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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“Did you find anything?”

“I think so.”

“What is it?

“A hole.”

“What’s in the hole?”

Bupkes.

“What?”

“It’s Yiddish. It means ‘nothing.’ ”

“I know what it means.” Bennie hurried to Lou’s side and stood stricken over the open floor. The hole in the floor was completely empty. The money was gone. Her mouth dropped open. “I left a package of money there. Five hundred thousand dollars, at least.”

“Five hundred grand?” Lou squinted, astonished, from his haunches. “Here? You gotta be kiddin’.”

“No, I found it. I swear.” Bennie’s thoughts raced ahead. What would she do without the money? She couldn’t prove police corruption at trial now, not without Connolly’s testimony, and there was no way she’d put Connolly on the stand. What would Bennie do for a defense?

“Rosato, you feelin’ okay?” Lou rose and brushed down his khakis, wrinkled at the knee like an elephant’s knees. “Your mom, and all. It’s a tough-”

“No. There was money there. I found it and then put it back.”

“When?” Lou asked, and Bennie told him the whole story, everything she knew and everything she had learned. Her defense was falling apart, and it was time to trust someone. Lou’s face fell into grim lines as she spoke, his expression changing from surprise to suspicion. When Bennie finished the account he said nothing, but walked to the wall and flicked off the light overhead, plunging them both into darkness.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as Lou crossed the living room to the window.

“Come here,” he said urgently, and Bennie joined him. A line of cars was parked at the curb on the other side of Trose Street, and she followed Lou’s finger to the one at the end.

A black TransAm.

BOOK THREE

Kill the body and the head will die.

– A boxing maxim

54

The Criminal Justice Center was built as a replacement courthouse for City Hall because the City of Brotherly Love had so many criminals, City Hall couldn’t try them all. A slim column of blond sandstone with modern art deco touches, the new Criminal Justice Center stood like the pretty younger sister across the street from the Victorian dowager that was City Hall. Courtroom 306 was the largest courtroom in the Justice Center, and the only secured one. A wall of clear plastic, bulletproof and soundproof, spanned its width and divided the bar of court from the gallery, which was packed with reporters and spectators. A trio of sketch artists sat together in the front row, one armed with tiny brass binoculars.

Bennie waited at counsel table for trial to begin, hating that the lawyers, judge, and court personnel were behind glass. It made her feel uncomfortably as if she were on television and the gallery were a studio audience; not that she could point a finger, considering her trial strategy of the “twin defense.” Since the other night, however, Bennie had discarded any plan of looking like Connolly at trial. She wore her hair unstyled this morning, had on no makeup, and her suit was the navy one she always wore to court. Except for the haircut, she looked almost like her breezy, confident self again, though she didn’t feel that way inside.

Her mother’s death was a pain that Bennie felt more acutely, like a wound that grows more sensitive to the touch. She had never been so aware of her aloneness in the world, and it made her vulnerable, shaky. The thought would cross her mind to call her mother’s doctor, a reminder sent for so many years from the tickler file in the back of her brain, and each time Bennie got the message, she recalled anew that it was a phone call she no longer had to make.

Her gaze fell on the blank legal pad in front of her, refocusing her on the task at hand: Try this case and win. Bennie had come to believe that Connolly, though hardly innocent, hadn’t committed the murder for which she stood trial. Somebody else had, and that person was getting away with murder. It was wrong, and that Connolly deserved to be punished didn’t make it right, because the next defendant wouldn’t. For Bennie, justice was always about the next defendant. And in this case, it could also be about saving her mother’s other daughter, as loathsome as she was.

“Let’s get started, ladies and gentlemen,” said Judge Guthrie, taking a quick sip of water from a tall glass. The judge wore a bow tie of Stewart plaid with his robes and slipped off his tortoiseshell reading glasses. His sharp eyes focused on the courtroom deputy, and if he recalled his meeting with Bennie at all, it didn’t show. “Please bring in the defendant, Mr. Deputy.”

The deputy hurried to a door on the side of the modern courtroom, which was concealed behind a mahogany panel. The judge looked expectantly at the closed door, and the spectators turned their heads as one. The district attorney, Dorsey Hilliard, sneaked a glance, and Bennie arranged her face into a professional mask. The paneled door opened and a cop in a black windbreaker entered the courtroom, followed by Alice Connolly.

Bennie almost gasped at the sight.

Connolly had performed a makeover in reverse, to look like Bennie. She had dyed her hair a pale blond color that matched Bennie’s and it hung as unstyled as Bennie’s. She wore no makeup, uncharacteristically; and her royal-blue suit and white shirt complemented Bennie’s own navy suit and white silk shirt. No wonder Connolly had opted not to be present for jury selection; she had wanted to preserve her surprise. Connolly must have realized that after the prison murders, Bennie would lose heart for the twin defense, and had evidently decided to stage it herself, with a vengeance. When Connolly crossed the courtroom, it was as if Bennie were watching her reflection in a true mirror, seeing herself walk in her own direction.

She felt blindsided, suddenly thrown off-balance. The defendant had become the lawyer; the twins had traded places. It was as if Connolly were trying to steal her position, her reputation, her very self. Bennie had created a monster and it was her. Looked like her. Walked like her. Then the monster sat in a seat next to her at counsel table, faced the front of the courtroom, and awaited the beginning of the trial like a seasoned litigator.

Bennie looked quickly around. At the prosecution table, Hilliard was reading papers, undoubtedly hoping not to draw attention to the similarity, but everyone in the courtroom had eyes. The deputy nudged an already surprised court reporter. Judy and Mary, sitting at the bar of court behind counsel table, were exchanging looks. Judge Guthrie peered over his glasses at Connolly and Bennie, then frowned deeply at the gallery.

Crack! Crack! Crack! “Order, ladies and gentlemen,” the judge said into a black stem of a microphone, which would carry his warning through hidden speakers to the gallery. “There must be order in this courtroom throughout these proceedings. We may not be able to hear you through the glass, but the same rules of decorum still apply. Anyone who doesn’t abide by them will be ousted.” Crack! Judge Guthrie banged the gavel. “Kindly escort the jury in, Mr. Deputy, and let’s begin.”

Bennie forced herself to relax, preparing for the only opinion that mattered: the jury’s. The twelve people who would have Connolly’s miserable life in their hands. She recrossed her legs, then noticed that Connolly was recrossing her legs the same way. Bennie would have said something, but the jurors began filing in, shuffling through the door. She watched them with a stony face, waiting for their reaction. Jurors always looked cowed when they entered a courtroom for the first time and this jury was no exception. They walked into the jury box with their heads down and found their seats as self-consciously as late theatergoers.

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