False witness, p.1
False Witness, page 1
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Publishing Group ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
For Marlys Pierson and Don Girard, two of my oldest and dearest friends
PROLOGUE
Karen Wyatt had auburn hair, emerald eyes, high cheekbones, and a slender figure that had survived one year of the unhealthy food she was served at the Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, Oregon’s women’s prison. Dressed in the navy-blue jacket and skirt and cream-colored blouse she had changed into before leaving the prison, Karen looked like the lawyer she had been before she was convicted of a felony, sentenced to prison, and disbarred.
Harry Schmidt, Karen’s attorney, was waiting for his client when she got out of the van that had transported Karen to the courthouse. Schmidt, the senior partner in one of Portland’s best firms, was forty-two, but a head of premature white hair made him look older and, he hoped, wiser. Harry noticed the angry stares that the guards cast at Karen when she got out of the van. One of the guards grabbed Karen’s elbow and jerked her forward. Harry started to say something but stopped himself. There were a lot of people in law enforcement who hated his client, and he wasn’t going to change this guard’s mind, no matter what he said. What he could do was make sure that Karen didn’t make a return trip to the prison.
“Good morning, Counselor,” Harry said.
Karen smiled. It had been a long time since anyone had addressed her as if she were an attorney.
“Is it going to be good?” Karen asked.
“You bet it will,” Harry said. “See you in court.”
“Get moving,” the guard barked as she shoved Karen forward. Harry had had enough.
“Listen to me, asshole. My client is going to be a free woman and a practicing member of the bar by the end of the day. That means that she will be able to sue you into oblivion if you ruffle so much as one hair on her head. So treat her with respect if you want to avoid bankruptcy and a charge of assault and battery.”
The guard glared at Harry, but she held her tongue. Harry noticed that the guard didn’t touch Karen anymore as she took her into the courthouse and up to the jail, where Karen would have to wait until her case was called.
Harry walked back inside the courthouse and rode the elevator up to the courtroom where Karen’s post-conviction case was being tried. A herd of reporters stampeded toward Harry when he walked down the corridor. They bombarded him with questions, which he fended off with the skill of an Olympic fencer. Harry had tried to keep the post-conviction hearing under the radar so Karen would be able to start her new life with a minimum of commotion, but there was no way that this bombshell could be kept under wraps. The courtroom was packed with reporters, members of the district attorney’s office, and the public.
Harry walked through the bar of the court and nodded to Muriel Lujack, the deputy district attorney who had been assigned to defend the State of Oregon. Lujack was a new hire, and Harry had never met her. She nodded back quickly, and Harry could see that she was very uncomfortable. He wasn’t surprised. Everyone in the district attorney’s office knew what was going to happen this morning.
Moments after Harry was seated, the bailiff signaled the guards to bring Karen to the courtroom. Lujack cast a quick look at Harry’s client. When Karen met her eye, the deputy DA’s cheeks flushed and she looked down at her notes to hide her embarrassment.
“How are you holding up?” Harry asked.
“I’m doing just fine,” Karen said just as the door to the Honorable Teresa Herrera’s chambers opened and she took her place on the bench.
“Good morning, Counselors. We are in court on a post-conviction case brought on behalf of Karen Wyatt. Is everyone ready to proceed?”
“We are,” Harry and Muriel said.
“I understand that you have one witness, Mr. Schmidt,” the judge said.
“I do. Miss Wyatt calls Garrett Loman to the stand.”
The door to the area where prisoners were held opened, and a middle-aged man with curly gray hair, downcast blue eyes, and a sallow complexion walked out. He took a quick look at the spectator section. Then he looked down at the floor as he walked to the witness stand.
Harry checked his notes while the witness swore an oath to tell the truth. When Loman was seated, Harry looked him in the eye. Loman tried to keep eye contact, but he didn’t have the heart to continue the staring contest and he looked away.
“Mr. Loman,” Harry said, “how were you employed before you were convicted for stealing cocaine from the evidence locker at the Oregon State Crime Lab?”
“I was a forensic expert employed by the Oregon State Crime Lab.”
“A sworn officer of the law?” Schmidt asked.
“Yes.”
“Please tell Judge Herrera how you violated your oath when you testified in Miss Wyatt’s trial.”
“I…” Loman paused and licked his lips. Then he took a drink of water. “I lied at her trial. I said that I dusted a package containing a kilo of cocaine that had been found during a search of Miss Wyatt’s apartment and found her prints on it.”
“Were her prints on the baggie?”
“No.”
“Without going into the details of how you did it, did you manufacture the prints that you swore were Miss Wyatt’s?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell the judge why you did this.”
Loman took another sip of water. Then he answered without looking at the judge. His voice was strained, and he looked sick.
“I left work one night. A policeman was waiting by my car.”
“What was the officer’s name?”
“Max Ellis.”
“Go on.”
“He said that he knew I was an addict and had been stealing cocaine from the evidence that I was supposed to be testing. He said that he would go to the district attorney if I didn’t plant your client’s prints on a package containing cocaine that was going to be found in Miss Wyatt’s apartment and then testify in court that I had found her prints on the package.”
“Did you learn anything else about the plot to frame Miss Wyatt?”
“Ellis arrested Julio Cortez. He was a drug dealer. Cortez provided the basis for a search warrant. He said he’d sold the cocaine to Miss Wyatt.”
“What happened to Mr. Cortez’s case?”
“Ellis told me to get rid of the evidence in it. When I did, it was dismissed.”
“What happened when the search warrant was executed?”
“Officer Ellis was working Narcotics and participated in the search. He’s the one who said he’d found the cocaine.”
“Why did you expose this plot against Miss Wyatt?”
“One of the people I worked with discovered that I had a habit and was stealing cocaine from evidence. He told the DA, and I was arrested. My attorney made a deal for me. I’ll get probation if I tell the truth about the plot to frame your client.”
“Why aren’t Mr. Ellis and Mr. Cortez testifying today?”
“Mr. Cortez was murdered a week after the search, and Officer Ellis was murdered a few days after I made the deal with the DA.”
“Why haven’t you been killed?”
“I’m in a witness protection program.”
“Do you know why Miss Wyatt was framed?”
“I asked Officer Ellis why he was doing this. He said they were going … These were his words, not mine. He said they were going to teach the bitch what happened to someone who ratted out a cop.”
“Do you know what he was referring to?”
“Miss Wyatt represented a biker who was charged with assaulting a police officer during a raid on the biker gang’s clubhouse. She won an acquittal by proving that her client acted in self-defense. During the trial, she introduced evidence that showed that the raid was planned by a district attorney and police officers who were being bribed by a rival biker gang. The DA and several officers were sent to prison. It was a big scandal.”
“Do you have any idea who else was involved in framing Miss Wyatt?”
“No.”
“No further questions, Your Honor,” Karen’s lawyer said.
“Miss Lujack?” Judge Herrera asked the prosecutor.
Muriel Lujack looked uncomfortable, which was to be expected, since she’d only been a deputy DA for six months and the hearing was exposing corruption in the police force and her office.
Karen had expected to see Oscar Vanderlasky at the prosecution table. He was the DA who had tried the case that sent her to prison. She guessed that Vanderlasky didn’t have the guts to face her, and she assumed that Muriel Lujack had been assigned to represent the State at this hearing because no one else in the office wanted to be embarrassed.
“No questions,” Lujack said.
“Any more witnesses, Mr. Schmidt?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Unless you or Miss Lujack want to present an argument, I’m ready to rule on the motion to set aside Miss Wyatt’s conviction.”
“I’ll defer to the court,” Schmidt said.
“I don’t have anything to say,” the prosecutor answered. She looked ashamed.
The judge turned to Karen. “Miss Wyatt, I cannot imagine the hell you’ve been through these past years. What happened to you … Well, I have no words to describe it. I will cut to the chase. I am vacating your conviction and ordering your immediate release. Additionally, as soon as court is in recess, I am going to call the Oregon State Bar and recommend that you be reinstated immediately.”
The judge turned to the prosecutor. “Miss Lujack, do you intend to appeal my decision?”
“No, Your Honor. Our office was shocked by what we learned. I can only wish Miss Wyatt the best.”
“I join in Miss Lujack’s statement. Please call me if there is anything I can do to help you.”
Judge Herrera left the bench. Karen leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Then she took a deep breath and opened them. There were no tears.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said.
“Thank you for letting me do a good deed I will keep remembering whenever the practice of law gets me down.”
“You took this case pro bono, but we are going to sue everyone I can think of. When you get me my settlement, name your fee, and I’ll pay it.”
“I will never charge you for this case.” Harry smiled. “Of course, I do anticipate a very fat payout when we conclude your lawsuit.”
Karen laughed.
“You don’t seem bitter,” Harry said.
“I’m not. I’m angry. I want to find the people who did this to me. Then I want those motherfuckers sent to a deep, dark place.”
“Do you have any leads?”
“Not really. I’ve been too preoccupied with survival for the past year to do much investigating.”
“Do you want to speak to the reporters? They’ll be waiting to ambush you when you step into the hall.”
“I’m not afraid of the press. In fact, I’m going to ask them to help me find the people who framed me. They’ll love getting a juicy investigative assignment.”
“Prison hasn’t changed you much. You’re still the feisty young attorney who kicked my butt the only time we faced off.”
Karen laughed. “You didn’t have much of a case.”
Harry smiled. “That’s not what I thought before the trial started.” He stood up. “Shall we face the Fourth Estate?”
“Let’s,” Karen said. She stood and straightened her skirt.
“Miss Wyatt.”
Karen turned and found herself face-to-face with Morris Johnson, the detective who had arrested her for cocaine possession. Johnson was in his midthirties with curly black hair, brown eyes, and the beginning of a paunch. He had been courteous when he arrested her, and Karen had the impression that he hadn’t enjoyed taking her into custody.
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for what you’ve gone through,” Johnson said.
“Thank you for coming and looking me in the eye, but I don’t see anyone else from the Portland PB here.”
“You won’t. They’re closing ranks. This scandal has everyone looking over their shoulder.”
Karen nodded. “I’m not surprised. Now, I have to meet the press.”
“Good luck,” Johnson said as he stepped aside to let Karen pass. She straightened her shoulders and strode toward the courtroom door. Johnson didn’t think she looked like a victim. He thought she looked like a warrior.
PART ONE
UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECTS
THREE YEARS LATER
CHAPTER ONE
The hearing room in the United States House of Representatives was standing room only, because the American public wanted to know if flying saucers and little green men from another planet were the real deal. United States representative Thomas Horan was one of the few people in the room who didn’t care if an alien invasion were imminent. He was only interested in making the six o’clock news.
The congressman was barely five foot, three inches tall. Even though he was only in his midthirties, he had lost a majority of his hair and his belly overlapped his belt. Horan had gone through life with a massive chip on his shoulder as a result of being bullied in every stage of his public school education.
The congressman was very intelligent and had found success in high school on the chess team, but he’d had little success with girls. It wasn’t until he got involved in campus politics in college that he got laid for the first time and found his calling.
Margo Sparks, an ex-CIA agent, was leading a crusade to prove that the government was covering up the fact that aliens in flying saucers had visited the earth. Horan had been champing at the bit for his chance to question Sparks. He was facing a tough opponent in the next election, and he would be the recipient of publicity that money could not buy if he could perform a star turn when his chance to examine Sparks arrived.
“Mrs. Sparks,” Horan said when the committee chairman called his name, “you have claimed that there are numerous credible sightings of flying objects with abilities that no earthly aircraft can duplicate.”
“There are, in fact, countless reports by reputable individuals—air force pilots, pilots in commercial aircrafts—of flying objects whose mechanical abilities can only be ascribed to alien technology.”
“You also claim that your investigations have led you to conclude that one or more of these UFOs have crashed on Earth and that our government is hiding these crafts and the biological remains of their alien pilots.”
“Yes. That’s true.”
Horan smiled at the ex–intelligence officer. “I must admit that you’ve got me all excited. Can you tell this committee and the American people what these aliens look like? Are they little green men?”
“I have not seen the wreckage or the alien remains personally.”
“Do you have photos?”
“No. I haven’t seen any of the alien crafts that the government has in storage, but more than three dozen reputable witnesses, who have seen the crafts, have assured me that they do exist.”
“Great. Can you make me a list of these witnesses so I can subpoena them?”
“That information is classified.”
“I see. Has our government talked to aliens?”
“I really can’t discuss that. The information is classified.”
“So, you have never seen an alien body?”
“No, but people who have assure me that they have been recovered at crash sites.”
“If there are so many witnesses who have actually seen aliens and their crafts, why haven’t you brought any of them to this hearing?”
“These people are threatened with retaliation if they go public.”
“What type of retaliation?”
“Loss of jobs, public humiliation, and physical threats.”
“You’re saying that you know people who have been injured physically to cover up the existence of UFOs?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone ever been murdered as part of this cover-up?”
“I can’t comment on that.”
Horan sighed and shook his head. “Mrs. Sparks, you’ve made a lot of outrageous claims, but am I right in concluding that you have not supplied one single piece of concrete evidence to this committee—like a photo or a person who has seen these aliens and their crafts—that proves that our government is hiding alien spacecrafts and alien corpses?”
“I can’t supply this information in a public forum.”
“That’s because you don’t have any evidence to supply. Quite frankly, Mrs. Sparks, you are full of hot air, and the reason you can’t prove your assertion is that alien abductions, UFOs from other planets, and the existence of little green men are science fiction and not science fact. I have no further questions, Mr. Chairman.”
* * *
When Thomas Horan deplaned at Portland International Airport, Julie Sunderland, his campaign manager, was waiting with crews from the television networks and reporters from several Oregon newspapers. Standing with Julie was Francine Horan, Thomas’s wife, who had handled PR for the congressman before marrying him and knew just what to do when her husband walked toward the reporters.
