The Burning Manby Phillip Margolin, Campbell Scott (Read by)
Chad Wheeler, an arrogant, self-centered associate in a large Portland, Oregon law firm, disobeys the orders of his father--a senior partner in the same firm--and commits a terrible blunder in a multi-million dollar law suit. Fired from his big city job, and disinherited from his father's will, he is sent in disgrace to work as a public defender in a small Oregon town, where he represents a retarded man who is facing the death penalty for the brutal murder of a college co-ed.
With the same fast-paced plotting that drove his last two novels onto the bestseller lists, and full of twists and surprises, this is a complex legal thriller that is sure to be Margolin's biggest bestseller yet.
"You possess the intelligence to be a good lawyer, but you're lazy and self-centered," Peter Hale's father harangues him just after Peter's arrogance and incompetence shut a client out of a well-deserved settlement, and just before he banishes him to legal serfdom in backwoods Whitaker. Well-tailored Peter fumes as he watches his old school friend Steve Mancini run rings around him in their separate defenses of Christopher Mammon and Kevin Booth, two lugs charged with serious coke possession. But salvation seems at hand when Steve maneuvers Peter into defending Gary Harmon, who's facing the death penalty for aggravated homicide after a third Whitaker State coed is killed with a hatchet. A gung-ho cop's persuaded sweet, retarded Gary, who'd had a public confrontation with an approachable blond who brushed him off shortly before the murder, that the couple he saw necking in Wishing Well Park was actually the killer and his latest victimand then insinuated Gary into the frame by appealing to his psychic powers. And when prosecutor Becky O'Shay's case falters, Kevin Booth, who just happens to be doing his time in the same prison as Gary, passes on a duplicate confession Gary allegedly made to him. Just as Gary, under indictment on a capital crime, is worried that his mother will find out about his skin mags, Peter is worried what the case will do to his budding romance with Beckyuntil the impossible bind that makes Peter realize his real duty is to his client, not his career, and finally points a finger at the guilty party.
Despite the hints of grand conspiracy and grand passion, Margolin (After Dark, 1995, etc.) leaves too little meat on these bones for any but the staunchest fans of legal intrigue, with hollow surprises that arrive too late to save his puny plot.
"Margolin specializes in characters who make your skin crawl."—People
"Margolin's perfectly crafted plot provides plenty of chills"—Chicago Tribune
"[Margolin] weaves disparate subplots and surprise twists into a terrific whodunit."—San Francisco Chronicle
"Intricate plotting and warp-speed suspense. The man knows how to write a legal thriller."—Publishers Weekly
- Random House Audio Publishing Group
- Publication date:
- Edition description:
- Abridged, 4 cassettes, 6 hrs.
- Product dimensions:
- 4.17(w) x 7.06(h) x 1.19(d)
Read an Excerpt
The senior partners in Hale, Greaves, Strobridge, Marquand and Bartlett looked out from corner offices on the fortieth floor of the Continental Trust Building at the rivers, towering mountain and lush green hills that made Portland, Oregon, so unique. Though the skyscraper was new, the firm's quarters were decorated with heavy, dark woods, polished brass fittings and fine old antiques, giving the place an air of timeless quality.
At precisely 7:30 A.M., Peter entered a small, windowless conference room where he and his father met before court every morning to review the witnesses who would testify that day and to discuss any legal issues that might arise. Peter's father still had the same massive build that helped him win second team All-American honors in football and an NCAA wrestling championship at Oregon State in 1956. He owned a full head of white hair and his craggy face was outfitted with a broken nose and a cauliflower ear. Richard Hale practiced law the way he played sports, full steam ahead and take no prisoners. This morning, Peter's father was striding back and forth in front of a low credenza in his shirtsleeves, a phone receiver plastered to his ear, muttering "Jesus Christ!" at increasing decibel levels each time he made a turn.
Peter took off his suit jacket and hung it behind the door on a hanger. He noted with distaste that his father had flung his jacket onto a corner of the long conference table where it lay crumpled in a heap. Richard loved playing the humble, hulking man of the people in front of juries and he thought that the disheveled clothes helped his image. Peter could not imagine wearing a suit that had not been freshlypressed.
"When will you know?" his father barked, as Peter took several files from his attache case and arranged them in a neat pile.
"No, goddamn it, that won't do. We're in the middle of the goddamn trial. We've been in court for two weeks."
Richard paused. His features softened. "I know it couldn't be helped, but you don't know Judge Pruitt."
He paused again, listening intently. Then, his face turned scarlet with anger.
"Look, Bill, this isn't that difficult. I told you I needed the goddamn things two weeks ago. This is what happens when you wait until the last minute.
"Well, you better," Richard threatened, ending the conversation by slamming down the phone.
"What's up?" Peter asked.
"Ned Schuster was in a car wreck," Richard answered distractedly, running his fingers through his hair. "He's in the hospital."
"Schuster. He's supposed to testify today. Now, Bill Ebling says they can't get the papers to court because Schuster had the only copy."
Peter had no idea what his father was talking about. He glanced down at his files. There was one for each witness and one was for a Ned Schuster. When he looked up, his father was leaning against the wall. His face was as pale as chalk and he as rubbing both sides of his jaw vigorously.
"Dad?" Peter asked, frightened by his father's ashen pallor and the beads of sweat that suddenly bathed his face. Instead of answering, Richard grimaced in pain and began rubbing his chest with a clenched fist. Peter froze.
"Heart attack," Richard gasped.
Peter snapped out of his trance and raced around the conference table.
"I need to lie down," Richard managed, as his knees sagged. Peter caught him before he hit the floor.
"Help!" Peter screamed. A young woman stuck her head in the door. Her eyes widened.
"Call 911, fast! My father is having a heart attack."
When Peter looked down, Richard's teeth were clenched and his eyes were squeezed tight. He continued to rub his chest vigorously as if trying to erase his pain.
"Hold on, Dad," Peter begged. "The medics are coming."
Richard's body jerked. His eyes glazed over. The two men were sprawled on the floor. Peter held his father's head in his lap. He was concentrating so hard on his father that he didn't notice the room filling with people.
Suddenly, Richard's eyes opened and he gasped, "Mistrial."
"Don't talk. Please, Dad. Save your strength."
Richard grabbed Peter's wrist and squeezed so hard his fingers left raw, red impressions.
"Must...Mistrial," he managed again.
"Yes, I will," Peter promised, just as someone called, "Let me through." Peter looked toward the doorway. He recognized the older woman who was pushing through the crowd as a nurse the firm had hired to assist in working up personal injury cases. A moment later, Peter was standing on the far side of the conference table as the nurse tried to save his father's life.
The idea of Richard Hale dying sucked the air right out of Peter. He slumped onto a chair just as two medics rushed into the room with oxygen, a stretcher and a portable IV. Peter's mother had died several years ago after a long illness and her death had been expected, but Peter saw his father as a mountain that would last forever. When he looked up he could not see his father through the crush of medical personnel who surrounded him. What if Richard didn't pull through? he asked himself. Peter's heart beat so rapidly he had to will himself to calm down. The anxiety attack passed. He opened his eyes and saw his briefcase and his files. The trial! Peter looked at his watch. It was almost time to go to court. Suddenly, the people in front of the door were backing away and the medics were rushing out of the room with a stretcher that supported his father. Peter wanted to follow them to the hospital, but someone had to tell Mrs. Elliot what had happened and ask Judge Pruitt for a mistrial. There was no way he could see his father now anyway. Peter knew he would probably have to stay in the hospital waiting room for hours before the doctors could tell him anything.
Peter stepped out of the conference room into the hall. It was empty. Everyone had followed the medics to the elevator. Peter walked away from the crowd and left the offices by a back door that opened near the men's room. He was trembling and flushed. He went to the rest room sink and splashed cold water on his face. Then, he leaned forward and looked at himself in the mirror. His brown, blow-dried hair was a mess, his shirt was rumpled and his tie had been wrenched to one side. Peter took out a pocket comb and wet it. When his hair looked presentable, he tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie.
Peter examined himself again. He saw a man whose genetic inheritance from his mother had softened the sharp features his father had contributed. Peter had his father's intense blue eyes, but he also had his mother's smooth, high cheekbones. His nose was straight instead of craggy and his lips were thinner than Richard Hale's. At five feet ten, one hundred and sixty pounds, he was slender and wiry with none of the bulk or height of his father.
Peter straightened up. He felt back in control of himself and the situation. There was nothing he could do for his father now. Richard would be unconscious or drugged for hours. Peter decided that he would quickly explain what happened to the judge before going to the hospital. Certainly, Pruitt would grant a mistrial under the circumstances. No judge would require the trial to go on when the lead counsel had been stricken with a heart attack.
Peter took the elevator to the lobby. The courthouse was only few blocks away. As he rushed toward it, an unsettling thought suddenly occurred to him. Mrs. Elliot was suffering terribly. He could see how hard it was for her to sit through her trial, both physically and emotionally. If a mistrial was declared, Mrs. Elliot would have to suffer through a second trial. In a second trial, the defense would have transcripts of Mrs. Elliot's witnesses and would know all of their strategy. Delay always helped the defendant when the plaintiff had a strong case. And the plaintiff's case was almost finished. Only two short witnesses remained.
Peter paused inside the courthouse doors. Lawyers, litigants, policemen and clerks swirled around him, the noise from dozens of conversations formed a constant din, but he was oblivious to the crowd. Was his father thinking clearly when he told Peter to ask for a mistrial? He had been in unbearable pain. Did his father really want to abort the case when it was going so well? Would Richard even remember his order when he recovered from the trauma of his coronary? Peter was certain that following his father's wishes was not in Mrs. Elliot's best interest, but the thought of disobeying Richard Hale's command terrified him.
Peter realized that he was trembling. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. A lawyer's first duty was to his client. Why, then, had his father told him to ask for a mistrial? It took a moment for the answer to dawn on Peter. Richard Hale had no confidence in Peter's ability to take over the case.
Peter's fear gave way to a sense of outrage. He squared his shoulders and strode across the lobby toward the elevators. By the time the elevator doors opened, Peter was ready to go to court. He would show his father just how good he was. He would win Elliot. Then, he would place the multimillion-dollar judgment in front of Richard Hale, irrefutable proof that he was ready, willing and able to step up to the big time.
Meet the Author
Phillip Margolin is the author of fifteen New York Times bestsellers. Each novel displays a unique, compelling insider’s view of criminal behavior which comes from his long background as a criminal defense attorney who has handled thirty murder cases. He lives in Portland, Oregon.
- Place of Birth:
- New York, New York
- B.A. in Government, American University, 1965; New York University School of Law, 1970
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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This was the third book I've read of Philip Margolin and I am going to read all of them !!!! So many twisits and suspense I just couldn't stop reading.. Now I am going to read another one !!!
Very good book. I kept reading it while walking to work. A few other friends of mine have read the book and couldn't have guessed the murderer until the end. I do agree that Margolin has written better. But I believe that this is one book that every Margolin fan should read.
I really enjoyed this book. It was about a young attorny name Peter Hale. Who work for his father law firm. Peter father Mr.Hale had a mulitimillion dollar case. Peter father was the lead counsel. He had an heart attack. During his attack he told his son to tell the judge to have a mistrial.Peter took it the case in his own hands. He lost the case.When his father returned home he was very upset that he lost the case. His father told him to leave and make it on his on. He the moves to a quiet Oregon town. He was working with a attorny. He then had a case dealing with a psychotic man accused of murder. Peter realized that he will end up killing his client due to greed.He the begins to realize what it takes to be a lawyer.
The plot was good, but I thought the characters were very poorly developed. The main character too immature to be believable and the dialogue was not realistic. The plot itself had a pretty good ending but the 'character ending' was something from a BAD soap opera. Not Margolin's best work by a long shot.