The Second Chair

by Lescroart, John (Author)

• ISBN13: 9780525947752
• ISBN10: 0525947752
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2004-01-01
• Publisher: E P Dutton

Summary

The master of the legal thriller delivers a brilliantly suspenseful novel of deadly secrets, privileged youth, and uncertain justice... Dismas Hardy is finally on top: As a managing partner at his thriving, newly reorganized law firm, he's a rainmaker and fix-it guy for clients leery of taking their chances in a courtroom. Now Hardy's up-and-coming associate, Amy Wu, brings him a high-profile case: Andrew Bartlett, the seventeen-year-old son of a prominent San Francisco family, has been arrested for the double slaying of his girlfriend and his English teacher. The D.A. wants to try him as an adult. Determined to get the case into juvenile court and overwhelmed by the mounting evidence against her client, Wu asks Hardy to sit second chair for her in Bartlett's defense. As the Bartlett case moves swiftly to trial, another series of murders grip the city. An unseen killer seems to be shooting citizens wantonly, and as fear and anxiety build around The Executioner (as he is quickly dubbed in the ensuing media frenzy), Abe Glitsky, the newly promoted deputy chief of the Investigations Bureau, leads the desperate hunt to stop him. With the city on the verge of panic, Hardy and Glitsky are locked in a race against time-to save a client and to catch a murderer. But nothing is what it seems, and as both men's cases twist and turn to their shocking conclusions, the very foundations of San Francisco's legal system will be shaken to the core.

Author Biography

John Lescroart is the bestselling author of fourteen previous novels, including The First Law, The Oath, The Hearing, Nothing but the Truth, and The Thirteenth Juror.

Excerpts

1 Hello.”Amy Wu, please.”This is Amy.”You sleeping? I wake you up?”No. Just lying down for a minute.”So Friday afternoon, you’re not at work?”No. Right. I’m not feeling too well. Who is this anyway?”Hal North. You remember me.”Of course, Mr. North. How are you? How’d you get my home number?”You gave it to us last time, remember?”Right. That’s right. I gave it to you. So how can I help you?”Andrew’s in trouble again.”I’m sorry to hear that. What kind of trouble?”Big trouble. The police just came and arrested him for murder. You still there?”Yeah. Did you say murder? Andrew?”Yeah, I know. But right. Two of ’em, actually.”I’m sorry. Two of what?”What did I just say? You paying attention? Murders. His teacher and his girlfriend.”Where is he now?”They took him to jail. I mean, to the Youth Guidance Center. He’s still not eighteen, or it would have been the jail.”Is that where you’re calling from, the YGC?”No. Me and Linda, we got a benefit tonight, so we’re still home for another two hours at least. We could probably be late to the thing and make it three if you...”I could be over in, say, a half hour.”Good. We’ll be looking for you.” Wu checked herself in the bathroom mirror. No amount of makeup was going to camouflage the swollen bags under her eyes. Half-Chinese and half-black, Wu had a complexion that was dark enough as it was, and when exhaustion got the better of her, the hollows around her eyes deepened. Now, between the crying jags, the lack of sleep and the hangover, Wu thought she looked positively haggard, at least a decade older than her thirty years. Why guys would hit on her looking like this, she didn’t know, but there didn’t seem to be a shortage of them, not since she’d started going out almost every night to find whatever the hell she was seeking in the four months since her father died.Still, prepping herself to visit Hal North, she did her best to make herself presentable. It wouldn’t do to look unprofessional. This was a legal matter, and she knew the potential client had made millions from his chain of multiplex movie theaters. At least he had been worth millions a couple of years ago, when Hal North’s corporate attorney—a classmate from law school—had recommended Wu for criminal work and she’d represented his stepson Andrew for a minor joyride beef. She’d gotten him off with a fine and some community service. The fees at her hourly rate had come to a little under two thousand dollars, but when the judge came down with his wrist-slap judgment, North wrote her a check for ten grand. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or insulted that he assumed he should tip his lawyer.From now on, North had said in his forceful manner, she was his lawyer, that was all there was to it. Andrew, who’d been sullen and distant throughout the entire proceeding, even broke a rare smile and concurred. She’d told them both that though she was flattered that they liked her work, all in all it would be better if the family wouldn’t need a criminal lawyer ever again. They both conceded that she probably had a point.She lay down on the bed for two minutes, timed, with ice wrapped in a dish towel over her eyes. When she got up, she dried her face and started applying eyeshadow again, mascara, lipstick. Her hand was steady enough, which was a nice surprise. This morning, brushing her teeth after she’d gotten home from whatever-his-name’s place a little after dawn, she’d dropped the toothbrush twice before she’d given up, called work for the fouth time in four months—very bad—to say she was sick, and crashed.For a moment she considered calling North back and making another appointment for tomorrow. After all, the Norths had a benefit tonight—it came back to her now, they always had somethi