Thrillers & Suspense
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The Missing Piece: A Novel (19) (Dismas Hardy)
The beloved New York Times bestselling Dismas Hardy series returns with this "perfect piece of entertainment from a master storyteller" (Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author) about a relentlessly twisty murder mystery.
No one mourned when San Francisco DA Wes Farrell put Paul Riley in prison eleven years ago for the rape and murder of his girlfriend. And no one is particularly happy to see him again when he's released after The Exoneration Initiative uncovered evidence that pinned the crime on someone else. In fact, Riley soon turns up murdered, surrounded by the loot from his latest scam. But if Riley was really innocent all along, who wanted him dead?
To the cops, it's straightforward: the still-grieving father of Riley's dead girlfriend killed the former prisoner. Farrell, now out of politics and practicing law with master attorney Dismas Hardy, agrees to represent the defendant, Doug Rush-and is left in the dust when Rush suddenly vanishes. At a loss, Farrell and Hardy ask PI Abe Glitsky to track down the potentially lethal defendant. The search takes Glitsky through an investigative hall of mirrors populated by wounded parents, crooked cops, cheating spouses, and single-minded vigilantes. As Glitsky embraces and then discards one enticing theory after another, the truth seems to recede ever farther. So far that he begins to question his own moral compass in this "superb thriller from a veteran crime writer" (Jeffrey Deaver, New York Times bestselling author) that you'll savor to the last word.
No one mourned when San Francisco DA Wes Farrell put Paul Riley in prison eleven years ago for the rape and murder of his girlfriend. And no one is particularly happy to see him again when he's released after The Exoneration Initiative uncovered evidence that pinned the crime on someone else. In fact, Riley soon turns up murdered, surrounded by the loot from his latest scam. But if Riley was really innocent all along, who wanted him dead?
To the cops, it's straightforward: the still-grieving father of Riley's dead girlfriend killed the former prisoner. Farrell, now out of politics and practicing law with master attorney Dismas Hardy, agrees to represent the defendant, Doug Rush-and is left in the dust when Rush suddenly vanishes. At a loss, Farrell and Hardy ask PI Abe Glitsky to track down the potentially lethal defendant. The search takes Glitsky through an investigative hall of mirrors populated by wounded parents, crooked cops, cheating spouses, and single-minded vigilantes. As Glitsky embraces and then discards one enticing theory after another, the truth seems to recede ever farther. So far that he begins to question his own moral compass in this "superb thriller from a veteran crime writer" (Jeffrey Deaver, New York Times bestselling author) that you'll savor to the last word.
Editorial Reviews
"John Lescroart is not only a master of the legal thriller but a master storyteller as well. The Missing Piece is clever, sly, and delightfully twisty." -Joseph Finder, New York Times bestselling author of House on Fire
"Another perfect piece of entertainment from a master storyteller." -Steve Berry, New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author of the Cotton Malone series
"Believe the hype: John Lescroart has earned his seat in the canon of great legal thriller writers." -Karin Slaughter, New York Times and internationally bestselling author
"A superb thriller from a veteran crime writer! Lescroart brings all his many talents to bear in The Missing Piece: stellar plotting, his distinctive, punchy writing style and characters so real you feel you've met them before (though ideally not all of them, considering the author's masterful depiction of villains!). And the city of San Francisco-in all its glory and seediness-truly comes alive under Lescroart's pen. Bravo!" -Jeffery Deaver, author of The Midnight Lock
"Lescroart novels are heavyweight prize fights, the outcome in doubt until the final, unexpected, exhilarating blow." -Robert Dugoni, internationally bestselling author of the Tracy Crosswhite series
"Bestselling mystery writer John Lescroart reunites two fan-favorite characters to catch a San Francisco serial killer. Fast-paced and suspenseful." -Catherine Coulter, New York Times bestselling author of Vortex
"No one tells a story as seamlessly and compellingly as John Lescroart--he somehow manages to be endearing and sophisticated at the same time. Underneath the engaging characters, brilliant dialogue and riveting timely plot-there's an undercurrent of humanity, heartbreaking honesty, emotional depth, and the passionate search for justice. Bottom line: John Lescroart is the true master. And his books get better and better. The Missing Piece is terrific." -Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Perfect Life
"Hypnotic and powerful, The Missing Piece is both a nail-biting cops-and-lawyers puzzler and a fascinating intellectual thriller. From San Francisco's saloons to its courtrooms, living rooms, and interrogation rooms, you'll walk the shadowy streets with some of the most interesting characters around. The question is, who really murdered Paul Riley? Grandmaster of suspense John Lescroart will keep you guessing until the dazzling end." -Gayle Lynds, New York Times bestselling author of The Assass...
"Another perfect piece of entertainment from a master storyteller." -Steve Berry, New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author of the Cotton Malone series
"Believe the hype: John Lescroart has earned his seat in the canon of great legal thriller writers." -Karin Slaughter, New York Times and internationally bestselling author
"A superb thriller from a veteran crime writer! Lescroart brings all his many talents to bear in The Missing Piece: stellar plotting, his distinctive, punchy writing style and characters so real you feel you've met them before (though ideally not all of them, considering the author's masterful depiction of villains!). And the city of San Francisco-in all its glory and seediness-truly comes alive under Lescroart's pen. Bravo!" -Jeffery Deaver, author of The Midnight Lock
"Lescroart novels are heavyweight prize fights, the outcome in doubt until the final, unexpected, exhilarating blow." -Robert Dugoni, internationally bestselling author of the Tracy Crosswhite series
"Bestselling mystery writer John Lescroart reunites two fan-favorite characters to catch a San Francisco serial killer. Fast-paced and suspenseful." -Catherine Coulter, New York Times bestselling author of Vortex
"No one tells a story as seamlessly and compellingly as John Lescroart--he somehow manages to be endearing and sophisticated at the same time. Underneath the engaging characters, brilliant dialogue and riveting timely plot-there's an undercurrent of humanity, heartbreaking honesty, emotional depth, and the passionate search for justice. Bottom line: John Lescroart is the true master. And his books get better and better. The Missing Piece is terrific." -Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Perfect Life
"Hypnotic and powerful, The Missing Piece is both a nail-biting cops-and-lawyers puzzler and a fascinating intellectual thriller. From San Francisco's saloons to its courtrooms, living rooms, and interrogation rooms, you'll walk the shadowy streets with some of the most interesting characters around. The question is, who really murdered Paul Riley? Grandmaster of suspense John Lescroart will keep you guessing until the dazzling end." -Gayle Lynds, New York Times bestselling author of The Assass...
Readers Top Reviews
marcopcJill
This is the nineteenth in the Dismiss Hardy series; the first one was published in 1989! Over the years, I have read quite a few of them. I enjoy the repeating characters; it is like visiting with old acquaintances whenever a new book in the series is released. A solid legal thriller/police procedural (albeit most of the work done by a former head of homicide turned PI), it takes a while for the case(s) to be solved as Glitsky chases a number of red herrings. The plot is maybe not the strongest in this series, but it still makes for a page turning, enjoyable read. Lescroat quickly fills in the background information on the main characters meaning this book will work as a standalone, but I think it may be more enjoyable if you have read some of the others. I’m looking forward to the next in this series to see how Farrell (DA turned defense attorney) resolves his present career crisis.
PLAmarcopcJill
I’m a long time fan of this author’s books, and this book continues his tradition of crafting an intricate storyline. Paul Riley is released from prison after the Exoneration Initiative produces the man who confessed to the murder Paul was put into jail for. But soon after Paul is released he is murdered, and his father points the finger at the father of the woman Paul was accused of killing. Abe Glitsky, former detective now private investigator is tagged by his firm, representing Doug Rush, the woman’s father, with gathering information and determining if Doug killed Paul. This action starts the ball rolling and Abe and the rest of his firm find themselves pulling at strings to unravel several murders. Are they connected, or are they a coincidence? What does any of this have to do with Paula and EI? The reader is kept guessing until the end! This was a fast-paced, well conceived mystery and I really enjoyed it. Thanks to the author, publisher and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book, but my opinions are my own.
Nancy Goldberg Wi
The Missing Piece is the nineteenth installment in John Lescroart's Dismas Hardy series. The expected publication date for this book is March 29, 2022. Paul Riley had been convicted of the rape and murder of Dana Rush. After serving eleven years for the crimes, and with the help of the Exoneration Initiative, Riley was cleared of the crimes and released. When Riley was murdered four months after his release, police arrested Dana's father, Doug Rush. And Doug hired Wes Farrell, the former district attorney and current partner of Dismas Hardy. Hardy's longtime friend, Abe Glitsky, had been an inspector in charge of homicide with the San Francisco Police Department; he was now retired and doing some work for Hardy's firm as a private investigator. When Doug failed to show for a court appearance, Hardy asked Abe to locate him. And, Abe investigates with the dogged determination that we have come to expect from him. But, as Doug had failed to appear, there was no client and, hence, no case. Nonetheless, this doesn't stop Abe. We accompany Abe as he follows the convoluted twists and turns that arise in this complex plot. There are multiple suspects, multiple motives. Although The Missing Piece is a Dismas Hardy novel, it feels a bit more like an Abe Glitsky novel. Hardy's role doesn't feel as "front and center" as we are accustomed to in Lescroart's previous Hardy books, and this is a refreshing change. Regardless of how it is categorized, The Missing Piece is another great addition to the continuing Hardy/Glitsky saga. It remains one of my favorite series. Highly recommended.
Debra ShermanNanc
Have waited the longest time for a new John Lescroart novel. Love all the characters. Excellent read.! Hope we get another soon
JeffDebra Sherman
Highly entertaining police procedural, The Missing Piece is the latest in the Hardy series, and it keeps you guessing throughout the story. This is my first foray in this series, but I didn’t feel as if I missed anything, so it’s easily a stand-alone. Lots of action, sharp, witty dialogue and interesting characters make this a winner. I’ll definitely be looking at other books in this series. I received an ARC of this book from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1 1
THE CUSTOMER CUT a fine figure, an attorney in a thousand-dollar business suit. Like the werewolves of London, his hair was perfect, full and speckled with just the right amount of gray, for the ever-crucial gravitas. Apparently deep in thought, he was twirling his empty wineglass around on the circle of condensation that had formed in front of him at the bar.
His bartender, the eponymous owner of Lou the Greek's restaurant, a popular watering hole of the legal community just across the street from San Francisco's Hall of Justice, took the twirling as a cue and moseyed on down to his only customer.
"?'Nother one, Wes?"
Wes Farrell considered for a short moment before he shook his head. "Better not, Lou. I've got to drive home in a while. Two glasses of wine at lunch is too much."
"For what?"
"Well, driving comes to mind."
"So get an Uber."
"And pay for parking overnight in the lot out there? Forty bucks per any portion of the day, plus the Uber home and back? We're talking a hundred bills here. That's an expensive glass of this fine wine."
Lou shrugged. "Okay. So. Maybe not an Uber. But even if you drove, so what?"
"What do you mean, so what?"
"I mean, you're Wes Farrell. You get pulled over, you tell them who you are, though they'd probably already know that anyway. They tell you to have a nice day and send you on your way."
This brought a dry chuckle. "Nice fantasy, Lou, but I don't think so. More likely is one of the city's finest pulls me over and says, ‘Hey, didn't you used to be Wes Farrell the district attorney?' And I go, ‘Yeah,' and he says, ‘Well, you're not anymore.' And he writes me up anyway. I get tagged with a DUI and then I'm well and truly screwed."
"That'll never happen."
"It might if I have another glass of wine."
"That's a hell of a lot of burden to put on a six-ounce pour."
"It is. I know. It's a bitch. But there you go." Farrell gave his glass another quarter turn, threw a glance up at the ceiling, came back to his bartender. "Ah, what the hell, Lou," he said. "Hit me again, would you?"
HE DIDN'T GET pulled over on his drive back to his office on Sutter Street, but he felt guilty the whole time he sat behind the wheel. After all, he was in fact the former district attorney of San Francisco, the chief prosecutor in the city and county. His administration hadn't exactly broken new ground in granting leniency to people who drove under the influence, and he wouldn't expect any mercy if he got himself pulled over with a heat on.
Still, he'd gotten himself without incident into his sacred parking spot in the garage under the Freeman Building, where he was a partner in the law firm of Freeman, Farrell, Hardy & Roake. Taking the elevator up past the ornate and even regal reception lobby, he made it to the third floor unmolested.
As usual, the place was deserted. No one, it seemed, except himself, liked working in splendid isolation up here. Even his efficient and intuitive secretary, Treya, whom he shared with his partner Gina Roake, preferred working on the bustling second floor where most of the firm's business got done.
The only door on this floor opened to his outsize, well-lit office, which he'd furnished-another of his trademarks-with a man-child's sensibility. Heavy on games and sports paraphernalia, the space was nobody's idea of a successful lawyer's office. Featuring a full-size Ping-Pong/billiards table, a foosball game, two Nerf baskets, a dartboard, a couple of enormous television sets, a chessboard, and three soft brown leather couches with two matching chairs, the office sported exactly zero signs of files, no law books.
Farrell didn't want to intimidate clients. He wanted them to feel at home. He always made it a point to show each of them one of his nearly trademark goofy/funny/rude T-shirts that he infallibly wore underneath his white button-down shirt. (Today's message: Qualified to Give Urine Samples.)
Okay, not really that funny; he'd admit it. But they all spoke to him in one way or another and he wasn't about to abandon an approach that had served him so well for so long.
Closing the door behind him, he absently picked up one of the Nerf basketballs from the Ping-Pong table and shot it toward the hoop across the room, missing by about three feet.
It was all the encouragement he needed to cross to the nearest couch, take off his suit coat, and get horizontal, hands behind his head. His eyes h...
THE CUSTOMER CUT a fine figure, an attorney in a thousand-dollar business suit. Like the werewolves of London, his hair was perfect, full and speckled with just the right amount of gray, for the ever-crucial gravitas. Apparently deep in thought, he was twirling his empty wineglass around on the circle of condensation that had formed in front of him at the bar.
His bartender, the eponymous owner of Lou the Greek's restaurant, a popular watering hole of the legal community just across the street from San Francisco's Hall of Justice, took the twirling as a cue and moseyed on down to his only customer.
"?'Nother one, Wes?"
Wes Farrell considered for a short moment before he shook his head. "Better not, Lou. I've got to drive home in a while. Two glasses of wine at lunch is too much."
"For what?"
"Well, driving comes to mind."
"So get an Uber."
"And pay for parking overnight in the lot out there? Forty bucks per any portion of the day, plus the Uber home and back? We're talking a hundred bills here. That's an expensive glass of this fine wine."
Lou shrugged. "Okay. So. Maybe not an Uber. But even if you drove, so what?"
"What do you mean, so what?"
"I mean, you're Wes Farrell. You get pulled over, you tell them who you are, though they'd probably already know that anyway. They tell you to have a nice day and send you on your way."
This brought a dry chuckle. "Nice fantasy, Lou, but I don't think so. More likely is one of the city's finest pulls me over and says, ‘Hey, didn't you used to be Wes Farrell the district attorney?' And I go, ‘Yeah,' and he says, ‘Well, you're not anymore.' And he writes me up anyway. I get tagged with a DUI and then I'm well and truly screwed."
"That'll never happen."
"It might if I have another glass of wine."
"That's a hell of a lot of burden to put on a six-ounce pour."
"It is. I know. It's a bitch. But there you go." Farrell gave his glass another quarter turn, threw a glance up at the ceiling, came back to his bartender. "Ah, what the hell, Lou," he said. "Hit me again, would you?"
HE DIDN'T GET pulled over on his drive back to his office on Sutter Street, but he felt guilty the whole time he sat behind the wheel. After all, he was in fact the former district attorney of San Francisco, the chief prosecutor in the city and county. His administration hadn't exactly broken new ground in granting leniency to people who drove under the influence, and he wouldn't expect any mercy if he got himself pulled over with a heat on.
Still, he'd gotten himself without incident into his sacred parking spot in the garage under the Freeman Building, where he was a partner in the law firm of Freeman, Farrell, Hardy & Roake. Taking the elevator up past the ornate and even regal reception lobby, he made it to the third floor unmolested.
As usual, the place was deserted. No one, it seemed, except himself, liked working in splendid isolation up here. Even his efficient and intuitive secretary, Treya, whom he shared with his partner Gina Roake, preferred working on the bustling second floor where most of the firm's business got done.
The only door on this floor opened to his outsize, well-lit office, which he'd furnished-another of his trademarks-with a man-child's sensibility. Heavy on games and sports paraphernalia, the space was nobody's idea of a successful lawyer's office. Featuring a full-size Ping-Pong/billiards table, a foosball game, two Nerf baskets, a dartboard, a couple of enormous television sets, a chessboard, and three soft brown leather couches with two matching chairs, the office sported exactly zero signs of files, no law books.
Farrell didn't want to intimidate clients. He wanted them to feel at home. He always made it a point to show each of them one of his nearly trademark goofy/funny/rude T-shirts that he infallibly wore underneath his white button-down shirt. (Today's message: Qualified to Give Urine Samples.)
Okay, not really that funny; he'd admit it. But they all spoke to him in one way or another and he wasn't about to abandon an approach that had served him so well for so long.
Closing the door behind him, he absently picked up one of the Nerf basketballs from the Ping-Pong table and shot it toward the hoop across the room, missing by about three feet.
It was all the encouragement he needed to cross to the nearest couch, take off his suit coat, and get horizontal, hands behind his head. His eyes h...
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