Genuine Lies

one-twenty P.M.”
    “Do you recall the conversation?”
    “There wasn’t a conversation. She could barely talk. She told me to come, to come right away. That she needed me.”
    “That she needed you,” Williamson repeated on a nod. “Don’t you find it odd that she would have found it necessary to make a phone call when her mother was lying dead only a few feet away?”
    When court recessed from one to three, Lincoln tucked Julia away in a small room. There was a plate of sandwiches, a pot of coffee, but she touched neither. She didn’t need his constant rehearsing, refining, to remind her that she would take the stand herself when court resumed.
    Two hours had never gone more quickly.
    “The defense calls Julia Summers to the stand.”
    She rose, well aware of the stares and murmurs behindher. Reaching the witness box, she turned and faced those stares. She raised her right hand and swore to tell the truth.
    “Miss Summers, were you aware when you came to California that Eve Benedict was your natural mother?”
    “No.”
    “Why did you come across country to live on her estate?”
    “I had agreed to write her biography. She wanted to give her complete cooperation to the project, as well as maintain some control. We decided that my son and I would stay on her estate until the first draft was completed and approved.”
    “During the course of this project, did Miss Benedict share portions of her private life with you?”
    Sitting by the pool, sweating in the gym. Eve in a vivid robe squatting on the floor building a space port with Brandon. The image flashed by quickly, stinging her eyes. “She was very frank, very open. It was important to her that the book be thorough. And honest,” Julia murmured. “She didn’t want any more lies.”
    “Did you have occasion to tape conversations with her, and with people closely connected with her, personally and professionally?”
    “Yes. I work from taped interviews and notes.”
    He walked back to his desk to pick up a box of tapes. “Are these copies of those taped interviews you conducted from January of this year?”
    “Yes, those are my labels.”
    “I’d like to offer these tapes into evidence.”
    “Your honor, the state objects. These tapes contain the deceased’s opinions and recollections, her personal observations on individuals. And their authenticity cannot be substantiated.”
    Julia let the argument roll around her. She didn’t see the point in bringing the tapes into it. The police had listened to the originals, and nothing they had heard had swayed them.
    “I’m not going to allow the tapes at this hearing,” the judge decided. “Since Mr. Hathoway cannot establish their direct bearing on the accused’s defense. My listening to MissBenedict’s memoirs at this time would only cloud the issue. Proceed.”
    “Miss Summers, during the course of conducting these interviews, did you receive certain threats?”
    “There were notes. The first one was left on the porch outside the house.”
    “Are these the notes you received?”
    She glanced down at the papers in his hands. “Yes.”
    He questioned her about Eve’s reaction to them, about the plane flight back from Sausalito, about the argument, her feelings, and at last her movements on the day of the murder.
    Her answers were calm, brief, as she’d been instructed.
    Then she faced the prosecutor.
    “Miss Summers, was anyone present when you received these notes?”
    “Paul was there when I received the one in London.” “He was present when it was handed to you?” “It was delivered to my room, my hotel room, with a room service tray.”
    “But no one saw who delivered it, or when.” “It was left at the front desk.”
    “I see. So anyone might have left it there. Including yourself.”
    “Anyone could have. I didn’t.”
    “I find it difficult to believe that anyone would feel threatened by such inane phrases.”
    “Even the inane is threatening when it’s anonymous, particularly when Eve was relating to me volatile and sensitive information.”
    “These anonymous notes weren’t found in your possession, but in the deceased’s dressing table.”
    “I gave them to her. Eve wanted to deal with them herself.”
    “Eve,” he repeated. “Let’s talk about Eve, and volatile information. Would you say you trusted her?” “Yes.”
    “That you had grown fond of her?” “Yes.”
    “And that you had felt violated, betrayed by her when she revealed that you