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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With a sigh, he switched off the ignition, got out of the car, and went back to 3010 Winchester Street.

57

On the witness stand, Officer Sean McShea wore a navy-blue uniform that strained at its double seams to accommodate his girth, and his peaked cap rested next to a worn Bible with red-edged pages. He spoke into the microphone with authority and warmth in equal measure. “How long have I been with my partner, Art Reston?” McShea asked, reiterating the prosecutor’s question. “Seven years. Not as long as my wife, but she’s a better cook.”

The jury laughed, but Bennie simmered at counsel table. She hadn’t been at all surprised to hear that McShea played Santa Claus at Children’s Hospital, a fact he managed to slip into his early testimony. McShea was everybody’s favorite neighborhood cop and the perfect choice for the Commonwealth’s first witness, like a legal warm-up act.

Hilliard was smiling, leaning on his crutches at the podium. “Now, Officer McShea, let’s turn to the events of the night in question, May nineteenth of last year. Did there come a time when you and Officer Art Reston received a radio report about a gunshot fired at 3006 Trose Street?”

“Yes. The report came over the radio when we were a block away, traveling north on Tenth Street. We happened to be in the area when we heard the report. Since we were so close, we kept driving on Tenth Street to Trose.”

“Did you formally respond to the call?”

“No.”

“And why was that?”

“As soon as I heard the report, I just hit the gas and reacted. I knew the address was Anthony’s, uh, Detective Della Porta’s, and I knew we were close enough to do something about it.”

“In retrospect, should you have radioed in that you were responding to the report?”

“Yes, but I was concentrating on saving a cop’s life.”

Hilliard nodded, approvingly. “Officer McShea, what did you and your partner do next?”

“We drove to the corner of Trose Street and stopped the car.”

“Did you see anything on Trose Street?”

“Yes. We saw the defendant. She was running down Trose Street from the scene of the crime.”

Bennie shot up. “Move to strike, Your Honor. That’s speculative and misleading.”

“Overruled. The witness is expert enough to make such conclusions, Ms. Rosato,” Judge Guthrie said, his lower lip puckering. It etched two tiny lines at each corner of his fine mouth and wrinkled his chin wattles into his bright bow tie. “Please proceed, Mr. Hilliard.”

“Officer McShea, how did the defendant appear to you when she was running? Emotionally, I mean.”

“Objection,” Bennie said, half rising, but Judge Guthrie gave his head a wobbly shake.

“Overruled,” Judge Guthrie said, and Bennie added a silent hashmark to the tally of the objections she’d lost. She was only two for ten. Any time Judge Guthrie could rule against her without arousing suspicion or annoying the jury, he would. Trial judges had carte blanche on evidentiary rulings, and appellate courts didn’t throw out jury verdicts unless the evidentiary errors made a difference in the trial’s outcome. Otherwise, they were legally considered “harmless error,” although Bennie believed no errors were harmless when a life was at stake.

McShea cleared his throat. “She looked panicky, stressed. My kids would say she was ‘freaked.’ ”

Hilliard walked to a large foamcore exhibit, a black-and-white diagram of Trose Street, which had been set up on an easel and faced the jury. “Referring to Exhibit C-1, would you show the jury where you first spotted the defendant that night?” Hilliard gestured to the exhibit resting on the easel’s ledge, raising his crutch like a personal pointer.

“Sure,” McShea said, wielding the pointer with practiced motion. “We saw her right in front of the day care center, which is 3010 Trose Street. She ran past the day care center, westbound, past 3012 and 3014, to the alley.”

“Officer McShea, would you tell the jury what you and Officer Reston did after you saw the defendant run west on Trose Street?”

“We pulled the patrol car up to Trose Street and just as we were about to turn the corner, we saw the defendant running toward us. The defendant ran past the houses, then took a left into the alley. I put the car in reverse and reversed back to Winchester Street, which is where the alley empties out. The defendant ran out the other side of the alley and down Winchester Street. We drove down Winchester Street, then we exited the vehicle and pursued on foot.”

“Describe for the jury, if you would, what you refer to as your pursuit of the defendant. Use the exhibit if you need to.”

“The defendant was running down Winchester, heading east. I kept running down the block after her and so did my partner. My partner outstripped me right here,” McShea pointed to a spot on the middle of the diagram of Winchester Street, “and he reached the defendant first. He had to use force to subdue her. She resisted arrest.”

“Did either of you identify yourself as police officers during this pursuit of the defendant?”

“Yes, it’s procedure.”

“How did you identify yourself as a police officer?”

“I shouted, ‘Freeze, police.’ I know my lines.”

Hilliard smiled. “Did the defendant stop running?”

“No, she ran faster. My partner subdued the defendant by tackling her to the ground. She was struggling pretty bad, and he was trying to hold her down. I arrived on the scene and ordered her to get down, so I could cuff her.”

“Officer McShea, when you say the defendant was ‘struggling pretty bad,’ what exactly do you mean?”

“She was kicking, biting, and punching with her arms. She struggled on the ground and kept kicking upward at my partner, in the groin area. I was shouting, ‘Get down, get down,’ but she wouldn’t listen. Before I got her cuffed, she tried to get up and run away again.”

“Did the defendant say anything to you while you were handcuffing her?” Hilliard asked, and Bennie’s ears pricked up.

“Objection!” she said, rising quickly. “The question calls for hearsay, Your Honor.”

“It’s not hearsay, it’s coming in for the truth, and it’s an admission anyway,” Hilliard said, and Bennie knew she couldn’t discuss this in front of the jury. Connolly had made an admission? When had the cops dreamed this up? There wasn’t any testimony about an admission at the prelim.

“May we approach, Your Honor?” Bennie asked, and Judge Guthrie motioned them forward. She hustled to the bench and waited until Hilliard reached it. “Your Honor, this is hearsay.”

“If it’s an admission, it comes in, Ms. Rosato. You know the rules.”

“There was no testimony about any admission at the preliminary hearing. Whatever this admission is, it should have been supplied to the defense, and it wasn’t.”

“Your Honor,” Hilliard piped up, “the Commonwealth was under no obligation to offer each and every statement to the defense, and Ms. Rosato has total access to her client. She could have asked her.”

Bennie gripped the beveled edge of the dais. “But, Your Honor-”

“I’ve already ruled,” Judge Guthrie interrupted, shaking his head. “The statement is admissible.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Hilliard said, and returned to counsel table. Bennie did the same, her face betraying none of the anxiety she felt as she sat down next to Connolly. An admission could be lethal to the defense.

Hilliard walked over to the witness stand. “Officer McShea, what did the defendant say to you when you arrested her?”

Officer McShea spoke clearly into the microphone. “While I was cuffing her, she said she did it, and she offered us money to let her go. She offered us thirty thousand dollars apiece and when we said no, she upped it to a hundred.”

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