Tell No Lies Read online

  "Last spring, when I was first approached about becoming a candidate for District Attorney, I dismissed the idea. But a good friend said something that made me reconsider."

  He stopped again, because the words in his brain were the words Jenny had spoken at the banquet. He glanced at her; she still had the look of expectation, and he felt certain she knew he was talking about her. But she'd been very drunk; would she remember what she'd said?

  He began once more, avoiding pronouns that would identify the gender of the friend. He didn't have time to think about why he made this effort; it just felt necessary.

  "What was said to me was this: 'Jack, you'd be perfect for the job. You have a moral code that you live by; you would do what's right, and what's good. You wouldn't be swayed by politics, or friendship.' I was flattered, of course, to be thought of so highly, and I must admit that pride was my first emotional response." He purposely kept his eyes trained above the heads of those nearest to him: Earl and Helen, Claire and her parents, Mark, Jeff, and Jenny. He didn't want to be distracted by the expressions on their faces. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he let himself look at Jenny. For a moment, for one brief instant, he felt they were the only ones in the room, and he knew she remembered.

  "The comment stuck with me for days, but not as the compliment it was meant to be. Instead, I began to think about what it meant to be those things, to continue to aspire to be those things, for someone holding public office. I decided that voters would rather vote for someone they believe will be guided by principles of honesty and righteousness, than for someone who just happens to hold the same views on various issues as they do. I think that's what my friend was trying to tell me, because God knows we disagree on many issues." He paused to allow the unexpected laughs to dissipate. As he did, the speech grew even larger in his head. He remembered a Supreme Court case Earl had insisted he read when he'd first started the job—about a prosecutor's duty not only to the state but to the system as a whole—and decided that its message fit right in with what he was trying to say.

  "Most people, when they think of those who hold positions of power in the legal system, think of judges. But I've learned something in the years I've worked in the DA's office. I've learned that in many ways, a prosecutor has more power than the judge. A prosecutor has what we call 'prosecutorial discretion.' He's a gatekeeper, in a sense; he decides which cases to pursue, and which cases to let go. The judge hears only those cases that the prosecutor has decided to bring before him. The District Attorney is not only a representative of the state, he is a representative of an entire system. He represents a sovereignty whose obligation is to govern impartially, and in a criminal case the sovereignty's interest is not that it will win a case, but that justice will be served. And he is a servant of the law. His goal is twofold: that guilt will not escape, but also that innocence will not suffer. The integrity of the system he represents depends on the integrity of the exercise of his discretion, on the integrity of the process he uses in determining how to exercise that discretion.

  "The opportunity to run for this position began to represent much more to me than an incredible career opportunity—it was also, I realized, an incredible public service opportunity and an incredible personal opportunity. I stand before you tonight and make a promise: I promise to exercise my discretion with the utmost integrity. I will take those words spoken by my friend and use them as my guide. No matter what decisions I make with respect to individual cases or larger issues, I will strive to follow a simple precept—to do what's right, and good, and to not be swayed by politics or friendship. And then, hopefully, I will have done a job that's worthy of the trust you have placed in me."

  Someone began to clap, and then slowly, but with growing momentum, others followed suit. Jack waited patiently for the applause to die down, but the noise only increased, and he realized that they thought he was finished. The room lit up with camera flashes and the music began again. Suddenly Earl was on the platform with him, hugging him and patting his back. The rest of his campaign team followed, each with his own words of congratulations. He managed a final Thank you into the microphone before he was carried on the wave of the crowd down to the floor, where he was greeted with even more congratulations. An anonymous arm stretched through the wall of people surrounding him and handed him a glass of champagne; he swallowed it in two gulps.

  Everyone hugged him and told him what a great speech it was. He grabbed Claire and kissed her, whispering a private thank you in her ear. "I'm so proud of you, Jack," she whispered back, reaching for his hand and giving it an unseen squeeze. Their eyes met and for a moment he felt the same connection he'd felt that morning. But the demands of the crowd intervened, and when the next break in conversation came and he looked around, he noticed she was gone. She'd managed to slip discreetly into the crowd, he knew, to allow the moment to be his alone.

  Everyone except Jack, it seemed, was drunk by the time they made it up to the suite. The room was large and spacious, unlike any hotel room he'd ever been in, even on Claire's last birthday. A wall of windows faced east toward the river and the Arch. In the foreground, the lights of office buildings and streetlamps appeared to dance in the black sky, and down below, the automobiles on the highway were glimmering ribbons of red and white. The entire city was visible, but no one except Jack was looking.

  Two large sofas were arranged at a ninety-degree angle in front of the windows to provide a prime spot to view the city. Nearby, a long marble-topped dining table groaned with sandwiches, cheeses, fruits, cakes, caviar and more champagne. French doors opened to the bedroom, where the windows continued, and even the massive Louis XIV four-poster bed seemed small.

  "This is obscene," Jack said to Earl. "You've outdone yourself."

  Uncharacteristically, Earl was a little buzzed, too. "It'll be back to the pauper's life soon enough. Enjoy it while you can." He grinned as he twisted the wire off the cork of a bottle of champagne. They both laughed when the loud pop caused a swell of cheers from the group. Someone turned on music.

  A round of toasts followed and then the dancing. Jenny didn't even bother trying to get Jack to dance, as in the spring. She approached Mark, who had been hanging with her all night, and they joined some of the younger lawyers and staff from the DA's office. With Helen's blessing, Beverly pulled a reluctant Earl up from his spot on the sofa. He protested that he was too old for "this nonsense," but she persisted and prevailed. Jack decided to use the john before he got pulled into the fray.

  He met pressure when he tried to shut the bathroom door.

  "Hey." Claire laughed as she pushed on the door and poked her head in. He stepped back, and in an instant she was in and had closed the door behind her. "I don't believe I've had the chance to congratulate you properly." Her lids draped lazily over her blue eyes, and she leaned heavily on the door. It had been a long time since he'd seen her like this.

  "So you resort to cornering me in the bathroom?" he teased.

  "I think it's the only way I'm going to be alone with you tonight."

  She pulled him close. He touched his lips lightly to hers, but she grasped his head and reciprocated with a strong, deep kiss. He fumbled to lock the door behind her, but then he remembered why he'd gone in there. He pulled away before the task became impossible.

  He called to her as he stood in front of the toilet, "So what do you think? First headline after the election: new DA caught fornicating with wife in hotel bathroom while victory party continues in next room."

  Her response came quickly: "Better your wife than some other partygoer."

  He whipped his head around to look at her. She stood in front of the long sink, fishing through a small basket of miniature soaps and other toiletries. He relaxed when he saw the smile on her face. She'd been joking, not accusing.

  "What do you think of this?" he asked. He hoisted himself onto the counter in front of her after washing his hands.

  "Hmm?"

  "The room."

&
nbsp; "It's nice. You're lucky to have someone like Earl." She lifted the flap of a tiny packet to inspect the contents. After discovering a tightly folded shower cap, she replaced it in the basket.

  "I am," he said, and covered her hand with his to stop her fidgeting. "I'm even luckier to have someone like you."

  She stared at their hands a moment and then peered up at him. "Are you happy now, Jack?"

  Her tone lacked sarcasm—she was sincere—but the question took him by surprise.

  "Of course I am." He pulled her closer, between his legs. "Why do you ask that?"

  "I don't know. You've just been so restless these past months. I worried that you didn't really want this, but had gotten yourself in too deep to turn back."

  "Hey." He lifted her chin so she looked directly at him. "I really wanted this. The hard part's over. Now the fun begins. I'm very happy. I'm overwhelmingly ecstatic. Okay?"

  She pecked his lips. "Okay."

  "Good." He jumped down from the sink. "Come on, let's go celebrate."

  By three thirty in the morning, the party had quieted only slightly. The size of the crowd had diminished, but those remaining gave no indication of slowing down. Claire and Jenny reclined together on one of the sofas, their heads at opposite ends. Each had a glass of champagne in her hand and from a half-seated position on the edge of the other sofa, Jack eyed them talking and giggling like schoolgirls while he attempted to carry on a conversation with others.

  He paid closer attention when Mark joined them. Mark squatted behind the sofa near Jenny's head, his arm crossed over the sofa back and his chin resting on his hands. Jenny swam in Mark's attention, throwing her head back when she laughed or coyly challenging something he said. Claire looked pleased that she'd apparently made a successful match.

  Jack used the next interruption to join them.

  "Well, I think I deserve the most credit for his victory," Jenny was bragging just as Jack sat on the edge of the sofa next to Claire.

  "Excuse me?" Jack said.

  "It's true," Jenny proclaimed. Claire's eyes widened; she looked forward to hearing how Jenny justified her claim. "If it hadn't been for me, he probably would have wimped out and not even run." She spoke of him in the third person, as if he weren't sitting there with them.

  Claire and Mark laughed, but Jack asked tentatively, "Is that so?" Jenny drunk could mean trouble.

  "Yes, that's so, Mr. Hilliard." She turned to Mark and smiled at him. "Not you. The other one," she said, and laughed at herself. She put her index finger to her lips and furrowed her forehead in thought. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. I decided you needed a little prodding, you know, something to make you shit or get off the pot."

  Jack and Claire glanced at each other and waited. Jenny's dark eyes glinted and she leaned forward as if she was letting them all in on a big secret.

  "It was me. I was the letter writer." She announced it as if she were a contestant on a game show, loudly, and proud of herself for having the right answer.

  "What do you mean?" Claire asked. "What letter?"

  But Jack knew immediately, as soon as the words left her lips. His throat tightened. She'd duped him and now expected him to be grateful. Or else she was too smashed to care one way or the other and just wanted to be sure she got credit for the end result. A look of recognition washed over Claire's face as her memory came back to her. Her mouth turned up on one side in the start of a smile.

  "That letter?" Claire said, her eyes big with disbelief.

  Jenny nodded. "Yep, that one." She looked at Jack to gauge his reaction.

  Claire covered her mouth with her hand and giggled, and Jack felt that he'd been betrayed twice—first by Jenny and then by his wife. How could she think this was funny? To his mind, Jenny had slapped not only him but Claire, too, because they'd done this together as a family, hadn't they? But Claire seemed not to mind. She started asking Jenny questions: How did you know about that case? How did you get the details so perfect? And complimenting her on the content of the letter: It was so convincing! Your handwriting and grammar were just right. And then they were both joking about Jack, about how easy he was, and how, yes, he'd needed something like that letter to force him to make up his mind. He sat there, numb, listening straight-faced to their banter without revealing the anger boiling inside him. His mind reeled back to the day he received the letter and made the decision to run. He remembered how mad Claire had been, but she'd instantly forgiven him when she read it. She'd believed it, too; she'd been tricked, too. Didn't that bother her in the least?

  He felt Claire's hand on his arm. He looked down at it, but it was as if his arm belonged to someone else.

  "Where's your drink?" she asked, her tone light and breezy. She was oblivious, or maybe just indifferent, to his fallen mood. "This calls for a toast to Jenny."

  He turned to the table beside him. He didn't know what had happened to his glass and he didn't care. He feigned a brief search. "I'll be back," he mumbled and left them to their revelry.

  But he didn't go back. He joined another, more sober group seated around the dining table, picking at food and talking quietly. He looked back at the sofa once. He saw the back of Claire's head where it rose behind the arm of the couch, but Jenny's face as she continued her show was in full view. He watched her from across the room until she noticed him, and they locked eyes. The smile on her face faded slightly. Maybe he only imagined it, but he thought he saw a trace of remorse in her eyes.

  Jack woke to the six a.m. toll of distant church bells. It took him a minute to get his bearings, but then he remembered how he'd collapsed on the bed fully dressed around five. He heard voices at the door, talking about where to meet for breakfast. He recognized his brother's voice, and Jenny's, and he thought maybe Maria's and Andy's. He heard Earl saying that he and Helen wouldn't be joining them. Someone closed the door, and their voices became more distant as they made their way down the hall toward the elevator. He shut his eyes when Claire entered the bedroom.

  She approached his side of the bed and bent down close to his ear. "You awake?"

  "Yeah," he muttered without opening his eyes. "Sort of."

  He listened as she fumbled around with something on the nightstand, and then he heard the groan of the motor as she used a remote to close first the sheers and then the room-darkening drapes that lined the large windows.

  "There," she said. "We can pretend it's nighttime as long as we want." She disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Jack rose and went to the window. He searched for the seam between the drape panels and peeked out. The cloudless sky graduated from dark pink on the eastern horizon to deep blue above; the sun had not yet made an appearance and stars were still visible. Steam rose from tall stacks on the far side of the river. It billowed incessantly, like a genie being let out of his bottle.

  He thought about Claire's question last night in the bathroom. He was happy, now that the election was over. He had the job he wanted, even though it wouldn't seem real until he actually stepped foot in the office. Earl had already told him he wouldn't stick around and would immediately name Jack as Acting DA until the new term started in January. It had been the compromises of the campaign, not the new job, which had caused the distress sensed by Claire.

  But why was he bothered so much by what Jenny had done? He knew she would claim she was only trying to help, to convince him to do what she knew he really wanted to do. Was it because he'd fallen for the ruse? Because, perhaps, he proved to be as gullible as they believed him to be? She'd embarrassed him, that was true, but he thought it must be something more. It seemed to him as if the whole thing—the campaign, the election, even the party afterward—was somehow based on a false premise. Would he have made the same decision but for the letter? Would he have been able to answer the countless questions about the death penalty so skillfully, so believably, so easily, if that letter hadn't always been at the back of his mind?

  He stepped out of his pants and headed back to
bed. He could hear the faucet running and Claire brushing her teeth. He decided not to bring it up; he wondered if she would.

  As he was about to lie down, he heard a thump in the hall and giggling. He opened the door and heard a short gasp. Down the hall, next to the door that opened into the living area of the suite, stood Mark and Jenny. Jenny's back was to the wall, and Mark faced her, one arm stretched above her shoulder with his palm propped against the wall. His other hand held one of hers. Jack sighed and crossed him arms as if he'd just caught one of his kids misbehaving. He raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation.

  "Nice boxers, Jack," said Mark, and Jenny suppressed another giggle. Jack didn't move.

  "We're sorry if we woke you." Jenny tried to modulate her voice.

  "Why don't you just get a room?" Jack asked, his own voice edged in sarcasm.

  A shadow crossed her face and she glared at him. She opened her mouth but Mark squeezed her hand to stop her. "We're going out to breakfast," he said. "We're just talking a bit before we meet up with the others."

  "Good. Talk away. Have fun." He slammed the door. He grabbed the remote on the way to the bed and, once he'd climbed under the covers, opened the drapes. When Claire came out of the bathroom, she looked at the window in surprise.

  "I wanted to watch the sun come up," he explained.

  She burrowed in close to him. She smelled good, though different, more spicy. She must have tried one of the soaps in the bathroom.

  "Relax, will you?" She slipped her hand under his shirt. "Your body is so tense."

  She tilted her head up to him, and they looked at each other from a much further distance than the little physical space between them. Had what Jenny done really had no effect on Claire whatsoever?

  "What is it?" she asked.

  He didn't speak; he just shook his head.

  "We're not going to let this bed go to waste, are we?" She began to unbutton his shirt. "You can't sleep in this."

  "I already did."

  She finished the task and then helped him wriggle out of his undershirt.