Without Due Process (J. P. Beaumont Series #10)

Without Due Process (J. P. Beaumont Series #10)

4.5 28
by J. A. Jance

View All Available Formats & Editions

Five-year-old Junior Weston was hiding in a closet the night his entire family was brutally slaughtered. He caught a glimpse of the killer's face, and now the little boy's life is on the line. The only one who can help him is detective J. P. Beaumont, but even Beau's dogged persistence and reckless courage may not be enough to save the boy and put the killer behind… See more details below


Five-year-old Junior Weston was hiding in a closet the night his entire family was brutally slaughtered. He caught a glimpse of the killer's face, and now the little boy's life is on the line. The only one who can help him is detective J. P. Beaumont, but even Beau's dogged persistence and reckless courage may not be enough to save the boy and put the killer behind bars. Who could have killed Officer "Gentle Ben" Weston of the Seattle P.D.? Known for his unswerving honesty and kindness, Weston was a model cop. But his bulldog assault on the Rainy City's gangs earned him enemies in surprising places, and nasty rumors are starting to surface about his ties to the Bloods and the Crips. Enter J. P. Beaumont, a recovering alcoholic detective with a hot temper and a cold nose for clues, whose resolution to clear his friend's name results in a suicidal computer freak, a showdown with several steely-eyed gang members, and explosive revelations in the top ranks of the Seattle P.D. From the cobbled streets of Pioneer Square to the exclusive suburban villas of Beaux Arts, Without Due Process is a clever, fast-moving novel of greed, suspense, and astonishing courage, with one of the most humane and fast-thinking cops around. Full of the Jance hallmarks of breakneck plotting, vivid characterization, and intricate imagination, Without Due Process is a stellar display of imaginative talent and storytelling prowess.

Read More

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
. Gripping but somewhat unconvincing novel of police murder and cover-up in Seattle. (Oct.)
Library Journal
The brutal murder of a black cop and his family tests the procedural skills of Seattle police detective J.P. Beaumont, the paperback hero recently promoted to hardcover ( Hour of the Hunter , Morrow, 1991). Jance, who energizes this adventure with slick, made-for-TV plotting, fast-paced action, and canned dialog, focuses on a surviving child witness, possible police corruption, rival street gangs, and Beaumont's previous friendship with the victim. Lean forward, grab on, and ride for adventure.
Bill Ott
Jance's J. P. Beaumont series, a long-running, mass-market paperback success, now comes to hardcover. There's nothing particularly remarkable about the series, starring Seattle police detective Beaumont, but there's nothing much wrong with it, either. This installment finds Beaumont investigating the deaths of friend and fellow cop Ben Weston and his family, all brutally murdered in their south Seattle home. Early clues suggest that Weston may have been a dirty cop, but Beaumont's not buying it. The trail leads to Seattle's rival gangs and to a protection scam within the department. Beaumont makes an engaging hero, and Jance uses the Seattle setting to good effect, though not as creatively as Earl Emerson does in his Thomas Black series. Still, as no-frills procedural fare--basically sticking to the formula but mixing the familiar ingredients effectively--the Beaumont novels deliver solid entertainment.

Product Details

HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
J. P. Beaumont Series, #10
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
4.18(w) x 6.75(h) x 0.96(d)

Read an Excerpt

Without Due Process

Chapter One

Back in the not-so-distant and not-so-good old days, I remember staying up until all hours every April 14 finishing up my income tax returns. It wasn't because they were all that complicated because there was never that much money. No, the difficulty was always nothing more or less than an almost fatal tendency to procrastinate where income taxes are concerned. Once I had completed the dirty job, likely as not I'd reward myself with a couple of stiff belts of MacNaughton's.

A few things have changed since then, some of them for the better. For one, I'm trying, one day at a time, to keep away from Demon Rum. For another, thanks to Anne Corley, there's a hell of a lot more money in my life, and as a consequence, a much more complicated income tax problem. These days, my relations with the IRS are handled by a CPA firm hired and supervised by my attorney and friend, Ralph Ames, whose presence in my life I also owe to Anne Corley. The only thing that hasn't changed is my tendency to procrastinate.

That's why, on the evening of April 14, Ralph showed up around eight o'clock, bringing with him my completed but unsigned returns. The ink was still wet. Ralph, who has been through this exercise with me now a time or two, had held a gun to my accountant's head and insisted that, no, we were not going to file for an extension.

I fixed a pot of coffee, and for a while we sat in my living room window seat, visiting and watching the nighttime boat traffic crisscrossing the black expanse of Puget Sound. Finally, though, Ralph cleared his throat, switched on the table lamp, and handed me the weighty manila envelope. "Time to go towork," he said.

As I read over the return, I knew better than to expect to get anything back, but when I hit the bottom line and saw that the amount due equaled 80 percent of my annual take-home pay as a homicide detective for the Seattle Police Department, I about hit the roof.

"You've got to be kidding! That's how much I owe?"

Ralph Ames nodded and grinned. "Can I help it if you're making money hand over fist? We lucked into some very good investments this last year. Stop complaining and write the check, Beau. You can transfer in enough money to cover it tomorrow or the next day."

First I signed the return, then I reached for the checkbook. With pen in hand I paused long enough to verify that astonishing figure one last time. "What's the point in working then?" I demanded irritably. "Why bother to show up down at the department day after day?"

Ralph waited patiently for me to finish writing the check. When I handed it over to him, he put both the signed return and the check on the coffee table.

"Good question." He smiled. "Seems to me I've mentioned that very thing to you a time or two myself. You need to lighten up, Beau, Work less, learn to have some fun, maybe even find yourself a woman. That's an idea. Whatever happened to Marilyn? I haven't seen her around here for some time."

Marilyn Sykes, the former chief of police on Mercer Island, had been a sometime thing, someone to chum around with and take to bed occasionally until she up and turned serious on me. With a lucrative job offer from Santa Clara, California, in hand, she had come to me with an ultimatum to either get with the program as in marriage or else forget it because she was leaving. She took the job in Santa Clara.

"She got married," I said. "Just before Christmas last year. To some big-time electronics wizard down in California. She sent me an announcement."

"You'll get over her eventually," Ralph said.

I shrugged. "It wasn't that big a thing, really."

Ralph shook his head. "I wasn't talking about Marilyn Sykes," he said carefully.

Without another word, I got up and went to the kitchen to get more coffee. Ralph Ames was one of the few people who knew just how big a hole Anne Corley's death had torn in my heart. It's not something I like to advertise. Years later, I still don't much want to talk about it. Not even with Ralph.

For a few minutes I avoided the subject by dinking around in the kitchen and making one more pot of coffee. Then, just as the coffee finished, I was saved by the bell in the guise of a timely phone call that cut off all further discussion.

The familiar voice on the other end of the line belonged to Sergeant Watkins, the day desk sergeant in Homicide. My partner, Detective "Big Al Lindstrom and I were on call that night, so the phone call was no particular surprise. What was surprising was for Watty to be making the call rather than the night-shift sergeant. Not only that, he sounded genuinely relieved to hear my voice.

"Glad you're okay, Beau," he said. "I'm more worried about the guys who don't live in secure high rises. Big Al's all right too, by the way. I just checked. He's coming in from Ballard right now. I told him to stop by and pick you up. We need you both down at the department ASAP. I'll meet you there."

That meant Watty had called me from home. His coming back into the department at night was more than slightly out of the ordinary, so something was definitely up. "What's going on?" I asked.

Without Due Process. Copyright � by J. Jance. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

Read More

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Write a Review

and post it to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews >