A multi-state manhunt is underway for a cop killer on the loose. And Dr. Tessa Thorpe, a veteran's counselor, is caught up in the chase.
Donald Darfield, an African-American Iraqi war vet, war-time buddy of the beaten man, and one of Tessa's patients, is holed up in a mountain cabin. Tessa, acting on instinct, sets off to find him, but the swarm of law enforcement officers gets there first, leading to Darfield's dramatic capture.
Now, the only people separating him from the lethal needle of state justice are Tessa and ageing blind lawyer, Nathaniel Bodine. Can they untangle the web tightening around Darfield in time, when the press and the justice system are baying for revenge?
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Winner of Three Awards:
2019 American Fiction Award
National Indie Excellency Award - Best Legal Thriller of 2019
Silver Medal Winner 2019 - Readers' Favorites Awards
Chosen by Wiki.ezvid.com among their list of 10 Gripping and Intelligent Legal Thrillers
Silver Medal Winner 2019 - Readers' Favorites Awards
Chosen by Wiki.ezvid.com among their list of 10 Gripping and Intelligent Legal Thrillers
Reviews for Justice Gone:
The courtroom scenes are wonderfully written...the characters are well described and the author paints a picture of each in the mind of the reader...Strong plot, strong characters and a strong writing style that I really enjoyed. This one is a definite "thumbs-up." Strongly recommend! I look forward to reading additional works by N. Lombardi, Jr.
Kim M Aalaie, Author's Den
One of my favorite suspense novels of the year. It will make you question the legal system.
The Eclectic Review
The courtroom action is excellent, trimmed to the most gripping parts of the trial, with plenty of emotional impact...a fairly realistic portrayal of the way small-town US society works...a fast-moving story with plenty of dramatic moments, and a big twist in the final pages.
Crime Review
Read an Excerpt:
Next, just as Emily had predicted, came a member of the Crime Scene Investigation Unit from the New Jersey State Patrol; however, she had been wrong about the photos because this was the time that Fiske had been planning to introduce them. They were given to the jury to pass around among themselves, and naturally the shock value was not wasted on them, most of the members displaying expressions of disgust as they looked at
the graphic pictures.
The witness,
a tall man in his forties
with his soft brown
hair parted classically on his left side, and wearing tortoiseshell glasses, confirmed what Cavaluzzi had previously testified to
regarding the evidence gathered. The prosecution took a risk by
emphasizing the shoe print found
in the woods
outside Puente’s house, comparing it to the prints they had cast from the combat boots Darfield was wearing when he was captured.
For this, the
witness was allowed to get out of the witness stand and enter the “well,” that empty, sacrosanct space between the bench and the jury, a space that can only be entered with permission.
“As you can see,” the expert said, pointing
to a projected
image on a screen
next to the court reporter’s table, “If we
compare the casts, we’re struck by the extraordinary match in patterns. They are
no doubt the same type of boot, the standard issue military
boots used in the Marines.”
“Thank you, Dr. Robert.”
Dr. Robert put down his pointer on the prosecution’s table
and returned to his seat in the witness box.
“Cross?”
Bodine stood up, having already made the decision to go
into his Stevie Wonder–Ray Charles routine of looking off into odd angles. He started by turning his head toward the upper left,
rather than the expected
straight ahead, a move that practically
assures throwing
the witness off-balance, a shady trick Bodine learned early on in his career. “Dr. Robert, do you know exactly
the date and approximate time that this shoe print was made?” he asked, looking up at the left corner of the ceiling.
“No, of course not. That’s a ridiculous question.”
Bodine swiveled his head to face straight ahead and raised his
eyebrows above his dark sunglasses. “Oh, is it? I thought perhaps it would be important to know when that print was made. Wouldn’t
you?”
Dr. Robert remained quiet for a few seconds,
regretting his rash
reply. “Yes, of course.”
Now Bodine aimed his head toward the right corner of the ceiling. “You have any means of determining that? Chemical tests?”
“No, not exactly…we rely on…” “Radioactive dating?”
Once again the witness was lockjawed, a tightly shut angry
expression on his face. “Are you trying to make a mockery of forensics work, Mr. Bodine?”
Now Bodine snapped his head back to face where he knew the witness box was, his black sunglasses
focused intently on Dr.
Robert. “I don’t think you know the rules here. I ask the questions, you answer them. Answer the question!”
“Objection!”
“Overruled. Witness will answer.”
“No. No such testing
exists.”
“What kind of soil was the shoe print found in?” “Clay-type soil.”
“I should think it was dry at the time you examined
the shoe print, yes?”
“In most
places, yes.”
“But it was a good print though, wasn’t it? I mean in terms of depth into the soil and the details of the sole markings?”
“Yes, it was an excellent sample.”
“Is clay a good material for holding shoe print samples for a
length of time, let’s say, as opposed to sand?”
“Under most circumstances, I would say that is true, clay is an excellent preserver of prints.”
“But, of course, the clay
would have to be wet when the print was made, yes?”
“Yes, of course.”
“When it’s dry, it’s difficult to leave a good print, is that
correct?’
“Correct.”
“So, whoever made that print, made it when the ground was wet?
“That’s a fair assumption.”
Emily handed her father a sheet of paper, which Bodine then held
up in the air. “Your Honor, this is a copy of Defense Exhibit 1,
which the State has already received during the discovery
phase. I ask permission for the witness to examine it.”
The bailiff came, took the sheet of paper, and handed it over to the witness.
Bodine, now ceasing his blind celebrity pantomime, focused his
head right at Dr. Robert. “That is the record of rain days obtained from the New Jersey meteorological department. I’m sure
you recall that we had a very bad drought last
summer; the record you are looking at shows that the last day it rained before
those men were killed was thirty-three days prior. In other
words, according to the discussion
we just had about wet clay, the print could only have been made about a month before those men
were killed. Is that the conclusion
that you would reach?”
Dr. Robert squirmed in the witness chair. “Not necessarily. If there was a constant shade it might remain moist.”
“When you say constant,
you
mean throughout the day, from sunrise to sunset, yes?”
Dr. Robert hesitated for a second, before admitting,
“Yes.” “Was that the case here?”
“When I examined
the print and made the cast, there was some shade, yes.”
“And what time of the day was that?” “I
have to refer to my notes.”
“Just tell us approximately.” “About seven o’clock.”
“That’s nearly sunset for late August, isn’t it?” “I suppose so.”
“So you can’t be sure if there’s any shade there during the
heat of the day?”
“No.”
“Thank you. Now let’s talk about the pattern of the print you
found. Do you know the brand name or model of the boots
Mr. Darfield was wearing when he was arrested, based on the
pattern?”
“Danner USMC, RAT, Hot Weather.” “RAT, rat?”
“Rugged All Terrain. The model is the most common one worn by our men and women serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.
It’s a unisex boot.” He smiled lamely, as if he just made a joke.
“Tell me, Dr. Robert, these military boots, are they available
in retail stores, say, what they
call, Army-Navy shops?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Gotcha, you silly liar! “Are you sure?”
“Objection, Your
Honor,” Fiske shouted, “the witness has already answered the question.”
“Sustained.”
“Sorry,” Bodine said
in mock apology,
“I just
want
to
be clear on this, and an ‘I don’t think so’ is not enough. So let me put it in another way. Dr. Robert,
are you telling me that I myself, an ordinary person, could not purchase these shoes at a retail outlet, even on the internet?”
“I think they would be hard to find.”
Bodine turned and, right on cue, Emily handed him a pair of combat boots, his right hand instinctively receiving
them, as if this were a practiced
act, but then dropping them to remind the
jury of his blindness, which was made more emphatic when Emily
went underneath
the table to retrieve them and tenderly put them in his wavering hands.
“Dr. Robert, I want you to examine
these shoes. Permission to
approach the witness.”
“Denied.
Hand them to the bailiff.”
The bailiff took the shoes and gave them to Dr. Robert.
“Tell me, are these boots similar?”
Dr. Robert took each shoe in turn, examining the soles while
doing a lot of squinting. “I would say, similar, yes, but not exact.”
“How similar?”
“Objection, Your Honor. He’s asking a vague question
that can only have a vague reply, causing the witness to speculate.”
The judge scratched his chin. “Speculate? No, I don’t think so.
Overruled. Witness, answer the question.”
“Very similar.”
Bodine made a slight turn to face in a direction he intuitively knew was where the judge was perched. “Your Honor, if it
pleases the court, I would like to admit these as Defense Exhibit
2. I would further
request that a cast be made of the soles for comparison with State’s exhibits 2A and B, so that the jury can examine for themselves.” The bailiff took the shoes and placed them
on the exhibit table.
“Objection! These items should have been disclosed
during discovery!”
“My investigator just bought them last evening,” Bodine said snidely. “I’m admitting the receipt as well, from Sullivan’s Fish and
Game Shop in
Scranton, with yesterday’s date recorded.”
Fiske snarled, but said nothing. In his head though, a little voice said, Sneaky bastard, he arranged
the purchase weeks ago, with the
understanding of picking them up today and asking for the receipt.
“No more questions,
Your Honor.” “Witness,
you are excused.”
Dr. Robert got out of the witness box, crossed the well, opened the little gate of the bar, and exited the courtroom with a briskness that displayed his foul mood.
The judge addressed the courtroom. “I’m going to order a recess for lunch. Court adjourns until one o’clock.” He banged
his gavel and everyone made a move to leave.
In 1997, while visiting Lao People's Democratic Republic, he witnessed the remnants of a secret war that had been waged for nine years, among which were children wounded from leftover cluster bombs. Driven by what he saw, he worked on The Plain of Jars for the next eight years.
Nick maintains a website with content that spans most aspects of the novel: The Secret War, Laotian culture, Buddhism etc.
His second novel, Journey Towards a Falling Sun, is set in the wild frontier of northern Kenya.
His latest novel, Justice Gone was inspired by the fatal beating of a homeless man by police.
Nick now lives in Phnom Penh, Cambodia
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This was a great book - I can see why it won all those awards. I really enjoyed it.
ReplyDeleteSee my goodreads review:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2821245694