Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

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Amazon.com Review
When confronted with the most challenging and the most personal case of her legal career, Bennie Rosato-an expert on police corruption-questions everything she has learned as a criminal attorney, and everyone she considers to be family. During a visit behind the bars of Philadelphia 's Central Corrections facility, Bennie is shocked to discover that an inmate bears a striking physical resemblance to herself. The prisoner, Alice Connolly, stands accused of murdering her cop boyfriend Anthony Della Porta, and the case reeks of a police conspiracy. Connolly convinces Bennie to defend her in court. Bennie feels confused, intrigued, and even somewhat elated by this clone of herself, and dives head first into a bubbling cauldron of corruption, drugs, murder, and assault-mixed in with a thought-provoking subplot that questions the intricacies of legal ethics.
Mistaken Identity is Lisa Scottoline's sixth and tastiest dish yet. The book is gripping and smart, and it brings into bloom the highly likable character of Bennie Rosato, who made her debut appearance in Legal Tender. Bennie has her vulnerable moments-we witness this when, in some emotional scenes, she doubts the authenticity of her twin. Still, Ms. Rosato is no shrinking violet, especially when it comes to exposing the questionable goings-on of Philadelphia 's Eleventh Precinct.
Scottoline keeps us in a bubble of suspense-is Connolly really Bennie's twin? Did she murder Della Porta? If not, who did and why? The author neatly ties all our unanswered questions together into a perfectly formed bow, and keeps us frantically turning pages until the very end.
From Publishers Weekly
Double jeopardy is more than just a legal term in this taut and smart courtroom drama by Edgar Award winner Scottoline. Bennie Rosato, the irrepressible head of an all-female Philadelphia law firm, moves to center stage after playing a supporting role in the author's previous novel, Rough Justice. Bennie's client is tough, manipulative Alice Connolly, charged with murdering her police detective boyfriend, who may or may not have been a drug dealer. Complicating matters is Alice 's claim to be Bennie's identical twin sister and to have been visited by their long-lost father. Despite her wrenching emotional reaction to this revelation and her mother's deteriorating health, Bennie puts her personal and professional life on the line, immersing herself in the case. She enlists the aid of her associates, Mary DiNunzio and Judy Carrier, as well as Lou Jacobs, a cantankerous retired cop she hires as an investigator. They discover that a web of corruption may have enveloped the prosecuting attorney and judge who are now trying Alice 's case. Scottoline effectively alternates her settings between prison, law office, courtroom and the streets. Readers familiar with her previous work will enjoy the continuing evolution of the characters' relationships. Judy is still the bolder of the two associates, her experiences highlighted this time by an amusing venture into the seamy world of pro boxing. But Mary, until now a timid and reluctant lawyer ("Maybe I could get a job eating"), emerges from her shell. Scottoline falters occasionally by resorting to ethnic stereotypes, particularly in her dialogue, but generally succeeds in creating a brisk, multilayered thriller that plunges Rosato Associates into a maelstrom of legal, ethical and familial conundrums, culminating in an intricate, dramatic and intense courtroom finale. Agent, Molly Friedrich. Major ad/promo; author tour. (Mar.) FYI: Mistaken Identity is one of the six books excerpted in Diet Coke's marketing campaign.

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“Not a smart move, I know.” Connolly brushed her hair back with nails that had been filed into neat half-moons. “I was in a panic. I was worried whoever did it was still in the apartment. I wanted to get out of there.”

“What did you do when you ran out?”

“I ran down the street. Then I saw a cop car coming around the corner and I freaked out. I ran into the alley at the end of the street and out the other side.”

“You ran from the cops? Why?”

“I was afraid of them. I didn’t know what had happened to Anthony. I knew it would look like I killed him and I had no good alibi.”

A human reaction, but the wrong one. If it was true. “What was the patrol car doing there, if you didn’t call for it?”

“Maybe somebody else did, I don’t know. Going down to set me up, probably.”

Bennie checked her notes. “You and Anthony lived on Trose Street, about twenty blocks from the Roundhouse. Were they on patrol?”

“I don’t know. We were sorta close to the Roundhouse, that’s why Anthony kept the apartment. He used to stop home to get his stuff before he went to the gym.”

Bennie wrote it down, but it didn’t make sense. Had a neighbor heard the gunshot and called it in? What was the time of death? She didn’t know the most critical facts, which was why she hated taking a case this late in the game. All trial lawyers did. They even had a saying for it: stepping into someone’s else underwear. “Okay. You ran out and the cops saw you. Then what?”

“It was McShea and Reston. They threw me down onto the ground, cuffed me behind my back, then took me in the patrol car down to the Roundhouse.”

“Who’re McShea and Reston? You know them?”

“I met them once or twice, and they testified at the preliminary hearing. Anthony used to be friendly with them, at least Reston. The two of them were both in the Eleventh until Anthony got promoted to detective. They had some kind of falling out but Anthony never wanted to talk about it. It was in the past, I thought. Until they framed me.”

Bennie held up her hand. “Wait on that. Keep it chronological. What happened to you after your arrest? They took you in?”

“They took me down for questioning. I was the only suspect, right off. They didn’t look for the real killer. I was charged and put in jail that day. I’ve been rotting here, since there’s no bail for murder in Philly. Assholes.”

“Did you answer their questions?”

“No. I asked for a lawyer and they set me up with this kid who got court-appointed.”

“The same night?” Bennie’s hand remained poised above her legal pad. She didn’t know how Connolly had gotten representation and hadn’t had time to check the docket for counsel of record. “I never heard of somebody getting a court-appointed lawyer that fast. I’m surprised you didn’t get a public defender.”

“My lawyer’s worse than a public defender. His name is Warren Miller, in town. He’s an insurance lawyer, real corporate.”

“Can’t be. Not in a homicide case.”

“I’m telling you, it’s all part of the setup.” Connolly leaned over the counter. “They framed me, they planted the evidence, then they set me up with a shitty lawyer. I wouldn’t be surprised if the judge is in on it, too.”

“Judge Harrison Guthrie? Not likely,” Bennie scoffed. Guthrie’s reputation was sterling and he was one of the most scholarly, respected judges on the Common Pleas Court bench. “You didn’t sign a statement, did you?”

“No.”

“Figures.” The cops could question somebody for hours but unless the suspect made a full confession there would be no statement. It was only the first step in ignoring evidence that pointed away from a suspect’s guilt, all in a process intended to do justice. Bennie came back to the crux of her problem with Connolly’s story. “What I don’t get is why the cops would set you up.”

“I don’t know either. I wish I did. Whatever happened in the past, they killed Anthony for it and framed me. You see what I mean?”

“No.” Bennie skimmed her notes. “Let’s go back to the apartment, the living room. Were there signs of a struggle? Furniture turned over, things broken or messed up?”

“No.”

“Was the door locked?”

“Yes. I used my key to get in, even downstairs.”

Bennie made a note. Della Porta had known the killer. He had let him in. It jibed with what she read about the crime in the online newspapers. “Was Anthony supposed to be meeting anyone at home?”

“Not that I knew of.”

“Was there music on, anything like that? Drinks around?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t notice. I just saw the body. I don’t remember anything but that.”

Bennie checked her notes from the newspaper. “The D.A.’s case is that you shot Della Porta, got his blood on your sweatshirt, then changed and threw the bloody sweatshirt in the Dumpster in the alley. They found a Gap sweatshirt, size large. Was it yours?”

“It was my sweatshirt, but I wasn’t wearing it that day. I had on a workshirt. That’s what they picked me up in and it was clean. If I was going to kill Anthony, you think I’d put bloody clothes in a Dumpster next to the apartment? How dumb do you think I am?”

“Did anybody see you at the library wearing a workshirt that day?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Bennie’s eyes narrowed. “You think Reston and McShea set you up. How well do you know these guys?”

“I met them at a cop thing, a barbecue, but I didn’t really know them. Like I said, they were old friends of Anthony’s from when he was a uniform. He used to hang with them, used to go out at nights. They called them board meetings because they were all bored at home.”

Bennie considered how to phrase the next question tactfully, then gave up. “Was Anthony involved in anything dirty?”

“Of course not.” Connolly sat back in her chair, her eyebrows bent in offense. “Anthony was as straight as they come. You don’t know what he did, for Star. He lost money on Star, to help him.”

“Star’s the boxer Anthony managed, right? I’d like to talk to him.”

Connolly paused. “Don’t bother. He won’t help us. He hates my guts.”

“Why?”

“I’d hang at the gym with the boxer’s wives. I got to know them, became friends. Star didn’t like me around the gym. Thought I distracted Anthony.”

“Did you discuss this with Anthony?”

“No. Anthony had his work and his boxer. He did his business, I did my book. We understood each other.” Connolly cocked her head. “Do you have a boyfriend? I know you’re not married, you don’t wear a ring.”

“I have a boyfriend, but we’re not discussing me.”

“Ever been married?”

“None of your business.”

“Me neither, like I said. I didn’t get along with my father, my adopted father. They give us workshops here, on relationships. They’re mostly bullshit, but they say you can’t have good relationships with men if you don’t have a good relationship with your father.”

“That what they say?” Bennie flipped the page, surprised to find herself tensing up. “Where does he live, by the way?”

“Who?”

“My father. Bill.”

Connolly paused. “He never said.”

“No? Did he ever say how he got here, to visit?”

Connolly smiled. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about family stuff.”

Bennie’s thoughts clicked away. The prison wasn’t easily accessible by public transportation, so he had to be close by, within driving distance. Odd. She had always imagined her father living far away-California, for some reason. If you’re going to abandon your family, at least change area codes. Bennie slapped her legal pad closed. “Okay, that’s enough for now. I’ve got to file for a continuance. I’ll be in touch.”

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