Defiance County by Jay Brandon

Pocket Books, 373 pages, $23

Reviewed by Stephen M. Murphy in 1997

         Jay Brandon has written several compelling legal thrillers, most combining a literate style with serious themes such as racism and child molestation. In Rules of Evidence and Loose Among the Lambs, his thoughtful exploration of these themes overcame occasional lapses in plot. Unfortunately, his latest novel, Defiance County, lacks a compelling theme while suffering from frequent lapses in plot.

         Despite the title, Defiance County has more to do with a small town than the county in which it sits. The book attempts to explore the dark side of small-town life: the petty jealousies, longstanding grudges, and narrow minds. The east Texas town of Galilee thrives because of one person, aging matriarch Alice Beaumont, owner of the Smoothskins panties factory. When Alice's daughter Lorrie and her husband Ronnie are murdered, and her baby granddaughter kidnapped, the town splits apart. Relationships become even more strained when Billy Fletcher, brother of District Attorney Morgan Fletcher and foreman of the Smoothskins factory, is arrested.

         Because of the conflict of interest, deputy attorney general Kelsey Hatch is assigned to prosecute the case. Hatch's legal career has been on a downward spin since she compromised a prosecution she viewed as unethical. The assignment to prosecute Billy Fletcher feels, to her, like a banishment to Siberia. While driving through Galilee for the first time, Kelsey senses something different about the town:  Kelsey tried to imagine living here. How isolated people must feel. How lonely. The feeling of being alone in the woods must scare some people. Others it would imbue with a sense of power.

         As Kelsey conducts her investigation into the murders, she soon realizes how weak the evidence is. Billy Fletcher's fingerprint was found on the gun tied to the murders;  a witness saw him arguing with Ronnie a few hours before the bodies were found. Billy and Ronnie disagreed strongly over the direction of the Smoothskins factory, Billy favoring the status quo and Ronnie wishing to sell. Perhaps Billy killed Ronnie in a fit of rage, Kelsey thinks, and Lorrie had the misfortune of witnessing the murder. But that doesn't explain what happened to the baby.

         The baby has disappeared without a trace, despite massive search efforts by the townspeople. As Kelsey reconstructs Billy Fletcher's movements the day of the murder for evidence connecting him to the baby, the story drags, since Brandon never offers a plausible reason for Billy to take the baby. When Kelsey does find evidence - recently burned remnants of the baby's clothes - in the woods outside Galilee, it is a pure coincidence. Brandon's purpose soon becomes clear, though forced, as he uses the scene to initiate Kelsey's affair with her investigator, Peter Stiller. The scene soon turns laughable when Kelsey gets attacked by red ants and has to shed her jeans.

         Despite the heinousness of the crime, Galilee's sympathies lie with the defendant. Most people don't believe Billy could have killed anyone. The citizens of Galilee are not enamored with the idea that one of their own will be prosecuted by an outsider. Although everyone is upset about the baby, no one's too concerned about Ronnie's death. He too was an outsider, and dared think about selling the Smoothskins factory.

         Despite weak evidence against Billy Fletcher, Kelsey brings the case to trial. Her motivation is questionable:  to reclaim her reputation as a competent trial attorney; to show Alice Beaumont (who used her political connections to have Kelsey assigned to the prosecution) that she cannot control her; or perhaps, because she really believes Billy is guilty.

         The evidence Kelsey presents, however, will make the reader question why the case is even going to trial. When Billy's defense attorney calls several witnesses to say that Billy was on his way to North Carolina at the time of the murders, we can't help but scoff at Kelsey's weak attempts to discredit them. Without a compelling case against Billy Fletcher, the book fails keep the reader's interest.

         The true mystery in Defiance County lies under the surface, in the relationships among the citizens of Galilee. As Peter Still tells Kelsey, This is a small town .... If you only find two connections between some of us, you're still only on the surface. Kelsey gradually learns what he meant:  Peter Stiller once had a crush on Lorrie, which may explain his zealous investigation of the case;  Judge Linda Saunders and district attorney Morgan Fletcher were once (and may still be) lovers; Morgan Fletcher and his wife are having marital troubles; and Morgan's wife Katherine seems to be hiding a terrible secret. Somehow it all ties into the Smoothskins factory.

         In the end, Brandon reveals the murderer using an old-fashioned technique, reminiscent of the Perry Mason stories.  Kelsey confronts the murderer and engages in a long monologue describing her theory of the murders and kidnapping. When the murderer sees he's trapped, he confesses and tries to escape. Everything is tied up so neatly - and implausibly.

         Despite Defiance County's faults, upon finishing the book the reader will feel unsure, cautious, as if a dark foreboding cloud hovers overhead, like the one hiding the deep personal ties of the citizens of Galilee. You realize what these small-town folks know, perhaps even unconsciously:  no matter how much things seem to have changed, you can never escape the past.

 

Loose Among The Lambs by Jay Brandon

Pocket Books, 372 pages, $22

Reviewed by Stephen M. Murphy in 1994

         A serial child molester is on the loose in San Antonio and citizens are clamoring for his arrest. When an old friend delivers a suspect to District Attorney Mark Blackwell, the favorable publicity boosts Blackwell's chances for re-election. But when the case falls apart, it becomes clear that there is still a wolf loose among the lambs, and Blackwell suddenly finds himself struggling for his political life. Although Blackwell later files charges against Austin Paley, a prominent attorney with political connections, his troubles are far from over.

         Loose Among the Lambs confirms Jay Brandon's reputation as a skilled author of literate legal thrillers, combining suspense with substance. Returning to characters featured in previous novels, particularly Fade the Heat, Brandon presents a realistic portrayal of the problems faced by prosecutors in trying to convince a jury to accept a child's word over a respected adult's.

         The story is enriched by the political maneuvering caused by Paley's high profile among San Antonio's movers and shakers. Paley is a throw-back to the good old days, when connections and influence were the order of business and even district attorneys were not averse to granting favors. A reporter describes those days to Blackwell:  We had a sort of gentleman's agreement to let certain stories pass. And in return they gave us others. They made us feel we were all in the same club, and you didn't betray fellow club members.

         A confidante to politicians, Paley knows where the bodies are buried. He calls in his markers, sending a clear message that he will not go down alone. Blackwell feels the heat, leaving no doubt that by prosecuting Paley, he has put his career in jeopardy.

         Although several children have identified Paley as their molester, the evidence is thin. The children give conflicting accounts and because of the passage of time their memories have faded. In some instances parents are reluctant to press charges, fearing the long-term damage to their children from a public prosecution. Reluctantly, Blackwell dismisses three of the four cases against Paley. The heat intensifies. The mayor telephones, arguing Paley's innocence. Blackwell's opponent pulls ahead of him in the polls.

         Blackwell's luck gets even worse when his mentor, former district attorney Eliot Quinn, agrees to defend Paley. Quinn's impeccable reputation for integrity lends legitimacy to the defense. Shocked that his former boss would oppose him, Blackwell visits Quinn at his home and learns the secret that binds Quinn to Paley, a terrible secret that changes forever Blackwell's opinion of Quinn and that - if disclosed - would shatter Quinn's reputation forever.

         Blackwell's hopes rest with ten-year-old Tommy Algren, a child whose poise and maturity worry Blackwell. Tommy looks like a little adult, a miniature Austin Paley, sitting straight in his chair, his light brown hair carefully combed. He speaks in a detached voice, relating what Paley did to him without shame or embarrassment. His poise is almost too perfect.

         To convict Paley, Blackwell must gain Tommy's confidence and seduce him in his own way, knowing he will abandon him when the case is over. He gives more of himself to Tommy than he did to his own son, David, taking Tommy to a batting cage to work on his swing, sharing his own childhood battles with bullies. He meets him after school, bypassing Tommy's parents. Soon Blackwell grows so close to Tommy, he feels an urge to hug him, only to hold back for fear of acting inappropriately.

         With the help of child psychiatrist Janet McLaren, Blackwell rehearses Tommy's testimony. The case is difficult. Tommy waited several years before reporting the assault; there are no witnesses that Paley was ever alone with him. As with all child molestation cases, the child's credibility will be attacked. In preparing Tommy to testify, Blackwell must be careful to avoid tainting the testimony with suggestions:  Children want desperately to please us,  McLaren tells him. Nothing is as important to them as adult approval.

         Like most victims of child molestation, Tommy feels conflicting emotions about his molester. While he fears retaliation by Paley, he occasionally feels affection for him as well, affection for the attention and understanding Paley gave him. And Tommy feels guilty for hurting him. As McLaren tells Blackwell: 'Children hate what happened to them but still love the molester.'

         As Blackwell puts all his energy into the case, he worries about his son's happiness. David is detached, his marriage seemingly loveless. When they get together, Blackwell has difficulty expressing his love for his son. He regrets the way he spent David's childhood, at the office away from David, devoted to his work.

         For Blackwell the trial of Austin Paley takes on a larger meaning than simply convicting a child molester, or even winning re-election. As the evidence unfolds, Blackwell learns how little he knew about himself and those closest to him. He is forced to confront his own failures, reevaluate his past, and question his assumptions about others. Ultimately, Blackwell concludes the trial by attacking Tommy's parents - and by implication, himself -for their loose supervision and inattention to Tommy that allowed the molestation to occur. Although Blackwell realizes he too is guilty, he hopes the damage to his own son is not irreversible.

         To be sure, Loose Among the Lambs does have its faults: the trite district attorney's election, a slow and implausible beginning, and a pat ending. But overall Brandon has written a brilliant book, weaving serious themes with riveting suspense. In portraying the horror of child molestation, Brandon delves deeper, exploring its causes, rooted in how parents treat or mistreat their children. For Mark Blackwell, the trial of Austin Paley has a profound effect, making him regret his past errors in raising his son, yet breathe a sigh of relief at what might have happened. Readers too - no matter their own family experiences - cannot help but be affected by this artful novel.

 

Rules of Evidence by Jay Brandon

March 1992, Pocket Books, 294 pages, $20.00

Reviewed by Stephen M. Murphy in 1994

         Despite many reforms in the past four decades, racism still pervades our society.  Blacks remain disproportionately poor, undereducated, and imprisoned.  During the boom period of the 1980's, blacks experienced the frustration of seeing their white neighbors flourish.   But blacks' frustration at their economic or social conditions has been overshadowed in the past decade by their frustration with the legal system.  In most major cities blacks frequently charge the police with brutality. On two well-publicized occasions in the 1980's blacks in Miami rioted when a police officer was acquitted of improper conduct in killing a black suspect.

         But when Rodney King was beaten by four Los Angeles police officers, blacks had reason to hope that this would be different. The jury would not have to take the word of the black victim that he had been mistreated.  The jury would not have to weigh the credibility of white police officers against that of the black suspect. No, this would be different.  The beating was recorded on videotape.  The shocking evidence was right there for everyone to see.  There was no way these white police officers would walk. Justice would finally be served.

         So when the jury announced its acquittals it was understandable that blacks - as well as many whites - were outraged.  And it was understandable, though certainly not excusable, that blacks expressed their outrage in violent ways. Even with irrefutable evidence the white cops go free. There was just no way a black person could obtain justice in the white legal system. And so there were terrible riots in Los Angeles, urban unrest throughout the country. In a show of uninspiring leadership President Bush blamed the riots on the failure of social reforms of the 1960's. Vice President Quayle took an indirect swipe at the prevalence of maternal families in the black community by attacking the morals of television character Murphy Brown, a white yuppie single mother.

         In the midst of all this injustice and dubious theories, it is refreshing to come across a novel like Jay Brandon's Rules of Evidence. Brandon, a San Antonio attorney and Edgar nominee (for Fade the Heat in 1991), explores racism in an often brutal but realistic way. While he touches on the economic effect of racism on blacks as a whole, he is primarily concerned with the individual, particularly the psyche of his protagonist, a successful black lawyer.   Brandon's treatment of the many layers of racism rings much truer than the flip rationalizations of our leaders; one begins to wonder which is fact and which fiction.

         Rules of Evidence is told from the perspective of Raymond Boudro, a black criminal defense attorney in San Antonio.  In his early forties with numerous trials under his belt, Boudro is considered one of the top defense attorneys in the area.

         While defending a black client accused of dealing drugs, Boudro cross-examines arresting police officer Mike Stennett during a suppression hearing. Stennett conducted a full search of Boudro's client after noticing a wad of money in his pocket.  Boudro asks Stennett about the role the defendant's race played in the search:

         And a black man with a lot of money just has to be a drug dealer, doesn't he, Officer?

         Stennett wanted to say it. You could see the words in his mouth....

         ÒNot necessarily. He could be a pimp. 

         Shortly after this hearing a small-time black drug dealer is found beaten to death in an alley on the east side of San Antonio, a predominately black and impoverished neighborhood. The punch was so vicious the victim's nose bone had penetrated his brain.  The police make little effort to find the killer until an old man from the neighborhood claims he saw the murder. While at the police station reviewing mugshots, the old man points to Officer Mike Stennett and says, that's him.

         Claiming to be impressed with Raymond Boudro's trial skills, Stennett asks Boudro to represent him. At first Boudro balks at defending the man he knows to be racist and to have a reputation for routinely beating up black suspects.  Ultimately Boudro decides to accept the case, but for reasons other than proving his client's innocence.

         After Boudro's brother-in-law tells him that Stennett is using him, [g]ettin' the black boy to clean up the white man's mess, like always,  Boudro responds: 'If I'd told him to go away, Faruq, ... he would've. And I'd be left wondering. And when the case ended I'd still be wondering. Did he get away with it?  This way I'll know.'

         Boudro's investigation reveals that Stennett arrested blacks in a far greater proportion than whites.  And Stennett was known to beat up black suspects without hesitation.  Boudro begins to think Stennett should still be convicted even if he is innocent of this isolated charge.

         As Boudro agonizes over his conflicting obligations to his client and his race, his relationship with Stennett becomes increasingly tense.

         White people suck, Stennett said.

         Raymond was startled into laughter. I hate to be the one to break this to you...

         Yeah, I know. But being white and poor is like being rich and black. Don't do you no good to belong to the club if nobody'll dance with you.

         Raymond couldn't let him get by with that. Poor white boy still has an advantage.

         That's true, Stennett said musingly. I might could make some money, but you'll always be a nigger.

         At trial Boudro astounds prosecutor Becky Shirhart by not objecting to evidence that Stennett routinely called blacks niggers and that he frequently beat up black suspects.  When she asks Boudro if he intends to use the rules of evidence, he responds that there are no rules. He doesn't care what the jury decides; only the truth matters.

           Not all blacks share Boudro's view that Stennett must be punished for his mistreatment of blacks. His own father, the owner of a small grocery store in the east side, thinks highly of Stennett for ridding the streets of the drug dealers who have ravaged his community.

         In the end, Boudro makes some surprising decisions which allow him to fulfill his ethical obligation to his client and still maintain his integrity as a black man.  At the same time he is forced to come to terms with his own feelings about caucasians and with the delicate balance between blacks and whites in our predominately white society. When he learns that many white police officers disapprove of Stennett's tactics,  he gains a greater appreciation of white people.

         Despite a contrived climax that makes Rules of Evidence an unsatisfactory mystery, the book does succeed in challenging our assumptions about being black in America.  Brandon convincingly shows how even a black professional like Boudro must confront racism on a daily basis - in court when the judge assigns him all the indigent black defendants and even at his son's soccer games when other parents attribute his son's athletic skill to his race. The reader admires Boudro - for escaping the lure of drugs that ensnared many of his boyhood friends, and for overcoming his own biases and urge for vengeance to achieve justice, while maintaining his dignity both as a lawyer and a black man.

         Perhaps if our nation's leaders had read Rules of Evidence, they would have realized the complexity of causes that led to the Los Angeles riots, and have been better prepared to address the solutions.