Running from the Law

From Publishers Weekly Scottoline's hardcover debut is a fast-paced, fast-talking legal thriller starring manipulative Philadelphia lawyer Rita Morrone, who is not above wearing black and wiping a nonexistent tear from her eye to advance her case in front of a jury. Rita, who narrates, is defending federal judge Fiske Hamilton, father of her boyfriend Paul, in a sexual harassment suit. Things go from bad to worse when, after Rita discovers evidence of more than just harassment, the woman pressing the suit is found murdered, with the judge as the prime suspect. In defending Hamilton, Rita has to face things about herself, her career and her relationship with Paul that she doesn't particularly want to acknowledge. All of this is window-dressing to the plot, which hinges on a least-likely-suspect mystery; but, through Scottoline's expert design, the window-dressing counts for much, turning this novel into something more than just a legal thriller from a female point of view. There's an intelligent sense of irony at work?from Rita's budding romance with the firm womanizer to her response to a personal tragedy that sounds a dark counterpoint to the masquerade of grief that opens the novel. Fans of Scottoline's paperback novels (the Edgar-winning Final Appeal and the Edgar-nominated Everywhere That Mary Went) will appreciate this offering, including how the author taps into her personal expertise as a former lawyer to advance plot and character; hopefully, the book's publication in hardcover will attract the new fans she deserves. $50,000 ad/promo; simultaneous HarperAudio; author tour; U.K., translation and dramatic rights: Columbia Literary Assoc. Copyright 1995 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the audio_download edition. Lisa Scottoline is a New York Times bestselling author and serves as president of the Mystery Writers of America. She has won the Edgar Award, as well as many other writing awards. She also writes a Sunday humor column for the Philadelphia Inquirer , titled "Chick Wit," with her daughter, Francesca Serritella. There are thirty million copies of Lisa's books in print, and she has been published in thirty-two countries. She lives in Pennsylvania with an array of disobedient but adorable pets. Since her debut in Animal House, Karen Allen has starred in over 20 films; among them are Manhattan, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Starman, Malcolm X, and The Perfect Storm. --This text refers to the audio_download edition. From AudioFile Trial lawyer Rita Morrone defends powerful Judge Fiske Hamilton against a sexual abuse charge, then a murder charge. The novel is more than a legal thriller. It's also a good story about trust and relationships. The best scenes are explosive exchanges between Rita and her live-in lover, the judge's son. Here Karen Allen's narration is superb as she delivers each verbal blow with passion and conviction. Allen also maintains a good pace as she goes from the tension in the courtroom to the human passions outside. This is a good audio presentation, which lifts a well-crafted story to a higher level. I.Z. (c)AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to the audio_download edition. From Library Journal Against her better judgment, Rita Morrone, a smart-mouthed, poker-playing young lawyer, agrees to represent her lover's father, a respected judge, against a sexual harassment charge brought by his secretary. As she prepares to go to trial, little does she know that her lover, Paul, is also involved in the case and that the lady in question will end up murdered; furthermore, she doesn't suspect that her own life and that of her father will lie in the balance. Yet as she investigates, it becomes increasingly clear that the good judge is being framed. Despite her fury at Paul for his infidelity and her concern for her father, she does her homework and?with a little help from her octogenarian poker cronies?deftly nails the murderer. Readers of courtroom fiction will love this latest by Scottoline, who was nominated for an Edgar Award for Final Appeal (HarperCollins, 1994). Recommended for public libaries.?Susan Clifford, Hughes Aircraft Co. Lib., Los AngelesCopyright 1995 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the audio_download edition. "Sharp, intelligent, funny, and hip. . . .[Scottoline]gives fans of legal thrillers a good, twisty plot."-- "USA Today""Mary Higgins Clark meets Susan Isaacs meets John Grisham."-- "Philadelphia Magazine""Rita Morrone has a smart way with words and a shifty code of ethics, attributes that give this Philadelphia trail lawyer a jump on the legal competition."-- "New York Times Book Review""Quick, witty, flavorful and absorbing."-- Richard North Patterson"Filled with fast-paced action, tantalizing plot twists and the unforgettable Rita, "Running from the Law" is a completely satisfying novel of suspense and human drama."-- "Philadelphia Inquirer" --This text refers to the audio_download edition. From Booklist Lawyer Rita Morrene has moxie: she can posture in front of a jury, play poker with the boys, bluff her way though tight situations, and even fend off a gun-waving killer. The springboard for putting her brass in motion is a sexual harassment suit in which the accuser suddenly dies of unnatural causes. Because Morrene's client, a blue-blooded judge, had ample incentive to see the scandalous suit disappear, he becomes the prime suspect in the case. But the intrepid Morrene, with trademark sarcastic asides at the ready, soon adds suspects of her own, for the victim, it turns out, was a brazen minx who bedded many men, any of whom could have wanted the girl dead. Morrene's strategem for sorting out the candidates (who include her own boyfriend, which stokes up women-scorned atmospherics) cleverly flushes out the real killer, whose motive wasn't resentment about sex but greed connected with the original lawsuit. Against a carnival-like cast of characters, the author has created a star heroine whose savvy is worth a sequel or two. Gilbert Taylor --This text refers to the audio_download edition. Whether it's poker or trial law, wisecracking Rita Morrone plays to win, especially when she takes on the defense of the Honorable Fiske Hamilton, a prominent federal judge accused of sexual harassment. And it's no coincidence that the judge is her live-in lover's father. Then the action turns deadly, and Rita finds herself at the center of a murder case. She probes deep into the murder, uncovering a secret life and suspects in shocking places. When the killer viciously ups the ante, Rita decides to end this lethal game. She lays it all on the line for the highest stakes ever—her life. --This text refers to the mass_market edition. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Excerpt Any good poker player will tell you the secret to a winning bluff is believingit yourself. I know this, so by the time I cross-examined the last witness, Ibelieved. I was in deep, albeit fraudulent, mourning. Now all I had to do wasconvince the jury. "Would you examine this document for me, sir?" I said, my voice hoarse withfake grief. I did the bereavement shuffle to the witness stand and handed anexhibit to Frankie Costello, a lump of a plant manager with a pencil-thinmustache. "You want I should read it?" Costello asked. No, I want you should make a paper airplane. "Yes, read it, please." Costello bent over the document, and I snuck a glance at the jury through myimaginary black veil. A few returned my gaze with mounting sympathy. The trialhad been postponed last week because of the death of counsel's mother, but thejury wasn't told which lawyer's mother had died. It was defense counsel's motherwho'd just passed on, not mine, but don't split hairs, okay? You hand me an ace,I'm gonna use it. "I'm done," Costello said, after the first page. "Please examine the attachments, sir." "Attachments?" he asked, cranky as a student on the vocational track. "Yes, sir." I leaned heavily on the burled edge of the witness stand andlooked down with a mournful sigh. I was wearing black all over: black suit,black pumps, black hair pulled back with a black grosgrain ribbon. My eyes wereraccoony, too, but from weeks of lost sleep over this trial, which had beenslipping through my manicured fingers until somebody choked on her last chickenbone. "Give me a minute," Costello said, tracing a graph with a stubby finger. "Take all the time you need, sir." He labored over the chart as the courtroom fell silent. The only sound wasthe death rattle of an ancient air conditioner that proved no match for aPhiladelphia summer. It strained to cool the large Victorian courtroom, one ofthe most ornate in City Hall. The courtroom was surrounded by rose marblewainscotting and its high ceiling was painted robin's-egg blue with gold crownmolding. A mahogany rail contained the jury, and I stole another glance at them.The old woman and the pregnant mother in the front row were with me all the way.But I couldn't read the grim-faced engineer who'd been peering at me allmorning. Was he sympathetic or suspicious? "I'm done," Costello said, and thrust the exhibit at me in a Speedy Gonzalesfit of pique. We don't need no steenking badges . "Thank you," I said, meaning it. It was a mistake not to keep the exhibit.You'll see why. "Mr. Costello, have you had an adequate opportunity to readJoint Exhibit 121?" "Yeh." "This isn't the first time you've seen these documents, is it, sir?" My voiceechoed in the empty courtroom. There were no spectators in the pews, not eventhe homeless. The Free Library was cooler, and this trial was boring even meuntil today. "Nah," Costello said. "I seen it before." "You prepared the memorandum yourself, didn't you?" "Yeh." Costello shifted in the direction of his lawyer, George W. VandivoortIV, the stiff-necked fellow at the defense table. Vandivoort wore a pin-stripedsuit, horn-rimmed glasses, and a bright-eyed expression. He manifested none ofthe grief of a man who had buried his own mother only days ago, which was finewith me. I had rehearsed enough grief for both of us. "Mr. Costello, did you send Exhibit 121 to Bob Brown, director of operationsat Northfolk Paper, with a copy to Mr. Saltzman?" Costello paused, at a loss without the memo in front of him. Who can rememberwhat they just read? Nobody. Who would ask for the memo back? Everybody exceptan Italian male. "I think so," he said slowly. "And you sent Mr. Rizzo a blind copy, isn't that correct, sir?" He tried to remember. "Yeh." "Just so I'm clear on this, a blind copy is when you send a memo or letter tosomeone, but the memo doesn't show that you did, isn't that right?" A point withno legal significance, but juries hate blind copies. "Yeh. It's standard procedure to Mr. Rizzo, Mr. Dell'Orefice, and Mr.Facelli." Even better, it sounded like the Mafia. I glanced at one of the black jurors,who was frowning deeply. He lived in Southeast Philly on the ragged fringe ofthe Italian neighborhood, and had undoubtedly taken his share of abuse. Hisfrown meant I had collected six jurors so far. But what about the engineer? Itried to look sadder. Suddenly an authoritative cough issued from the direction of the judge'spaneled dais. "Ms. Morrone, I don't appreciate what you're doing," snapped theHonorable Gordon H. Kroungold, a sharp Democrat who was elevated to the benchfrom an estates practice, where nobody would ever dream of exploiting someone'sdeath. At least not in open court. "I don't appreciate what you're doing atall ." "I'm proceeding as quickly as I can, Your Honor," I said, looking innocentlyup at the dais. It towered above my head, having been built in a time when wethought judges belonged on pedestals. "That's not what I meant, Ms. Morrone." Judge Kroungold smoothed down atriangle of frizzy hair with an open hand. He wetted his hair down with waterevery morning, but after the second witness it would reattain its loft. "It'syour demeanor I'm having a problem with, counsel." Stay calm. Your mother's not even cold, poor baby. "I'm afraid I don'tunderstand, Your Honor." Judge Kroungold's dark eyes glowered. "Approach the bench, Ms. Morrone. You,too, Mr. Vandivoort." "Of course, Your Honor," Vandivoort said, jumping up and hustling over. Hismother's death had put such a spring into his step that he almost beat me to thedais. An inheritance, no doubt. "Ms. Morrone, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Judge Kroungoldasked, stretching down over his desk. "Is this some kind of stunt?" Gulp. "I beg your pardon?" "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." "Your Honor?" "Please." Judge Kroungold looked around for his court reporter and waved himover irritably. "Wesley, I want this on the record." The court reporter, an older black man with oddly grayish skin, picked up thestenography machine by its steel tripod and huddled with us at the front of thedais. A sidebar conversation is out of the jury's hearing, but not the appellatecourt's. The word disbarment flitted across my mind, but I shooed itaway. "Ms. Morrone," Judge Kroungold said, "please tell me, on the record, that I'mnot seeing what I think I'm seeing." "I don't understand what you mean, Your Honor. What is it you're seeing?" "No, Ms. Morrone. No, no, no. Nuh-uh. You tell me exactly what you're doing."Judge Kroungold leaned so far over that I experienced a fine spray of judicialsaliva. " You tell me . Right now." "I'm conducting my cross-examination of this final witness, Your Honor." The judge's liver-colored lips set in a determined line. "So it would appear.But let me state for the record that you seem very tired today, Ms. Morrone.Very lethargic. One would even say that you seem depressed ." I didn't know he cared. "Your Honor, I am tired. It's been a long trial andI've worked this case myself. I don't have the associates Mr. Vandivoort does,from Webster & Dunne," I said, loud enough for the jury to hear. Judge Kroungold's eyes slipped toward the jury, then bored down into me."Lower your voice, counsel. Now." Win some, lose some. "Yes, sir." "I would never have expected to see something like this in my courtroom. ForGod's sake, you're even wearing a black suit!" "I noticed that, too," Vandivoort added, as it began to dawn on him. "Your Honor," I said, "I've worn this suit to court many times." "Not in this trial you haven't," the judge spat back. Literally. "And nomakeup. Last week you had on lipstick, but not today. What happened to that pinklipstick? Too bright ?" Time to raise him. "Your Honor, why are we discussing my clothing and makeupin court? Do you make comments of this sort to the male attorneys who appearbefore you?" Judge Kroungold blinked, then his eyes narrowed. "You know damn well I wasn'tmaking . . . comments." "With all due respect, Your Honor, I find your comments inappropriate. Iobject to them and to the tenor of this entire sidebar as an unfortunate exampleof gender bias." His mouth fell so far open I could see his bridgework. "What? I'm not biasedagainst you. In fact, I took great pains in my instruction not to tellthe jury whose mother had died, in order to avoid undue sympathy for thedefense. You, Ms. Morrone, are giving the jury the distinct and entirely falseimpression that it was your mother who died and not Mr. Vandivoort's." Excerpted from Running From the Law by Lisa Scottoline. Copyright © 1995 by Lisa Scottoline. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Copyright © 1995 Lisa Scottoline.All rights reserved.ISBN: 0-06-109411-0 --This text refers to the mass_market edition. Read more