Once a Liar Read online

  In this electrifying psychological thriller, a high-powered sociopath meets his reckoning when he’s accused of the brutal murder of his mistress.

  Did he kill Charlie Doyle? And if he didn’t...who did?

  Peter Caine, a cutthroat Manhattan defense attorney, worked ruthlessly to become the best at his job. On the surface, he is charming and handsome, but inside he is cold and heartless. He fights without remorse to acquit murderers, pedophiles and rapists.

  When Charlie Doyle, the daughter of the Manhattan DA—and Peter’s former lover—is murdered, Peter’s world is quickly sent into a tailspin. He becomes the prime suspect as the DA, a professional enemy of Peter’s, embarks on a witch hunt to avenge his daughter’s death, stopping at nothing to ensure Peter is found guilty of the murder.

  In the challenge of his career and his life, Peter races against the clock to prove his innocence. As the evidence mounts against him, he’s forced to begin unraveling his own dark web of lies and confront the sins of his past. But the truth of who killed Charlie Doyle is more twisted and sinister than anyone could have imagined...

  Praise for A.F. Brady’s The Blind

  “Brady’s fast-paced, riveting psychological chiller will wow suspense and thriller lovers alike. Brilliant character study and superior writing make this an outstanding debut.”

  —Library Journal, starred review

  “[C]omplex, intricately plotted... This psychological thriller grabs the reader and doesn’t let go until the truth about Richard’s past is finally revealed.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Brady’s entertaining debut is told in the wry voice of Sam, who uses black humor to hide an undercurrent of pain.... A satisfying, darkly funny tale of redemption.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Dark, moody, and fascinatingly flawed describe Brady’s...protagonist.... A suspenseful look at our weaknesses and ability to forgive.”

  —Booklist

  “Sometimes stark and often startling, The Blind asks important questions about the arbitrary lines we draw between the sane and “crazy” members of our society. Along the way, this quick-paced debut novel pulls its reader into a web of deceit, recrimination and, ultimately, redemption.”

  —Miranda Beverly-Whittemore, New York Times bestselling author of Bittersweet and June

  “Madness is at the heart of A.F. Brady’s gritty, gripping The Blind, in which a psychologist navigates her own inner demons while attempting to care for her patients...with devastating results.... Sly, dark, and completely enthralling, The Blind is a knockout debut.”

  —Kimberly Belle, national bestselling author of The Marriage Lie and Three Days Missing

  “A propulsive, compelling debut. The main character, Sam, is complex, damaged and sympathetic. You won’t soon forget this gripping psychological read.”

  —A. J. Banner, bestselling author of The Good Neighbor and The Twilight Wife

  “A page-turner that had me holding my breath until the last page.”

  —Catherine McKenzie, bestselling author of Hidden and Fractured

  “Smart, raw and intense, this is a nail-biting debut.”

  —Anna Snoekstra, author of Only Daughter

  Also by A.F. Brady

  The Blind

  ONCE A LIAR

  A.F. Brady

  For the unforgiven

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  READER’S GUIDE

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  EXCERPT FROM THE BLIND BY A.F. BRADY

  “He who fights with monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster.”

  Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 146

  NOW

  Claire and I are sitting in the back of a black car, each looking out our separate windows. I see in the window’s reflection that Claire has her hands clasped nervously in her lap, the strap of her handbag wrapped around her wrist. I methodically clench and unclench my fists. Claire reaches over my lap to lay her hand on my thigh, and I feel her looking at me with her sympathetic eyes, hoping I will offer her comfort. I readjust my sunglasses and fluff my pocket square.

  As the driver turns onto Madison Avenue, a line of similar black cars appears with curbside doors swung open, and Manhattan’s elite filing out onto the sidewalk. The burgundy awning offers little solace beneath the heavy afternoon sun, and sweaty husbands usher their second and third wives inside the building. I hear Claire whisper, “You ready for this?” as I open the door and hold a steady hand for her to take when she steps out of the car. I can’t respond.

  We are walking quickly down the carpeted aisle of the funeral home, nearly hip checking acquaintances out of the way. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I haven’t said a word since we left the house; there’s nothing I know how to say. Claire is much more gracious than I am, and she’s looking back over her shoulder to coo hellos and whisper apologies.

  As we get to the first pew, I pull Claire by the wrist to enter the row before me, brusquely guiding her by the lower back as she shimmies down to the middle of the bench. She skids to a seat and I remain standing to her right. I don’t need Claire right now, and I would rather she stay discreetly seated. I tighten my tie and survey my surroundings. I know everyone here, and everyone knows me. I can’t remember most of their names, but they know who I am and they know what I’ve done.

  I’m not looking at the coffin because I don’t want to look at it and imagine its contents. Claire seems fixated on it. I glance quickly to see that it’s tiny. It’s tiny and white and lacquered. Juliette must have been five-nine or five-ten when she was alive; it doesn’t look like she could possibly fit in there. On top of the coffin, white roses and orchids flow abundantly in a huge cascade. Just like Juliette to make everything perfect. Even her death is beautiful.

  I scan the room, forced to lock eyes with people and nod politely, looking for someone in particular. Harrison Doyle, the New York County district attorney, walks through the door and gives me an inappropriately large wave. Harrison has been trying to get me to join him on his side of the law, but I’ll never be anything other than a criminal defense attorney. He’s afraid of me, and he should be. But right now, Harrison is not who I am looking for.