the irresistible urge to self-destruct of a 'man who has everything'."

  Guardian (UK)

  "Tell No Lies bears comparison to Turow's landmark 1987 debut, which has launched numerous imitations if few equals. The prose is solid, the plotting assured, and the characters believable. There's even a marvelous surprise ending."

  Fort Myers News-Press

  "A remarkably lucid writer . . . Verdict: Suspenseful and genuinely sexy."

  Orlando Magazine

  "Compton proves she has real storytelling skills. Tell No Lies' final twist is as stunning as that classic surprise in Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent."

  South Florida Sun-Sentinel

  "A real seat-edge thriller packed with the heady ingredients of power, passion, lies, lust and disaster."

  Peterborough Evening Telegraph (UK)

  "A promising debut."

  Booklist

  "Readers will like this debut by a practicing attorney for its fluid prose and insight into the legal system."

  Library Journal

  Compton "does better in getting inside the mind of males than most male writers do in describing the thinking of females."

  St. Louis Post-Dispatch

  "Compton adds a very sexy pair of legs to Scott Turow legal thriller territory."

  Daily Mirror (UK)

  "[A]n excellent psychological thriller and an extremely polished debut. I will watch Julie Compton's new career with interest . . ."

  Trashionista

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  TELL NO LIES. Copyright © 2012 by Julie Compton.

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Fresh Fork Publishing.

  Cover photograph © Plush Studios/Getty Images

  Cover design © Jessie Compton

  Jack Hilliard's acceptance speech in chapter thirteen is based, in part, upon the U.S. Supreme Court case of Berger v. United States, 295 U.S. 78 (1935).

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9887932-0-0

  First published in February 2008 in the United Kingdom by Pan Books, an imprint of Pan Macmillan Ltd.

  First U.S. Edition published in May 2008 by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin's Press.

  In memory of Hyman and LaVerne Grossman

  Good will, like a good name, is got by many actions, and lost by one.

  —LORD FRANCIS JEFFREY

  PART 1

  SPRING

  CHAPTER ONE

  JACK DROVE HIS car a little too fast out of the parking garage, his tires screaming as he rounded the coiled curves of the down ramp. He fumbled with the radio, looking for a song to match his upbeat mood, all the while keeping his eyes on the ramp and his left hand on the steering wheel. A slight grin graced his face, though he wasn't even aware of it.

  That morning, the jury had returned a verdict in the most publicized murder case he had ever prosecuted. The case had been hard fought for two weeks, and he had worried about the outcome until the very end—even after his boss, Earl, came to hear closing arguments, complimenting him afterward, and even after a few of the jurors smiled at him on their way back to the jury box, just before the verdict of guilty was read. But Earl's belief that juries loved Jack Hilliard proved true again.

  He'd called Claire as soon as he returned to his office. She'd listened and laughed with him as she always did, asking certain questions that only another lawyer would know to ask. Before they hung up, Jack announced that, for the first time in weeks, he'd be home in time for dinner.

  Now he was already past the Innerbelt, far enough out of the city to smell the suburbs, fragrant with freshly cut grass and the overgrown lilac bushes that bloomed untamed near the off-ramp into Clayton. When his cell phone rang, he answered without bothering to look at the caller ID.

  "Hiya, babe."

  "Gosh, Jack, I never knew you felt that way about me."

  Jack felt his face redden. "I thought you were Claire." Even though he'd known Jenny Dodson for almost nine years, and he'd reached the conclusion early on that she talked this way to everyone, her flirtatiousness still unsettled him at times.

  "Obviously." She laughed. "Hey, Mister Hilliard," she said then, speaking his surname in the intimate tone she used to transform it into her own pet name for him, "I hear you won your case. Congratulations."

  He smiled. "I did. How'd you hear?"

  "Are you kidding? It was the top story on the five o'clock news. You're famous again."

  "Yeah, so what am I doing hanging out with the likes of you?" he said, laughing.

  "I won't dignify that with a response. Will I see you tonight? I'll buy you a drink to celebrate."

  "Tonight?" But as soon as he said it, he remembered. The bar association was having its annual awards dinner, and Earl, the St. Louis District Attorney for more than thirty years, was to receive an award for his dedication to public service.

  "Damn, I completely forgot about it." Earl hadn't mentioned it after the trial, Jack knew, because he hadn't wanted to take away from Jack's moment of victory. One of the many reasons Earl was a great boss, and also one of the reasons Jack had to attend the dinner.

  "Were you heading home?" Jenny asked.

  "Yeah." He sighed. "But I'll be there. Why are you going?"

  "You forget easily, Jack," she chided. "Not every lawyer in town has had the good fortune to jump ship from a big firm to the security of the DA's office. I still have to fish if I want to eat. It always helps to mingle a little with the other sharks in town."

  Both knew he hadn't exactly "jumped ship" from Newman, Norton & Levine. It was more like he'd been thrown overboard. But he had landed a plum job. Although he shared the title of Assistant District Attorney with twenty-four other lawyers, only Jack was seen as Earl Scanlon's protégé.

  "Should be an interesting night," Jack said. "I'm sure his old-time bar association buddies plan to roast him." His mind drifted to the new logistics for the evening. "Listen, I'd better hang up and call Claire. She'll have to find a sitter. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

  "Don't forget, first drink's o
n me. I'll see you tonight, babe."

  She hung up before he could respond, and he just laughed, knowing she'd be pleased with herself for having found a way to tease him one more time about his earlier mistake.

  The hotel was near the Mississippi riverfront in the heart of St. Louis. The evening was damp but warm for late April, so Jack left his car in the garage near the courthouse and walked the nine blocks to the hotel. The air was thick with humidity, and he smelled the pungent scent of the river. The rush hour traffic had begun to dissipate, and the few cars still leaving the city drove too fast down Market Street. The road was wet from an earlier shower; tires sprayed water as they rolled through puddles on the way to the highway entrance.

  In the hotel, he searched for Earl. Most of the lawyers attending the event were still in the lobby, scattered like orbiting moons around the center bar, which served as their planet. It was a local businessman's hotel; the reservations and check-in desk had been strategically placed at the top of the escalator on the second floor, leaving room on the main level for happy hour and even a small dance club with its own entrance from Fourth Street.

  Jack spotted his boss near the escalator, leaning against a large, shoulder-height marble pedestal that had an arrangement of exotic flowers on top. Earl stood only about five foot six, and the towering structure made him appear even smaller. He was surrounded by a group of defense lawyers from Clark & Cavanaugh. All of them were laughing.

  "There's my man!" Earl said, setting his drink on the pedestal. He grabbed Jack's right hand and patted him on the back. To the others, he said, "Jack Hilliard, gentlemen. Are you all familiar with each other?"

  Was he familiar with them? Was Earl crazy? Two of the four lawyers standing with Earl were among the best-known criminal defense attorneys in the city, and Jack had tried cases against them on more than one occasion. The other two he recognized as senior associates from the same firm. They often sat at the defense table, second chairing cases. It was not unusual for the bigger defense firms to put two or sometimes three lawyers on a case. The attorneys in the DA's office liked to joke that defense attorneys were only half as smart as the opposition, hence the reason there were always at least two of them.

  "Yes, of course," Jack answered politely. "Good to see you again." He shook their hands as they congratulated him on the outcome of the trial.

  The truth was, Jack couldn't wait to get away from this group in their custom made suits and Rolex watches. One of the reasons he loved being a prosecutor was that it demanded more substance and less style. He liked being an average Joe; it felt true, as if the outside finally fit the inside. When he had practiced at Newman, he'd always been on edge about how he looked, what clothes he wore. He didn't worry about that stuff anymore. As long as he wore a suit in the courtroom—sometimes even a sport coat was acceptable—it didn't matter whose name was on the inside label.

  He listened to the banter between them, feigning interest, but he began to suspect he'd interrupted something more than a cocktail conversation. What was Earl doing with these guys, anyway? They talked to Earl as if he was one of them, and Earl responded in kind. Jack's stomach flipped, the way it did when he feared he'd overlooked a key piece of evidence or forgotten to ask an important question. He felt as though everyone else knew something he didn't.

  "Gentlemen, will you excuse us?" Earl said finally. "I'd like to talk to Jack in private."

  "We'll see you after the roast," one of them said, and they all laughed.

  "Nervous?" Jack asked once the others had walked off.

  "Nah, this will be a piece of cake compared to what those guys have done to me in the courtroom over the years." He picked up his drink.

  "So what's up with the goon squad, anyway?" Jack asked, but when Earl's smile faded and he looked down, Jack knew he'd said the wrong thing.

  Earl took a deep breath. "I'm going to make an announcement tonight, but I wanted to tell you beforehand."

  Jack narrowed his eyes. "Why do I feel the same way I did right before Newman laid me off?"

  "You're not being fired, Jack."

  "Oh, I know that. If I was, I'd hope you wouldn't make an announcement out of it."

  Earl laughed; Jack didn't. They stood for a moment looking at each other and wondering who would speak next.

  "You're leaving, aren't you?" Jack asked.

  Earl nodded. "I've accepted an offer to join Clark and Cavanaugh."

  "I knew it." Do the right thing, Jack. "Well, congratulations," he said, cracking a smile and extending his hand.

  Earl hesitated before shaking Jack's hand. "Thanks." He tilted his head slightly, studying Jack. "You know, I tried to talk to you this afternoon after Court. I wanted to tell you before now. But you were on the phone almost from the minute you came back to the office."

  Jack remembered. Earl had stuck his head in his door several times; each time Jack had motioned to him: two minutes or just a second. But the phone had always rung again or someone else had come in, and they'd never had the chance to talk.

  "Sorry about the 'goon squad' comment."

  Earl dismissed it with a shrug of his shoulders.

  "So, are you going to clue me in on why you're leaving?"

  Earl looked down again at the tumbler in his hand; except for small chips of ice, it was empty. "It's time, Jack. Time to let someone else lead the troops."

  "Bullshit. What's that supposed to mean?"

  Earl touched Jack's sleeve. "Come on," he said, turning toward the bar. "You look like a thirsty man, and I need a refill."

  "If only they knew what they were really congratulating you for," Jack said when they reached the bar, referring to the numerous interruptions along the way. He motioned to the bartender.

  "Be with you in a minute, hon." She smiled, flashing a perfect set of white teeth at him.

  Earl snickered. "I can't believe your wife lets you out of the house alone."

  "I'm waiting."

  "What can I say? I've been at the DA's office since right out of law school. It'll be nice to do something different." Jack was skeptical, and Earl knew it. "Look, they made me an offer that was too good to pass up. It'll be a nice, cushy job. I'll get to pick and choose the cases I want. I'll have a decent office for once in my life—big window, furniture that's not government issue, some real art on the walls . . ."

  "Take it from me—the big window and nice furniture get old quickly." Earl laughed, but Jack continued, "And you get to pick and choose your cases now. When's the last time you tried one that wasn't high profile?"

  The bartender approached and slapped two cocktail napkins on the bar. She leaned on her elbows, displaying her ample cleavage. "What'll it be, gentlemen?" she asked, eyeing Jack.

  He smiled just enough to be polite. "Whiskey and Coke."

  "Scotch and soda," Earl said, watching the exchange. To Jack, he said, "Try to put yourself in my shoes."

  "I just don't buy what you're telling me. I think I can honestly say this is the first time in your life you haven't been convincing."

  Earl sighed and looked around the room. "I'm fifty-six years old. I've already put two girls through college, I've got one in there now, and the youngest one will start next year. Not to mention the weddings I'll probably be expected to pay for. I want to do it all for them, and so far I've been able to. But it ain't cheap. Helen and I also want to travel, see some sights before we're too old to enjoy them. Frankly, I don't want to worry about the money anymore."

  Jack watched his boss. The crow's feet around Earl's eyes were pronounced even when he wasn't smiling, and his silver flattop was peppered with short strands of muted black. Jack felt he knew Helen pretty well—as well as one gets to know his boss's wife—and he'd seen their girls grow into women during his eight years in the DA's office. But he still had the distinct sense there was a lot about this man he didn't know.

  "Well, you're convincing me now," Jack said. "I'm beginning to wonder if I'm saving enough."

  "Don't get me wrong,
Jack. We're not in the poorhouse or anything. It's just that Helen's sacrificed a lot for my career, and I'd like to be able to spoil her a little in return." Earl grabbed the drinks and handed one to Jack, who had turned around to face the crowd. "I guess you could say I sold out, huh?"

  "No, I wouldn't say that." Jack took a long swallow. The bartender had made it strong and the liquor burned his throat, but he still wished he'd ordered it straight. He needed it tonight.

  "It won't be the same without you," he said.

  "I was thinking the same thing."

  "When will you leave?"

  "I'll finish out my term, wait till after the election."

  Jack leaned against the bar and looked out over the dwindling crowd. He tried to imagine who in the office could fill Earl's shoes. Although he had good relationships with most of the lawyers there, he couldn't picture any of them as his boss. For an instant he indulged in fantasy and imagined himself in the position, but just as quickly dismissed the idea as unrealistic. The effect of Earl's decision started to sink in. What if some lawyer from outside the office decided to run? That would be even more disruptive than having an insider take over. The office had a chemistry that Earl had nurtured during his years there, and the slightest change would upset it permanently.

  Jack's thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Jenny coming through the revolving door. Even after all these years, the absolute blackness of her hair struck him. She had dark russet skin, and he remembered how, when he'd first met her, he'd thought maybe she was Hispanic. He'd been a little ashamed that he couldn't tell—he thought he should have been able to—but when she'd introduced herself— "Jennifer Dodson, Jenny's fine" —her all-American name had surprised him, and he'd never had the nerve to admit to her his ignorance.

  Earl turned to see what had Jack's attention.