In the Shadow of the Law

by Kermit Roosevelt Narrated by Craig Wasson

Overview

Morgan Siler is one of Washington, D.C.'s most powerful K Street law firms, its roster of clients stocked with multibillion-dollar corporations. The obsessive efforts of its senior partner, Peter Morgan, have transformed it from an old-fashioned business into a veritable Goliath. As Peter reaches the pinnacle of his career, his firm is embroiled in two difficult cases: a pro bono death penalty case in Virginia, and a class action lawsuit brought against Hubble Chemical of Texas after an on site explosion killed dozens of workers.

Assigned to these cases is a group of seasoned partners and young associates struggling to make their way in the firm. Mark Clayton, fresh out of law school, is beginning to loathe the dullness of much of his work and to be frightened by the deterioration of his personal life when he is assigned to the pro bono case. Assisting him is the mercurial Walker Eliot, a brilliant third-year associate whose passion for the law is as great as his skill at unraveling its intricacies. The aggressive, profane, and wildly successful litigator Harold Fineman is leading the Hubble defense, assisted by the new associate Katja Phillips, whose odd combination of efficiency and idealism intrigue him, and Ryan Grady, whose quest to pick up girls is starting to interfere with his work.

In this complex, ambitious, and gripping first novel, Kermit Roosevelt vividly illustrates the subtle and stark effects of the law not only on the lives of a group of lawyers but also on communities and private citizens. In the Shadow of the Law is both a deftly plotted page-turner and a meditation on the life of the law, the organism that is a law firm, and the consequences for those who come within its powerful orbit.

Editorial Reviews

bn.com

This sophisticated legal thriller opens a window into the world of the high-pressure, high-stakes Washington, D.C., law firm, where new associates clock 80-hour weeks as they try to claw their way to partnership. Part of the fun of the book is that it's an insider's look -- the author is a former Supreme Court clerk and a former associate at a D.C. firm who now teaches at the University of Pennsylvania Law School -- but it transcends both that convention and the thriller genre to provide a truly thoughtful meditation on the legal system.

Kirkus Reviews

Fresh young associates and cynical old partners do battle with shifty prosecuting attorneys, soulless corporations, treacherous families and each other, in an issue-packed first novel from a young, famously monikered Penn law professor. Skillfully pitching to the latest generation of young lawyers now facing the shock of the law in practice v. the law in school and wondering whether the career will be worth the huge student loan, Roosevelt sets a brood of Ivy-educated fledglings in a richly feathered nest on K Street. Earnest, sleep-deprived Mark Clayton, equally earnest distance-running Katja Phillips, terminally shallow Ryan Grady and former Supreme clerk Walker Eliot have begun their careers at D.C. power firm Morgan Siler, pulling down six-figure salaries but, with the exception of superstar Walker, nearly collapsing under odious and endless assignments. The firm is girding for battle in the defense of a careless Texas chemical firm against a class action suit featuring a shocking number of dead low-wage workers, and the young associates must learn the ins and outs of the corporate shell game crafted by Morgan Siler to insulate the chemical company from just such pesky problems. Glamour boy Walker, meanwhile, has saddled poor Mark with the pro bono defense of a soon-to-be-executed Virginian whose family seems a little too easily resigned to the man's fate. Alternating trips to the Texas Chernobyl, where the locals despise the Washingtonians and the only motel is a dump, with drives to Norfolk, where the executioner's clock is ticking but the hotel is luxe, Mark begins to piece together the alleged murderer's defense. Meantime, Katja works her way through boxes of documents until sheaccidentally stumbles on unpleasant truths about the toxic fire, unaware that she is becoming ever dearer to the heart of a clever but lonely and much older litigator. And at the top of the heap, the stuffed-shirt son of the firm's founder ponders the idea of a trophy wife. Possibly a roman a clef, but the clef probably fits any number of doors. Entertaining if a little long-winded. Author tour

From the Publisher

“A thoroughly gripping debut novel . . . a major breakthrough.” —Chicago Tribune

“A nifty legal thriller that relies less on creaky plotting and more on complex and believable characters. . . . Shadow masterfully captures the culture of a legal factory: the competitive atmosphere, the overwhelming workload, and the give-and-take between what is right and what is best for clients.” —Entertainment Weekly (grade: A-)

“Readable, informed, sophisticated, often devastating . . . [an] astute character study.” —The Washington Post

“An impressive first novel--with emphasis on both adjectives . . . commendable in its perceptive and witty insights into the post-law-school life of big-firm associates . . . The redeeming quality of Roosevelt's utterly realistic characters is that they know exactly what they are doing. Unlike Faust, they are not tricked or even seduced by the princes of darkness in their gentlemanly garb and corner offices. They step onto the treadmill with their eyes wide open and their antennae firmly in place. They, like the author who created them, understand the world of backstabbing and sucking up they are entering. I recognize these characters. . . . I recommend this novel with real enthusiasm.” —Alan M. Dershowitz, The New York Times Book Review

“A shrewd first novel . . . a graceful performance . . . hugely readable.” —The Philadelphia Inquirer

“[A] complex, ambitious first novel.” —News & Record (Greensboro)

“Shrewd.” —The Charlotte Observer

“Perhaps only once a decade does a brilliant young lawyer write a terrific first novel that suddenly announces him as a first-rate storytelling talent while revealing anew the enormous drama hidden within the colossus that we call the American legal system. Kermit Rooselvelt is such a writer, and In the Shadow of the Law is such a book. A tremendous, satisfying read.” —Colin Harrison, author of The Havana Room

“It wouldn't be wrong to call In the Shadow of the Law a legal thriller, but it would sell the book short. There are suspenseful, devious plots aplenty . . . but it's Shadow's cast of characters that will keep you up at night. Roosevelt writes about the law more passionately and entertainingly than anyone since Scott Turow.” —Time

“This legal thriller combines satisfyingly intricate puzzles with plenty of bite . . . strong characterizations, and insider's knowledge.” —The Christian Science Monitor

“In the Shadow of the Law offers that profoundly pleasurable experience, traveling a great distance with a writer who has smarts and heart.” —The Times-Picayune (New Orleans)

“The mysteries in each case unfold in clever ways, but the real fizz and pop in In the Shadow of the Law comes from the characters, a surprisingly vivid and idiosyncratic bunch. Roosevelt sketches them with such shrewd, witty aplomb that you feel impatient to get back to them whenever he turns to the plot.” —Laura Miller, Salon.com

“Roosevelt has written--and written well--a thoughtful and disturbing legal thriller that is also a meditation on the law itself.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch

“This tour of the professions dark side should not be missed.” —The Week

“In this graceful performance, Roosevelt establishes himself as chronicler of the menagerie. . . . [A] hugely readable novel.” —Knight Ridder newspapers

“Remarkable characters . . . he creates an expertly paced, well-written, readable story in which good and bad are nuanced and the law is shown in all its majesty and intricacy.” —Richmond Times-Dispatch

“Fascinating . . . I could not put the book down.” —The Roanoke Times

“A brilliantly funny, acidly accurate riff . . . coupled with a penetrating moral critique of the way we practice now . . . In the Shadow of the Law stands in the shadow of great realist novels like Stendhal's The Red and the Black and Dickens's Bleak House.” —The American Lawyer

“If you recognize yourself in any of the moral-lacking or morale-lacking characters, seek immediate help.” —The Legal Intelligencer

“This outstanding debut . . . offers a fascinating insider's look into the culture of a high-stakes firm, while also presenting a considered meditation on the law itself and its potential to compromise those driven to practice it. Most of all it's the vividness and complexity of the characters--drawn with the precision and authority of a winning legal argument--that heralds the arrival of an exciting new voice.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Product Details

BN ID:	2940171995348
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	05/17/2005
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

IN THE SHADOW OF THE LAW

A Novel

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By KERMIT ROOSEVELT

FARRAR, STRAUS AND GIROUX

Copyright © 2005 Kermit Roosevelt
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-374-26187-3

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Prologue

September 23, 1999 Alanton, Virginia, 6:30 a.m.

Detective Ray Robideaux pulled his cruiser to the curb in front of a small clapboard house. Morning shadows hung long down the empty street. People in this neighborhood tended to sleep in, perhaps because few of them had much to get up early for. Through the quiet air Robideaux could hear the rumble of traffic from a highway overpass. Approaching the house, he flipped open the snap of his holster and glanced at his partner. Bill Campbell's gun was already out, held low at his side. Robideaux tried the doorknob, which turned in his hand, and he knocked. The wood was soft under his knuckles and resounded hollowly. "Police," he called. "We have a warrant to enter this building." By his side Campbell counted seconds off in a whisper. At eight he nodded and Robideaux threw the door open.

The uncertain dawn spilled inside the house, revealing shabby furniture and the faint glow of a television. From the couch a man turned dull eyes on the officers. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt that looked like it had been slept in, and from a quick whiff, Robideaux guessed he'd made a start on the day's drinking. Or, at this hour, that the night wasn't quite over.

"Earl Harper?" he asked. The man grunted an affirmative. "Where's your boy?"

"He ain't here," Harper answered. "What right you got to come bustin' through my door?"

"We have a warrant for the arrest of your son," Robideaux told him. "For the murder of Leslie Anne Clarke. It'll go easier if you cooperate with us, now." He looked up as a woman in a housecoat entered the room. "Mrs. Beth Harper?"

The woman ignored him. "Don't you lie to the police, Earl," she said. "You know what they're here for." Harper shook his head. He lifted a bottle from the floor and took a deliberate pull.

"Ma'am," said Robideaux. "We need to ask your son some questions."

Harper gave a guttural laugh that exploded into a phlegmy cough. "You can ask him all you want. I don't think you'll be getting many answers." His wife's face tightened. She drew the coat closer around her and, as Robideaux watched, jerked her head almost imperceptibly to the side. He followed her gesture down an unlit hall. The door yielded to his touch, and he entered, one hand on the butt of his pistol, squinting into the darkness.

The room was small and cluttered. As Robideaux's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see clothes on the floor and clumps of dust that looked long undisturbed. Squalor and solitude, the parents of violence. Unidentified shapes slowly resolved themselves into tattered dolls and children's toys, used and broken beyond repair. For a moment Robideaux wondered if he'd stumbled into the wrong room, but the figure in the bed bulked man-sized. The detective fumbled for a light, found the switch, and flicked it on. The figure sat up, blinking.

"Wayne Harper?" A slow puzzled nod. Robideaux pulled the cuffs from his belt and wrestled the man facedown, pulling his wrists behind his back.

"You hurtin' me," Wayne complained thickly.

"You are under arrest for the murder of Leslie Anne Clark," Robideaux said. "You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say may be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed to defend you at the state's expense. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?"

"You hurtin' me," Wayne repeated. "What'd I do to you?"

Robideaux pulled him to a sitting position, let him sag against the wall. Wayne Harper was a big soft man, his cheeks sprouting the tawny stubble of early morning, his close-cropped hair thinning on top. His face was empty of expression, his eyes a pale, vacant blue. Robideaux felt a familiar disappointment. Eighteen years he'd been on the force, working his way up, making his share of arrests. Tracking down the predators. Just once he'd have liked to have them spit at him in defiance, cry out that they would never be taken alive. Or at least resist. Many times, at the end of an investigation, steeped in the crime, he'd hoped for a little resistance at the collar. But no. The drunks on the street resisted, unable to calculate consequences. But no. The drunks on the street resisted, unable to calculate consequences. But the ones he came for with a warrant had time to think it through, to act innocent and surprised. Too many cop shows.

"Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" Robideaux repeated.

Campbell stepped into the room, holstering his pistol. "That him, Ray?"

"Seems so."

"Ugly son of a bitch, ain't he? He ask for a lawyer?"

Ray shook his head. On the bed, Wayne Harper frowned, his lips moving. He looked toward the two officers. "A what?" he said.

Mayfield, Texas, 5:30 a.m.

Janette Guzman was getting blisters. The work boots she was wearing had been on sale, but they weren't quite the right size, and they were men's and they pinched her feet in some places and let them slide in others as she patrolled the perimeter of the Hubble factory. She hadn't wanted to be a fencewalker in the first place. It was lonely work, with bad hours and occasional danger, but there weren't a lot of opportunities for a girl with a GED and no job training. There were tech dollars in Austin, there was oil cash in Midland, but none of that was coming her way. At least not yet. Things might be different with a junior college degree or vocational schooling. But that took money, and money in Mayfield was mostly locked into the operations of Hubble Chemical. Which was why she was pacing the grounds of the main factory with a burning sensation growing on the outside of her right heel.

The factory was a gray concrete block, featureless but for infrequent windows. It was the tallest structure in Mayfield, save the water tower, but wide enough to look squat. In the daylight it seemed to have dropped from the sky, flattening on impact. Now it was just a dark bulk looming in Janette's peripheral vision. Her flashlight's beam played across the fence, up to the razor wire, down to the hard-baked dust. Some feet beyond, an incurious armadillo trundled by. She took a deep breath of the cold night air, looking up to the vastness of the spangled sky, then raised the radio to her lips. "West four," she said. "All clear." Then she bent down to pull on her sock, and that was how she missed the first shy flames showing through the factory windows. She saw what followed, though.

With a deep roar, a blast swelled up through the building. The windows burst in a glistening rain of glass, and thick black smoke followed. For a few moments Janette watched, stunned, as backlit figures struggled from the plant, turned strange pirouettes, dropped to the ground. "Marty," she said into the radio. "Something's happened. There's been an explosion. There's a fire."

The reply crackled back. "What? Say again."

"You'd better send someone. There's a big fire. There are people running out of the plant." She paused, watching the figures against the glow. Another explosion shook the building. "They're dancing. I don't know. They're falling down. They're sort of twitching." She stumbled and realized that she had backed up into the fence, its chain links pressing against her body. The firelight dimmed, obscured by smoke, then reasserted itself. She turned and through the fence saw jackrabbits bounding away, the armadillo lumbering awkwardly, its scales a fading gleam. A thought flashed irrelevantly through her mind, a rhyme learned from a library book: Something wicked this way comes. "Marty, the gate's locked."

"What?"

Janette tugged the handle. "This gate's locked. I can't get out." The radio made no reply, and she let it fall to the ground, taking hold of the fence, pulling herself up. Her boots scraped uselessly against the metal, too large to find a foothold, and she gave a high cry of frustration as she dropped like a supplicant to her knees, fingers meshed with the unyielding wire. She caught her breath and looked back at the factory, watching the roiling smoke, black against the fire, blacker than the black sky. A chemical scent laced the air now, stinging her eyes, burning her throat. She fumbled for the radio. "Marty, this smoke is poisonous. I can't ... Tell ... Oh, God, I don't know ... Tell ..."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from IN THE SHADOW OF THE LAW by KERMIT ROOSEVELT Copyright © 2005 by Kermit Roosevelt. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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