David Rosenfelt - First degree

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

My office these days is not exactly a beehive of activity. … My call-list consists of three charities and a wanna-be client, whom I've already turned down. … I sit at my desk for a while, moving the papers from the right side to the left. That makes the desk look left-heavy, so I move half the papers back to the right. The problem is, with papers now on each side there's no place for me to put my feet-up. So with my feet resting uncomfortably on the floor, I pick up the newspaper and read about the discovery of Alex Dorsey's headless body.

PRAISE FOR FIRST DEGREE ,

Selected as one of the Best Mysteries of the Year by Publishers Weekly

"Rosenfelt's got it all--canny invention, snappy dialogue, deftly managed legal conflicts, startling surprises--and he displays it all with an economy that should make his courtroom brethren hang their heads in shame."

– - Kirkus Reviews (starred review) "Entertaining."

– - Cleveland Plain Dealer

"[FIRST DEGREE] confirms that Rosenfelt will be a force in the legal-thriller world for a long time to come."

– - Booklist

"Genuinely delightful. … Clever plot twists, deft legal maneuverings, and keen wit boost Rosenfelt's accomplished follow-up to his Edgar-nominated debut. … The author adroitly maintains a fast pace while switching gears effortlessly. … Rosenfelt should win a unanimous verdict: first-rate."

– - Publishers Weekly (starred review) "Engaging. … Rosenfelt has another winner."

– - Orlando Sentinel

"Rosenfelt keeps the plot roaring along … while keeping the reader chuckling and turning pages."

– - Library Journal

"A tremendous thriller … fast-paced … a winner."

– - Midwest Book Review

"The fun part about Rosenfelt's legal thrillers … is the dry wit and self-deprecating humor of his hero."

– - Star-Ledger (NJ)

… AND FOR OPEN AND SHUT

"A very assured first novel … packed with cleverly sarcastic wit."

– - New York Times

"Splendid … intricate plotting."

– - Cleveland Plain Dealer

"A great book … one part gripping legal thriller, one part smart-mouth wise-guy detective story, and all around terrific."

– -Harlan Coben, author of No Second Chance

"Rosenfelt has a knack for pacing, plotting, and narration. … This new guy just may have what it takes."

– - St. Petersburg Times

"Engaging and likable. … The action is brisk."

– - San Francisco Chronicle

"Written with the skill of a veteran, Rosenfelt's debut legal thriller boasts fresh characters, an engaging narrator, and a plot that forces readers to keep flipping the pages."

– - Booklist (starred review)

Books by David Rosenfelt

Dead Center

Sudden Death

Bury the Lead

First Degree

Open and Shut

To Doris and Obby Rosenfelt, Herb Jaffe, and David Laser.

If you knew them, your lives are better for it.

Acknowledgments

I would very much like to state that I had no help whatsoever in putting this book together, but too many people know better. So in no particular order, I grudgingly thank: All the great people at Warner, including but certainly not limited to Jamie Raab, Bob Castillo, Elizabeth Hickmann, and Kristen Weber. Very special thanks go to Sara Ann Freed, who is the only editor I ever want to have, and Susan Richman, a wonderful publicist who somehow finds the time to deal with my inane requests. Every inexperienced novelist should be lucky enough to be paired with people like this.

My outstanding agents, Robin Rue on the book side and Sandy Weinberg on the film side. Besides being a pleasure to deal with, they put up with my nonsense and still manage to do absolutely everything right.

George Kentris of Findlay, Ohio, a terrific criminal attorney and friend, who fills in my legal blanks. And believe me, I have plenty of legal blanks.

Ed and Pat Thomas of Book Carnival in Orange, California, who have been amazingly helpful and supportive, generously offering their knowledge and advice.

All of those who read the book in its early drafts. They include, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone, Debbie Myers, Mike, Sandi, Rick, Lynn, Ross, Heidi, Adam, Eden, Todd and Bree Rosenfelt, Betsy Frank, Art Strauss, Emily Kim, Greg Creed, George Kentris, Joe Cugini, Amanda, Sharon and Mitchell Baron, Jerry Esbin, Norman Trell, Al and Nancy Sarnoff, James Patricof, Nancy Carter, Holly Sillau, and the entire terrific Heller family.

Debbie Myers, whom I could spend the next 200 pages thanking, and it wouldn't be enough. The knowledge that I am going to spend the rest of my life with her brightens every day.

I'm very grateful to all of you who e-mailed me feedback on Open and Shut . Please do so again through my Web site: www.davidrosenfelt.com

OPENING DAY.

Said separately, they're just two ordinary words.

"Opening" and "day." No big deal.

But put them together, liberally sprinkle some thirty-year-old memories, and they take on a meaning that can simultaneously bring a rush of excitement and a threat of tears. At least to me.

"Opening day." My mind's eye conjures up men in pinstripes racing onto a lush green field as the public address announcer booms, "Ladies and gentlemen, the New York Yankees!" That field is a clean spring slate; none of those players have yet made an error, or hit into a double play, or thrown a bat in disgust. Nor have they plans to.

The feeling I have on opening day is one I shared with my father and one he shared with his father before that. Today it takes on an added significance, because I'm going to continue that legacy. The experience won't be quite identical, but we in the Carpenter family are nothing if not adaptable.

I should mention the differences, subtle though they are. First of all, since I don't have any children, the offspring I am passing the sacred tradition on to is my golden retriever, Tara. Also, with the baseball season a good month away, we won't be going to Yankee Stadium, and we won't be seeing a baseball game. The particular opening that we are attending is that of Paterson, New Jersey's first-ever dog park.

I've never actually been to a dog park; I'm not even sure what one is. Tara hasn't been to one either, unless it was during the first two years of her life, before I knew her. If she has, I suspect the experience was less than thrilling, since I told her yesterday that we'd be going, and she was not awake all night in eager anticipation.

This dog park is supposed to be a pretty big deal. It was even a campaign issue in the recent election for mayor. Every candidate promised to have one, so I guess Paterson must have a lot of people like me, concerned citizens who vote the straight dog ticket.

As Tara and I drive over, I'm not getting the feeling that she's into the swing of things. She sits on the front seat, munches on a rawhide chewy, and doesn't show the least bit of interest in where we might be headed. Even when we get close, and we can hear the barking, she doesn't bother to look up and just keeps chomping away. Now I know why my father never gave me chewies on the way to Yankee games.

The park itself is nothing more than a very large dirt area, maybe the size of a football field, fenced on all sides. There must be a hundred dogs running around, getting to know each other, stopping to drink at numerous and well-positioned water fountains. Sort of a canine singles bar. There are maybe half as many humans, almost exclusively women, standing off to one side, talking and occasionally throwing a tennis ball, which sends the dogs into an absolute frenzy.