Published by Harper on July 30, 2013
Having read two of Steven Gore's Graham Gage novels (one was entertaining, the other just okay), I decided to try his latest Harlan Donnally novel. It convinced me that Gore should stick with Graham Gage.
The discovery of Mark Hamlin's naked body hanging from a rope in San Francisco's Fort Point leads retired homicide detective Donnally to play a reluctant role in the investigation of his murder. A judge (who behaves more like a prosecutor or police officer than a judge) appoints Donnally as "special master" to root through Hamlin's files looking for evidence that would lead to Hamlin's killer -- a suggestion, oddly enough, that Hamlin presciently made in a letter he wrote before his death. Why Hamlin didn't take greater care to avoid being murdered in never explained.
As he searches through Hamlin's files, Donnally follows leads that reveal preposterous criminal schemes in which Hamlin was engaged. He also discovers that Hamlin frequently traveled to Southeast Asia, leading Donnally to suspect (with no basis whatsoever) that Hamlin was a child predator. In addition to Hamlin's clients, Donnally uncovers additional suspects, including the sister who inherits Hamlin's property and the lawyers who worked with or against Hamlin. Of course, the reader knows that most of these will be red herrings. They are also dull herrings. The truth is equally dull and not even momentarily credible.
Few of Gore's characters struck me as realistic, and I couldn't motivate myself to care about any of them. The criminals are one-dimensional caricatures of real people. Hamlin is a cartoonish stereotype of a dishonest lawyer, allegedly guilty of so many kinds of wrongdoing (including, laughably, opium addiction) that I wanted him to come back to life to defend himself. Donnally, on the other hand, is arrogant, self-righteous, and ill-informed. He hates everyone and everything. We get page after mind-numbing page of Donnally's condemnation of private defense attorneys (who are either incompetent or corrupt) and public defenders (who sell out their clients) and prosecutors (who make too many deals with the public defenders) and trials (which are just theater) and forensic psychologists (who say anything they are paid to say) and the city government (because it doesn't want to turn San Francisco into a police state) and drug cops (because they plant evidence and lie about their illegal searches) and judges (because they throw out the evidence that the drug cops acquire illegally) and hippies (because they're hippies) and his father (a filmmaker who didn't make "honest" movies). Donnally at least has the virtue of being an equal opportunity hater, but if anyone in the novel deserves to be hated, it's Donnally -- and that's not a good opinion for a reader to have of a thriller hero.
While none of the supporting characters are interesting, they aren't as obnoxious as Donnally (although some of them, including a character who is supposedly gay, seem to have a problem with gay men and lesbians). In fact, the only interesting aspect of A Criminal Defense is a scheme involving federal defendants accused of drug crimes who inform on other defendants. Gore has some insight into the way informants (whether or not they are truthful) drive the criminal justice system in federal court, and he understands the willingness of federal prosecutors and DEA agents to overlook their obvious lies. Unfortunately, the scheme isn't remotely plausible, and it comes too late in the novel to redeem a snooze-inducing plot.
NOT RECOMMENDED