Read False Witness for Free Online Page A

because I am a singular woman (although I do have claims in that area) as because I was the only woman to break through the various barriers that had been placed before me. At a time when such intrusion was not only unfashionable but downright outrageous, my success in handling assignments within the diverse bureaus of the District Attorney’s office became known. My experience ranged from prosecution of fraudulent accident cases all the way to indictments/convictions of organized crime lords.
    Had I been a man, my successes would have been noted favorably and placed in my résumé folder against the time when I would, as my predecessors had done, venture into the world of private practice or higher governmental office. The judicial system is so staffed with judges whose initial training was the D.A.’s office, it has been almost a mandatory prep school for ever-higher appointive offices. Except there were no women visible in the scheme of things, unless you were to consider the occasional motherly, elderly woman justice serving in Family Court until her sixty-fifth retirement birthday party and gold wristwatch.
    I did not want Family Court. I do not like gold wristwatches. I had decided, early on in my career with the District Attorney’s office, to get my credentials, my validation, in every area possible. My expertise, in hope that my day would come.
    Had I been a man, my request for transfer from one bureau to the next on the heels of some marked achievement would have seemed highly questionable. Since I was a woman—and who can figure them out in the first place?—it seemed like a harmless enough idiosyncrasy. My mobility was my preparation for my ultimate goal; the time for its attainment had finally arrived. Women were leaders now on the international scene, the national scene, the state and local scenes. I was ready to crack that sacrosanct male-defined domain: the District Attorney’s office.
    Jameson Whitney Hale had been approached several times with offers for other public office. In the past, he had considered carefully and declined. This year, the proposals put to him were very serious and had strong bipartisan backing. They were offering him the United States Senate. He had until late spring to declare himself, to be tested in the primary. He would be damned certain of his victory before committing himself.
    His office would then become available. He would resign as soon as he declared and would appoint an interim District Attorney: either a sitting incumbent with his strong endorsement, who would be a sure thing in the fall elections, or a sitting incumbent from an outside agency who would just be keeping the chair warm until a wide-open election.
    Mr. Hale’s chief assistant, Max Phelan, was in his early sixties and had long been preparing his retirement home on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. That left all the bureau chiefs; most of us had eyes for the office. There was that one other possibility—unlikely, but hovering around in the background. He could appoint an outsider: a former State Attorney General or Congressional Investigator or eminent professor of criminology, for reasons of political expediency.
    There were many forces working on behalf of Jameson Whitney Hale, including a strong, politically active contingent of women’s organizations who would commit to him all-out in the senatorial race, should he appoint a woman incumbent.
    I was the only woman fully qualified.
    In our preliminary discussions, we had a verbal agreement: all things being equal, nothing rocking the boat, no major catastrophic scandal erupting around me, should he get the definite nod to run for the U.S. Senate, he would back and endorse me fully not only as the incumbent but as the candidate most qualified, most suited.
    So much for the silly girl, hopping from bureau to bureau to bureau—let her, what harm can it do, after all, what difference does it make, as long as she does her work properly.
    Our