"Salmon" Sal Russo, a San Franciscan fisherman, dies in his apartment. He had Alzheimer's disease and a brain tumor - the police find a vial of morphine and a syringe nearby. What killed him? Is it an assisted suicide, not surprising given the terrible pain suffered by Sal, or a cause more sinister? Chief amongst the suspects is the deceased's son, baseball-player Graham, whose fingerprints are on the vials, not to mention the $50,000 and a collection of his father's valuable baseball cards found in his safe deposit box. Graham denies his guilt, but he's certainly got the motive and means to carry it out. And how is it he's suddenly become devoted to his father following a fifteen year estrangement? Graham hires attorney, Dismas Hardy to take his case, though hapless Dismas is none too pleased about this brief. Dismas has problems of his own, of course, and the trial interferes with his plans to rehabilitate his relationship with his family. No wonder Dismas would rather be behind the bar than the bar table (where lawyers stand in court). However, he's also not too keen on the pedestrian civil litigation he's been struggling with since his glory days. Dismas is a regular character in the novels of John Lescroart. He plays darts, owned a bar, and can more than hold his own in the courts. What will be the defence? That a terminally ill father asked his son to help him die? If so, a progressive San Francisco jury would be likely to acquit the compassionate (perhaps courageous) son. But what of the past traumas between father and son? The baseball obsessed Graham has failed to make it in the big time, and before that a career in the law, and he could certainly do with the money found in his safe deposit box. And he didn't just leave the law, he managed to alienate some very influential people along the way. And then there's the Federal Court judge, Mario Giotti, who has a personal interest in the outcome of the case; Sarah Evans, a homicide cop who takes a decidedly left turn in her career whilst investigating the crime; an half-Jewish half-black police chief named Abe Glitsky; Dismas's ill-fated wife; and Graham's detestable brother. For People magazine in America chose "The Mercy Rule" as one of its best "beach books" of the year, and that's a pretty good call, because it fits the bill for those lazy summer days by the pool (or those chilly winter Sundays under the doona). If that's what you're looking for, this book will deliver in spades. There is a satisfying ending. Interestingly, Lescroart changed it after he had submitted the manuscript to the publisher, adding a few paragraphs. Remember to check out the italicized last paragraphs. This is more a book about the relationships, past and present, of the main characters, rather than their interaction with the law. This makes it a cut above the usual legal procedural. He writes about San Francisco with real affection, providing the Australian reader with a virtual travelogue of the foggy city by the bay. It's sometimes difficult for an Australian to follow the American vernacular. For instance, the title of the book does not merely refer to euthanasia, which of course would make sense in terms of the subject matter. In fact it is an American baseball term, when one side is so far ahead of another that they call the whole thing off and put the game out of its misery! Clever. Sometimes it's difficult to know whether Lescroart wants us to be swept along by the unraveling strands of the mystery, or captivated by his ruminations on love, life and family. Perhaps too many red herrings to confuse the reader. We don't learn enough about Dismas's relationship with his wife. Who killed Sal Russo, and if it was a mercy killing, should the 'killer' be prosecuted? As most Australians would know, the issue of euthanasia is a hot political potato in this country, particularly following the aborted attempt of the Northern Territory government to introduce legislation to allow (under strict regulation) assisted suicide. So what is the legal situation with regard to euthanasia? We wish there was a simple answer to this straightforward question - after all, isn't it illegal, and if that is not so, why was there a need for the Federal Parliament to overrule the Territory legislation? It should be understood that, in general, suicide (or attempted suicide) are no longer crimes. But it is an entirely different matter if a person assists someone in their attempt (successful or not) to commit suicide. And interestingly, if that assistance is by way of 'omission' (for instance, you choose not to seek medical assistance that would clearly save the person) it is still a crime. These matters often arise at a coroner's hearing, where the circumstances of a person's death are dissected by a magistrate. This crime would also apply to a doctor or health care professional, or the family member seeking to alleviate the pain and suffering of a loved one. But this is where the situation is complex, because it is often difficult to draw a distinct line between palliative care (the relief of pain) and an assisted suicide. Just look at the quandary - doctors have a duty of care to ensure their patient's best interests, but at the same time they cannot alleviate pain to the extent that the pain relief hastens death. Does that mean a medical practitioner should continue to administer a therapeutic drug to a terminally ill patient, if that drug prolongs an agonizing death? If the patient is competent, the law allows them to refuse the drug; but what of patients in a coma, or whose judgement is impaired? These are difficult questions that the courts attempts to reconcile whilst we wait for Parliaments to make clear and consistent laws. John Lescroart (pronounced "less-kwah") lives with his wife and two children in El Macero. He says he was able to write the book in four months, following six months of research. He does this writing in his Davis, California office, where he puts in full days before returning to the family home each night. His novels' characters reflect his private interests - gourmet cooking, baseball, and family. John Lescroart has previously been awarded the Joseph Jackson Award for Best Novel by a Californian author; a Shamus nomination for "Dead Irish"; and an Anthony Award nomination for "The 13th Juror". Some of his other books include:
This is John Lescroart's tenth (fifth with Dismas) and best novel, certainly an improvement on the predecessor "Guilt", although this reviewer's partner gobbled up that ample thriller (she compared it to a movie-length episode of "Law and Order"). For those who know John Lescroart's work, it is clear he has been able to encompass his well known interest in baseball, combined with his ongoing fascination with the law. There's also some interesting by-play about politicians, and the way controversial issues are handled in the real world. The DA doesn't want to prosecute the case until the Attorney General steps in to force his hand. And the relationship between a police officer and a suspect is handled with more dexterity than most of the romances in legal thrillers, which usually appear to be slipped in because there always has to be a romance. This is a novel that runs the gamut of the seamier human emotions, looking at the law from its soft underbelly, but manages to do it with compassion, while juggling the numerous sub-plots and social issues with ease. Intriguing and well plotted, dealing with complex legal and political issues straight off the pages of any major metropolitan newspaper, this is a page turner that will reward a little more thinking than the average thriller requires. As usual with Lescroart, there is equal emphasis on characterization. An intelligent legal thriller that is more satisfying than recent Grishams.
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