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The Hanging Judge: A Novel

The Hanging Judge: A Novel

3.8 40
by Michael Ponsor

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This New York Times–bestselling legal thriller offers an inside view of a federal death penalty trial from the rare perspective of the presiding judge.

When a drive-by shooting in Holyoke, Massachusetts, claims the lives of a drug dealer and a hockey mom volunteering at an inner-city clinic, the police arrest a rival gang member. With no


This New York Times–bestselling legal thriller offers an inside view of a federal death penalty trial from the rare perspective of the presiding judge.

When a drive-by shooting in Holyoke, Massachusetts, claims the lives of a drug dealer and a hockey mom volunteering at an inner-city clinic, the police arrest a rival gang member. With no death penalty in Massachusetts, the US attorney shifts the double homicide out of state jurisdiction into federal court so he can seek a death sentence.

The Honorable David S. Norcross, a federal judge with only two years on the bench, now presides over the first death penalty case in the state in decades. He must referee the clash between an ambitious female prosecutor and a brilliant veteran defense attorney in a high-stress environment of community outrage, media pressure, vengeful gang members, and a romantic entanglement that threatens to capsize his trial—not to mention the most dangerous force of all: the unexpected.

Written by judge Michael Ponsor, who presided over Massachusetts’s first capital case in over fifty years, The Hanging Judge explores the controversial issue of capital punishment in a dramatic and thought-provoking way that will keep you on the edge of your seat. It is “a crackling court procedural” (Anita Shreve) and “gripping legal thriller” (Booklist) perfect for fans of Scott Turow.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Despite the author’s credentials—Ponsor is a sitting federal judge who in 2000 presided over Massachusetts’s first capital case in more than 50 years—his attempt to draw on his professional experience for a legal thriller falls flat. Judge David Norcross, who has the requisite tragic personal backstory (a dead wife), is assigned the case of twice-convicted drug dealer Clarence Hudson, who gunned down another drug dealer and a nurse caught in the cross fire in a rundown Holyoke, Mass., neighborhood. A political decision to charge Hudson federally exposes him to the death penalty. That the case is problematic early on undercuts some of the tension from the trial scenes, while a gratuitous act of violence near the end undermines what hitherto has been a realistic portrayal of a judge’s life. Unconvincing interludes with a potential romantic partner don’t help (“An enormous moment was rolling toward him, and it was hoisting David’s innards like a swelling wave”). Agent: Robin Straus, Robin Straus Agency. (Dec.)
From the Publisher
“I thoroughly enjoyed The Hanging Judge. . . . Among its many virtues, the book will remind many readers that the judicial process is not infallible.” —Former Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens

“There are plenty of surprises to keep readers turning pages. Ponsor gives readers a unique look into the workings of a courtroom. But more than that, he demonstrates a feel for how ordinary families are affected by the legal system. Ponsor’s debut would make a great movie.” —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“That rare gem: a crackling court procedural with authentic characters and beautiful prose.” —Anita Shreve, author of The Pilot’s Wife

“A masterful work that took me inside the courtroom, behind the bench, and into the hearts and minds of a cast of unforgettable characters. . . . Thrilling, perfectly paced, beautifully written, witty, so very smart and so satisfying.” —Elinor Lipman, author of Then She Found Me

“A marvelous entertainment, a page-turning mystery full of romance and humor, which takes us inside the fraught and rather secretive world of a judge’s chambers. In the best way—that is, indirectly—Ponsor informs us about the facts that ought to inform debate on the death penalty. What impressed me most of all was the book’s authority; it has the heft of authenticity.” —Tracy Kidder, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of Mountains Beyond Mountains

“Novels have shown us what it’s like to be a juror, an attorney, even the defendant, but this is the first I’ve read that puts us up on the bench—a knowing, nuanced portrait of a judge and the often imperfect system he watches over.” —Joseph Kanon, author of Istanbul Passage

“A compelling tale, with a cast of vividly drawn characters and a plot that twists and turns—it entertains, as a good novel should, but even better, it also informs, as only the best ones do.” —Jonathan Harr, author of A Civil Action

“A debut that reads like the work of an accomplished master. A suspenseful page-turner written from the unique perspective not of a lawyer or defendant, but of the judge. I’ve never before read a book—either fiction or non-fiction—that conveys the dilemma of the death penalty with such a combination of sophistication and humanity.” —Joe McGinniss, author of Fatal Vision

“Written with precision and heartfelt passion for the law, this riveting courtroom thriller brings the legal system to life. Filled with memorable characters, infused with a deep understanding of the death penalty and the complex interchange between crime, the police and the justice system, The Hanging Judge is an electric story, well told.” —John Katzenbach, author of Hart’s War

“Both an ode to the law in all its glory and a reflection on its sometimes tragic limitations, Michael Ponsor’s The Hanging Judge will appeal to courtroom insiders as well as readers more generally drawn to a taut story well told. Set in western Massachusetts, at the center of the action is a series of trials, historic, present-day, and of the heart. The verdict: this debut author—a federal judge in his other life—is guilty of a tour de force and, we can only hope, the start of a rich new career.” —Madeleine Blais, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of In These Girls, Hope Is a Muscle

“Ponsor is a talent to watch. . . . The Hanging Judge is that rarity: a story that grips the reader even as it teaches some fine points of criminal procedure.” —The Washington Post
Kirkus Reviews
★ 2013-11-17
A legal thriller written by, and from the viewpoint of, a federal judge. A drive-by shooting in the central Massachusetts city of Holyoke kills two people, including a Puerto Rican man and a middle-class white woman. The state has no death penalty, but the case is moved to federal court, where a death sentence is possible. A black man, Moon Hudson, stands accused of capital murder and drug dealing. Innocent or guilty, Hudson is no angel, and some in his neighborhood want him to get the lethal injection that the prosecutor is looking for. The Honorable David Norcross must preside over the trial in which a pair of smart, determined attorneys face off against each other. Can Norcross ensure a fair trial and prevent a circus? Woven into the tale is the true story of two Massachusetts men hanged in 1806 on the basis of spurious testimony. As Irish Catholics, the accused didn't stand a chance--they truly faced a hanging judge. But Judge Norcross is nothing like that, being portrayed as a thoroughly professional judge and a likable widower whose idea of profanity is saying "Criminey!" He falls in love with a woman, providing a subplot that threatens to ruin the trial but otherwise highlights the judge's humanity. Meanwhile, there are plenty of surprises to keep readers turning pages. Ponsor gives readers a unique look into the workings of a courtroom. But more than that, he demonstrates a feel for how ordinary families are affected by the legal system. Ponsor's debut would make a great movie.

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Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
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Judge Norcross Novels
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The Hanging Judge

By Michael Ponsor


Copyright © 2013 Michael Ponsor
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4190-3


Fifteen miles south, well beyond the sound of the sirens, the Honorable David S. Norcross, U.S. District Judge for the District of Massachusetts, Western Division, looked down from the bench, preparing for his millennium. Today, according to his law clerk, would be his eighty-fourth sentencing. At an average of twelve years per sentence, which was conservative, this meant that in two years on the bench he would have handed down more than one thousand years in prison. He had assumed that by now this would be getting easier. He'd assumed wrong.

Fate had reserved an especially grim task for the judge this morning. The alleged crack dealer he was sentencing was an obese kid in his mid-twenties with a thin ponytail and a spatter of acne across his forehead. Unlike most defendants, however, this one was quite possibly innocent. Certainly, if the case had been tried to him, and not to a jury, Norcross would have found a reasonable doubt and acquitted the man. But the eight women and four men who made up the jury had believed the government's informant, apparently, and Norcross's hands were tied.

The defendant was hunched over the counsel table, bouncing his shoulders and knees as though he were chilly. Was he okay? He seemed to sense the judge's concern and looked up. Their eyes met for a bottomless instant, and the young man squared himself and nodded. He was not going to fall apart.

Norcross, relieved, returned the nod, but as he drew breath to speak, a gulping sob rose from one of the two women seated at the rear of the courtroom. The judge held off, not wanting to seem indifferent, and curious to know which woman the sound came from. The mother or the girlfriend?

It was the defendant's mother, bent forward with both hands over her face. It was almost always the mother. The girlfriend sat with a baby in her lap, her hard eyes staring into the air in front of her.

Norcross never knew what to make of this. The mother might be refusing to believe that her son had gone back to his old street life. The girlfriend might know, or suspect, that he had and might be royally steamed. But maybe these women just had different ways of confronting despair, an emotion Norcross knew well. He took a sip of water and replaced the paper cup at arm's length where it would not soak the presentence report if he knocked it over.

All the applicable procedures had been respected; the defendant had received, technically speaking, his fair trial. The attorneys had made their pitches, and the defendant had exercised his right of allocution—his entitlement to speak before being sentenced, no matter how hopeless the situation might be. In a few minutes now, the sentencing would be over. This evening, the judge would go home, pour himself a Jack Daniel's, and unburden himself in a long soliloquy to his dog.

Norcross shifted his gaze to the right, still hesitating. Through the tall windows behind the jury box a distant bouquet of red and orange was visible and behind that the gold line of a hill under a bright sky. The foliage was at its peak.

A murmur from somewhere in the courtroom brought him back. Time to put the knife in.

"Pursuant to the Sentencing Reform Act of 1984, and having considered the factors enumerated at 18 U.S. Code Section 3553(a), it is the judgment of this court that the defendant be remanded to the custody of the Bureau of Prisons for a term of life without possibility of parole."

The mother's moan—"Oh God!"—set the defendant's knees jiggling again. He rubbed something out of his eye, but he held on. The baby, squeezed too hard perhaps, began whimpering in his mother's arms. Norcross pushed his papers to one side.

"Defendant will remain in the custody of the United States marshal pending designation of the facility where he will be permanently housed. Will there be anything further?"

Defense counsel and the assistant U.S. attorney stood and spoke simultaneously.

"No, Your Honor."

The defense lawyer's eyes were smoldering with disgust, but he could not fairly blame the judge. The term was mandatory. The AUSA, compelled by the statute and, the judge suspected, by her politically ambitious boss to reject all deals and insist on a sentence she must have known was out of whack, looked away and shuffled her papers glumly. Crack was bad stuff, sure, Norcross thought but, even assuming the defendant is guilty, do we really have to lock him up for the next fifty or sixty years?

"We'll be in recess."

The courtroom deputy called out, "All rise!" Everyone stood, even the mother and the stone-faced girlfriend. The defendant got to his feet, blinked back at the crying infant, and automatically pressed his wrists behind his back. While the judge walked out of the courtroom, he heard the familiar scritch of the cuffs going on.

David Norcross was a tall man, and as he loped down the hallway to his chambers, his head bobbed as though he were ducking under a beam every third step. His law clerk Frank Baldwin trotted two steps behind him like a fat squire pursuing a lanky knight.

"Well, that sure sucked," Frank said amiably.

"Go talk to Congress," Norcross said over his shoulder. "Two priors plus fifty grams of crack equals life. No discretion. I'm not a judge. I'm an adding machine for crying out loud."

Frank drew closer. "Some priors! Senior year in high school he sells two baggies of pot. Then he hits some guy with a stick in a fight over his girlfriend."

"It was enough to tie me down." Norcross quickened his step, eager for the comfort of his large desk and the distraction of the next case.

"Do you really think he set up the deal? I mean ..."

Norcross broke in. "The jury thought so, Frank. The buck stops there." He shoved open the door to his chambers suite.

"How about the brain?"

Norcross frowned back at Frank. Then, without saying anything, he turned toward his inner office and the fresh stack of files waiting for him.


While Judge Norcross was putting another life sentence behind him, Holyoke patrolman Alex Torricelli was stuck in traffic, late for roll call, and having the worst day of his life. He strained his thick neck to peer over the backed-up cars. What was the problem? Construction again? Some pileup?

Alex had been a police officer for eight years, happily married for the last five. He was crazy about his wife, Janice, but for reasons that were beyond him now he had celebrated the Columbus Day holiday yesterday with a foolhardy tumble at the Motel 6 in Deerfield, the first and only time he had swerved on his wife, and somehow—he couldn't figure how—Janice immediately knew what was up. In thirty sick-making seconds during this morning's breakfast, she'd managed to tip over the entire, well-rehearsed load of bullshit he tried to dump on her.

Groaning, he tried again to see what was causing the traffic. Forget this, Alex thought. Try a shortcut.

He lunged into the oncoming lane, made a flagrantly illegal U-turn, and gunned it. A half mile through the broken-down Flats and then a left—a roundabout route, but it might save him two days' suspension without pay.

While he drove, scenes from the morning's horror movie replayed in his mind: his wife's furious face as she pegged a jar of grape jelly at him, the crash of the kitchen clock hitting the floor, the looping image of his pathetic self, dodging shoes and crockery, begging her not to go, admitting in two languages that he was the duke of dipshits. Everything he really cared about down the drain, all because of his own unbelievable stupidity.

Now they were going to tear off a piece of his ass for missing roll call, and he couldn't even tell the shift commander the real reason he was late.

It didn't help that his older brother, Tony, would bust a gut laughing about this. A law-school grad with all the family brains and good looks, Tony enjoyed boasting nonstop about the many women he'd shagged behind Cindy's back and the stupendous ejaculations he enjoyed on his junkets to Vegas. He never got caught, the prick.

The traffic thinned out on the back streets, and as Alex pulled through an intersection, his eyes began automatically skimming boarded-up storefronts, checking out groups of guys in low-slung, oversize pants with pockets that were way too bulgy, their gang colors displayed in red-and-white chokers or yellow-and-black wristbands. Down the block, somebody was leaning over, talking to a couple of white guys in a silver Mercedes with New York tags. Might stop and say howdy if he weren't so rushed.

"Whoa! Who's this bozo?" Alex muttered.

Half a block up, a gray Nissan Stanza popped out the wrong way from a one-way side street. Skinny little Puerto Rican driving. A big bite out of the rear window and dirt all over the plate. Somebody in the back? Who might these pinwheels be?

The traffic on his police radio had been so blah Alex had barely listened, but now he sat up straight: reported drive-by, Walnut and High. Male and female subjects down. Suspected vehicle a dark blue or gray sedan, possibly a Jap import, driver and at least one passenger, one or both armed. Shooter may have an automatic weapon, possible AK-47 or M16.

Alex sped up and leaned forward to get a look through the Nissan's chewed-out back window. Definitely something shadowy shifting around back there.

The Nissan slowed, and the backseat passenger jumped out near the Elm Street projects.

"What the fuck?"

Alex registered time and location. Passenger probably Hispanic. Male. Twenties. Medium height or better. Well built, broad shoulders. Black jeans and black or navy hooded sweatshirt. Hood up.

A crumpled brown Vanagon cut in, blocking Alex's view of the Nissan. The Hispanic guy was double-timing down the alley hugging his arms against his chest like he was carrying something under the sweatshirt. No point trying to chase him. The Nissan was taking off.

"Okay, Paco," Alex said. "Let's see where the party is."

He punched the accelerator, squirted around the Vanagon, and nosed in behind the Nissan.

"Let's get up close and personal." He pressed in behind to a quarter car length. The driver sped up. Alex sped up. The driver glanced into the rearview and turned a corner with a squeal. Alex followed, hit the speed dial on his cell for the station, quickly described the situation. As soon as he mentioned the blown-out rear window, the dispatcher cut in and told him to stay with the car, continue to advise location. Back-up on its way. Almost immediately, in the distance, a siren began to moan, then another farther off. Alex reached into the back, retrieved his .357, and placed it on the passenger seat.

"Here's where I get a bullet through my little tiny brain," he whispered. Would Janice miss him? She could pay off the mortgage with the insurance, maybe hook up with a smarter guy.

Three blocks down, the Nissan jumped the curb, knocked over a garbage can, and skidded sideways to a stop in front of a group of sagging three- and four-story apartment houses. The driver leaped out, slipped on a board, and fell—crying out in pain—then took off in a hopping limp toward a fence that barred the gap between two moth-eaten three-deckers. To the north, the chorus of sirens was getting angrier.

Alex got out of his car, shouting, "Police! Stop!"

The kid glanced over his shoulder, black eyebrows over dark, angry eyes, then turned and kept hobbling away, kicking out with his right foot.

"Hey, shit-for-brains! Police! Stop!"

Alex started running, holding his weapon with both hands, barrel pointed up. After twenty yards, Janice's cannolis were catching up with him, and he was puffing hard. His mind scratched away at the details: Hispanic male, probably a juvie; five six, maybe five five; 130 pounds; no beard or mustache; no visible scars or tattoos; no gang insignia.

Now the kid was trying to vault over the chain-link fence. Didn't make it. Small, but not real graceful. Too freaked out, thank God, to notice a gap in the fence ten feet to his left. Out of his usual turf.

Behind Alex, cruisers were skidding in, sirens groaning down, doors slamming, red flashes reflecting off bits of broken window. Heavy footsteps and shouts. Here comes the cavalry. Kid slipped, staggered back up, and glanced over his shoulder again. Just out of junior high and scared shitless.

Son of a bitch, Alex thought as he closed in, I might just catch this little fucker.

"Okay, pal. It's over." Then, alarmed and much louder: "Hold it, right there!"

Twelve feet away, close enough for Alex to notice a few gauzy hairs on the kid's upper lip, the boy reached down and picked up a piece of pipe. He swung his arm back uncertainly.

Behind him, Alex heard an urgent voice shout "Gun!"

Alex twisted around. There had to be at least four cruisers, all lit up, and half a dozen cops legging it toward him.

"No, it's just a pipe—just a kid!"

There was a sound like a snapping board, and he felt a sharp sting as a wild shot nipped off a piece of his left ear.

Alex slapped his hand over the wound, then turned back toward his quarry—half expecting to see him on the ground, shot—just in time to have the flying pipe hit him square in the mouth. Alex felt his front teeth snap, tasted the rusty metal.

His bloody hand fumbled onto a pile of construction blocks for support; he leaned over to shake his head clear and spat. The kid had a hold of the top of the fence and was finally working a leg over, heading for greener pastures but still, maybe, within reach.

A black officer ran up. "Al, you okay? You're a mess."

"Hold this." Alex handed the officer his gun.

Unencumbered, Alex dashed through the gap in the fence, intercepted the boy just as he was dropping to the ground on the other side, grabbed him around the waist, and slung him face-first into a brick wall. Then he flipped the kid around, kneed him in the groin, and punched him high in the gut to take the wind out of him. Grunting, Alex followed with a hard left to the side of the boy's face, then held him up by the collar and reached down for a piece of brick. At this point, a baldheaded Holyoke sergeant grabbed his wrist.

"Now, Allie," he drawled, "remember what you learned at the academy." Sergeant DiMasi tossed the brick over the fence, stepped between Alex and the slumping kid. Two officers ran over and yanked the suspect up, not too gently, jerking his arms around for the cuffs.

"First, read the arrestee his rights." DiMasi looked over at where the kid was being dragged toward the gap in the fence. "Then, and only then, proceed to pound the living crap out of him."

The sergeant pointed at the boy's foot, where a scrap of board was dragging along behind him. "Anyway, looks like our munchkin stepped on a nail." He walked off, adjusting his gun belt and tucking his shirt in, then looked back over his shoulder. "Get yourself looked at."

The black officer trotted up, giving Alex his gun and a sick look. Alex recognized him now, Carl somebody, but the world was turning very strange, waltzing around at the edges. It was dawning on Alex that he hurt in several places, that he was having trouble catching his breath, and that soon he was going to need to sit down.

"Man, Allie," Carl was saying. "You need a dentist or something. You look like Dracula's fat-assed little brother."

Alex bent over with his hands on his knees. Drops of blood and sweat were making stains in the dust. The dots of blood were purple; the sweat spots were chocolate brown. Was he going to throw up?

"When you call my wife, do me a favor, will you?"

"What's that?"

"Tell her I might not live."


On the evening of what came to be known locally as "the Walnut Street Massacre," Judge Norcross broke off his late commute home to pull into the parking lot of a rural ATM. His gloom at the life sentence he'd imposed that morning still had not lifted and, adding to his distraction, he could almost hear his poor dog pacing on the kitchen tiles, urging him to hurry home and let her out.

Inside the glass kiosk, Norcross set his car keys on the metal shelf and let his eyes drift up into the deepening late-afternoon sky. Would the Bureau of Prisons find a spot for the defendant in Massachusetts or Connecticut, somewhere his family might at least visit once in a while? Texas or California was more likely.


Excerpted from The Hanging Judge by Michael Ponsor. Copyright © 2013 Michael Ponsor. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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.

Meet the Author

Michael Ponsor graduated from Harvard College and Yale Law School. In 1994, President Bill Clinton appointed him a life-tenured US district judge. From 2000 to 2001, he presided over a five-month death penalty trial, the first in Massachusetts in over fifty years. Judge Ponsor continues to serve as a senior US district judge in the United States District Court for the District of Massachusetts, Western Division. The Hanging Judge, his first novel, is the winner of Massachusetts Bay’s 2015 OneBook Prize.

Michael Ponsor graduated from Harvard, received a Rhodes Scholarship, and studied for two years at Pembroke College, Oxford. After taking his law degree from Yale and clerking in federal court in Boston, he began his legal career, specializing in criminal defense. He moved to Amherst, Massachusetts, in 1978, where he practiced as a trial attorney in his own firm until his appointment in 1984 as a US magistrate judge in Springfield, Massachusetts. In 1994, President Bill Clinton appointed him a life-tenured US district judge. From 2000 to 2001, he presided over a five-month death penalty trial, the first in Massachusetts in over fifty years. Judge Ponsor continues to serve as a senior US district judge in the United States District Court for the District of Massachusetts, Western Division, with responsibility for federal criminal and civil cases in the four counties of western Massachusetts. The Hanging Judge is his first novel.

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The Hanging Judge: A Novel 3.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 43 reviews.
Kelly_B More than 1 year ago
Fabulous Legal Thriller with Great Characters I could not wait to read Michael Ponsor's book The Hanging Judge. The first draw for me was my absolute love for legal thrillers, but the second was the locale. I lived half of my life in New England and any book that will take me back their with any authenticity makes me very happy. The Hanging Judge brings the reader inside the the courtroom of a death penalty case. It does so in a way that is absolutely flooring. Not only does the reader get to see the case from the side of the judge, the lawyers, and the person being tried, but the police, investigators and victims' families and more are all included. You might think this would be overwhelming, but Ponsor handles it remarkably. Each character is not a shadow but brought completely to life. They have back story and motives that are unique to themselves. The star is the story though each character is living as if they are the center. Michael Ponsor proved that he has a very intricate knowledge of the legal system as well as the human condition. That strength shines through in this novel. I was floored at how my mind switched gears as I read and grasped the intricate cuts of this mystery thriller. The Hanging Judge had me scratching my head and stretching my mind's muscles as I tried to come up with the conclusion. This excited me all the more. There was no easy out for this story. Well done. I highly recommend it, and certainly do look forward to Michael Ponsor's next work. I hope it comes soon. This eBook was provided to me for free through the publishers via NetGalley. This had no impact on my opinion. My opinion is all my own.
reececo331 More than 1 year ago
The details about the court preceding is unprecedented, you normally see the defendant and the prosecution going head to head, you do not hear how the judge brings in information to protect the equality of the case, how he leans on the court to make it impartial, looking at the defense and making sure its fair. The aspect of looking at the court room from the other end of the bench makes all trials something to look into not just from the ruling but how it takes place, who speaks, to how the jury is addressed from swearing in, to opening statements through the final decision of the jury in a capital offence death sentence trial... this is a great book to open a discussion on our judicial system, and to show how there is more to play in the court system then i ever thought about...
su62 More than 1 year ago
This is what I would describe as an intelligent crime/legal novel, which makes good sense as the author is a long time senior U.S. district judge in the United States District Court of Massachusetts, Western Division. Ponsor manages the delicate task of balancing all the myriad sides of a major criminal trial from the commission of the crime, through the investigation and the trial. Along the way there are glimpses of the personal lives of all involved. At first I questioned the level of some of these personal details. Why did we need that level of information? But then there were reasons shown and I came to see that Ponsor definitely had methods to the many parts of his story of a death penalty case. Among the things I take away from this novel is how much we don't know about our fellow man/woman and all the stresses they live under...and how that may affect others. A very strong 4 to 4.5. I look forward to Judge Ponsor's next book. An advance copy of this book was provided by the publisher through NetGalley for the purpose of review.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I would probably give it a 3.5 rating. It is very readable and as a mystery has some unexpected turns so it was suspenseful. This is really an anti-death penalty book which is not surprising since Massachusetts does not have capital punishment and is a very progressive state. The concern of the book is whether people who are "different" from the majority of the population in given area can receive a fair trial. Like many books written by lawyers, the focus of the book is on the lawyers and the legal process. It explores some advantages that the prosecution has in that it can offer people reduced sentences in exchange for testifying for them. As a novel and a piece of fiction the novel as too anti-death penalty. This anti-death penalty bias did not make the book hard to read or unenjoyable. However, really top fiction is able to represent multiple points of view and areas of grey. The drama of the book would be increased if we had a few more sympathetic people who are for the death penalty. Also really top fiction presents us with a realty that may depart from the author's intentions
Old_Dog More than 1 year ago
I chose to purchase this book after reading some of the online reviews. I had just finished a long, difficult read of a plodding classic masterpiece for a book club, and was interested in a distinct change of pace to "cleanse the pallet", so to speak. I also didn't want to waste my time with some shallow "pop" courtroom drama. This book was the perfect solution for me. I must admit that the fact that the author was a judge made the book more substantial and credible to my thinking. The plot includes a fascinating description of the many considerations involved in a trial with a possible death penalty. I found this book to be intersting, engaging, believable, thought provoking, and, well . . . for lack of a better term, just plain fun to read. I will recommend it for our book club agenda next year.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The death penalty is complex and emotional issue that is handled with depth and sensitivity in this writer's debut legal drama. It engages the reader quickly and moves along at a fast pace, with unexpected twists and turns... trust me, you will not anticipate how the story ends. I like that. The characters are interesting and well developed... there are no good guys and no bad guys, just real guys. I like that very much. I have not come across many courtroom dramas with the judge as the proponent, and I found this perspective very interesting. One of the things I liked best was how well the author described the legal proceedings, and in particular the judge's instructions to the jury about the intricacies and implications of the death penalty, what it means and what it does not mean. The author interlaced the main story with a parallel story line involving a true historical death penalty case. I hope there is a second book coming out soon, for this is a writer I want to read again.
Autumn2 More than 1 year ago
I received this book via NetGalley to give an honest review. I love a good crime novel and this one had me really on the edge of my toes with reading it. And the fact that it was written by a judge now that is pretty cool. You follow Judge Norcross and his first ever death penalty case which is not an easy case. Now I am given this book 4.5 star rating instead of a normal 5 like I was hoping for. There were some questions I had and answers I would have liked to seen answered but I will get to that in a bit.  It was nice to actually get to be inside a court room and see how the judge is picked a bit and get a feel of it all. And you get a bit of inside to the so called crooked cops. Now this book seemed to focus a bit on Norcross's love life and the case it is like you went back and forth between the two and it wasn't confusing but it did make you kind of wonder exactly what did one have to really do with the other. When Ginger who is a by-stander gets killed by a stray bullet who is meant for a rival gang member name Peach well the people want justice for her. Especially the US Attorney.  What I wish there was more of was more investigation  into Moon by his lawyer. It just didn't seem as though is lawyer wanted to investigate anything. But his lawyer did seem good to know what was best for him. It was really nice how this author knows how the legal system works and just doesn't "guess". When Ginger's son speaks it just broke my heart as you could really feel how he was feeling and it was just out of hate it was from his heart.  If you are looking for a really good crime novel that is well-written, the story will draw you in. Then pick up your copy, I know I will be looking forward to more from this author. 
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Very well written
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Hmm the other girl I think her name is Kenzie
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
smiles "ok who do you think is more enthusiastic?"
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The story and the historical portions within the story were both very interesting entertaining. Very good for a first novel.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Really enjoyed this book. Some unexpected twists!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Michael Ponsor is a judge. His book gives you insight into the death penalty. It's well written. A little long in spots, but worth the read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
For a first novel, not to bad. Character development a bit more ?will try next book and hope for improvement
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Found this book to be very interesting. At first it was puzzling to understand why a miscarriage of justice that occurred in the 1600's had to do with the events and trial that make up the story line of this novel. The real possiblity that such an event was about to occur is an unstated theme throughout this book. Michael Posnor breathed real life into the characters for me. Humor, irony and sarcasism add the additional elements that made this novel so enjoyable for me. J M Lydon
zorroRM More than 1 year ago
Good reading,I couldn't put it down.
RBHolb More than 1 year ago
Good, entertaining read The book held my attention, and I thought it was a well-paced plot that did not need to move quickly for effect.  I look forward to more from this author.
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