Moment Of Truth

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Jack Newlin had no choice but to frame himself for murder. Once he had set his course, his only fear was that he wouldn't get away with it. That he wasn't a good enough liar, even for a lawyer.

The detectives led Jack in handcuffs into a small, window-less room at the Roundhouse, Philadelphia 's police administration building. Bolted to the floor at the centre of the room was a straight-backed steel chair, which reminded Jack of the electric chair. He looked away.

The walls of the room were a dingy grey and marred by scuff marks as high as wainscoting. A typewriter table topped with a black Smith-Corona stood against the side wall, and in front of the table sat two old wooden chairs. One of the chairs groaned when the heavyset detective, who had introduced himself, as Stan Kovich, seated himself and planted his feet wide. 'Sid-down, Mr Newlin,' Detective Kovich said, gesturing to a wooden chair across from him.

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