No Physical Evidence

by Gus Lee Narrated by Dick Hill

Overview

Deputy District Attorney Joshua Jin is up against the wall. With his life in crisis, he is forced to take on a politically charged case involving the rape of a thirteen-year-old girl. The victim refuses to talk. The ex-con charged with the crime was arrested on a hunch. And . . . there is no physical evidence.

Under immense pressure to win a conviction, Jin must first earn the confidence of his stone-silent client, a troubled teenager who trusts no one. Working against a brilliant, high-priced defense attorney who wants nothing more than to crush the opposition-particularly when her opposition is Josh Jin-he throws his heart and soul into an impossible case that is far more explosive than he had ever imagined. . . .

Editorial Reviews

bn.com editor

The Barnes & Noble Review
If you're looking for a finely tuned legal thriller with solid, three-dimensional characters; a stunning and plausible plot; tense courtroom action; and a shocking conclusion, read No Physical Evidence by Gus Lee, ex-prosecutor and the critically-acclaimed author of China Boy, Honor and Duty, and Tiger's Tail. No Physical Evidence delivers an engaging storyline that provides suspense, intrigue, and a colorful glimpse into the lives of an Asian American man living in a Caucasian world. It's a gripping legal and political drama that'll keep you guessing until its astonishing end.

In No Physical Evidence, a tormented Sacramento Assistant DA faces the biggest challenge of his career when he's handed a brutal child rape case. The case carries a great deal of political baggage (if he tries it and loses, his boss, not to mention himself, will almost certainly be out of a job come election time), and he's getting enormous pressure to dump it. And why shouldn't he? The victim won't talk, there's absolutely no physical evidence, and practically all of his colleagues want to see the case disappear. But the memory of his lost child, and the intrigue surrounding the case, drive him to investigate. What he discovers is horrible and shocking, and may potentially bring a city government to its knees.

No Physical Evidence is the story of Joshua Jin, a down-on-his-luck DA (the loss of his is 11-year-old daughter to congenital heart disease contributed to his recent divorce) who is just handed the very sad case of Rachel Farr. Rachel, a 13-year-old Caucasian living in the heart of Sacramento's Chinatown strict, is having a difficult childhood. Her mother is dead, her father is indifferent, and her stepmother abuses her. To top it all off, an ex-con, whom Rachel has grown exceedingly close, betrays her trust when he drugs her, handcuffs her to his bed, chokes her, and rapes her repeatedly.

The story begins when Josh's boss, District Attorney Thomas Conover, belts a cop in a drunken debacle and later refuses to apologize. Josh, in obvious pain over the recent loss of his daughter and subsequent divorce, breaks down in court, and later storms into Conover's office demanding he make amends with the furious police department. These incidents lead to Josh's immediate demotion -- a lousy desk job in the court's Intake department. Now Josh is responsible for deciding what cases receive hearings, and what cases are dropped.

Enter Catherine Capri, a tough investigator with SACA -- the DA's Sexual Assault and Child Abuse unit. Capri recently hauled in a guy named Karl "Chico" Moody, an ex-con who is suspected in the rape of Rachel Farr. Rachel, who shows many of the tell-tale signs of rape (she's withdrawn, losing weight, is constantly in tears), refuses to discuss -- with anyone -- that tragic day. This, in addition to the four months that have passed since the rape occurred, leave Josh with nothing but an educated hunch to tie Moody to the crime. And worse yet, Moody's lawyer is the exceedingly beautiful, expensive, and successful Stacy August, who just happens to be Josh's ex-lover.

Capri, who loves to see pedophiles brutalized in court, desperately wants this case tried, and thinks Josh is the man to do it. Josh is also receiving pressure from Chinatown's infuriated leaders. It's unclear whether their concern for Rachel is genuine, or if it's solely an attempt to flaunt political clout (officials are rarely elected who haven't cemented Chinatown's support).

Because the "Incident" involving Conover and the battered cop has isolated the DA department, Josh is forced to enlist the help of some unlikely candidates. There's a hot-headed cop named Belinski, a Vietnam vet with an itchy trigger finger; Fracois Giggins, Jin's gentle but clumsy office intern who sports enough facial piercings to send any grandmother into cataclysmic shock; and a Private Dick named David Obstain. While Belinski, Giggins, and Obstain are keeping a protective eye out for Rachel, Josh is working to earn the young girl's trust. Without it, the case -- and quite possibly the remainder of Josh's career -- is in serious jeopardy.

No Physical Evidence is an exceptional novel with an intricate, multi-facetted plot, colorful characters, and some really great courtroom scenes. It's a little slow at first, but if you hang on for the meaty middle and shocking conclusion you're in for a special treat. No Physical Evidence is not a typical legal thriller (it's a stretch to call it a thriller at all) in the sense that there aren't any gunfights, explosions, or serious attempts on our hero's life. Plausible plot developments generate plenty of suspense and drama in this authentic glimpse at a big town District Attorney department. No Physical Evidence is intelligent, top-notch entertainment.

J. Ching

...An engaging read...
— A. Magazine

Kirkus Reviews

Overwritten, overplotted legal procedural, set in a richly atmospheric Chinese-American Sacramento, that makes a compelling point about the challenges involved in investigating and punishing sex criminals. The recent death of Chinese-American prosecutor Josh Jin's 11-year-old daughter from congenital heart disease not only rendered him emotionally incapable of trying cases but foolish enough to ask his boss, hard-drinking District Attorney Tommy Conover, to apologize for decking a local cop. Conover retaliates by assigning Jin to prosecute a rape case that Jin is certain to lose. Caucasian 13-year old Rachel Farr, whose father and stepmother live in one of the cityþs predominantly Asian districts, won't even talk of how she suffered at the hands of ex-con "Chico" Moody, an unemployed, disabled veteran known to befriend runaway children. Though Rachel shows the psychological scars of vicious sexual abuse, she refuses to submit to a detailed physical examination. That, plus some shoddy police work, leaves Jin without physical evidence tying her to Moody, whoþs represented by the beautiful, expensive, and highly competent defense attorney Stacy August, Josh Jin's former lover. As soon as Jin, Sacramentoþs only Chinese-American prosecutor, zealously pursues the case, heþs warned to drop it by city hall sleazes who are suddenly afraid that, by losing it, Jin would doom Conover's chances for reelection. The Chinatown community, meanwhile, wants Jin to persist. Jin himself, who longs to be accepted in American society but is having a tough time staying true to his Chinese roots, can't help but see his dead daughter in Rachel. Alas, author Lee (Tigerþs Tail, 1996,etc.), in fact a former district attorney, canþt simply tell the agonizing story of emotionally charged teenage rape cases but buries his tale in annoying complexities about nasty judges, boorish cops, and a conspiracy of closet pedophiles. Awkward legal melodrama enriched by passionate pleading for the protection of children. (Book-of-the-Month alternate selection)

From the Publisher

"Gripping . . . NO PHYSICAL EVIDENCE is first-rate. . . . [Lee] keeps you guessing right to the taut, thoughtful, cleverly plotted conclusion."
--The Washington Post

"A NOVEL OF GREAT BREADTH AND DEPTH--a compelling story of a struggling lawyer facing the fight of his career."
--RICHARD NORTH PATTERSON

"POWERFUL . . . LEE CAN WRITE WITH CONSIDERABLE EMOTIONAL DEPTH."
--San Francisco Chronicle

"ONCE I STARTED READING GUS LEE'S BOOK, I COULDN'T PUT IT DOWN. I WAS SPELLBOUND.
As with Gus Lee's other books, this one has the kind of passion that can break your heart . . . . A fast-paced story with suspense, heart, and redemption."
--AMY TAN

From the Paperback edition.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169586626
Publisher:	Brilliance Audio
Publication date:	08/25/2008
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

A sultry evening wind stirred trees and made old newspapers cavort down back alleys. Street dogs growled at shadows, and Metro cops knew that something was coming their way.

Sergeant William McManus trailed a tan Cutlass Supreme into brick-cobbled Old Town. Near Fat City Café, the Cutlass slowed, its four male, watch-capped passengers checking out dangling purses in the festive summer boardwalk crowds. The Cee Supreme was the most popular U.S. car for auto theft. McManus ran the plates, but they came back clean.

Sergeant McManus was a compact man with sharp eyes, good teeth, and a nose for trouble. He nodded; his partner unlocked the riot gun and called for backup. But the Cutlass accelerated past the overflowing bars and restaurants and headed for center city. McManus had no probable cause to turn on the lights. He followed, waiting to make a solid stop.

A mile away, in a modernist steel downtown café bar for lawyers and lobbyists called A Shot of Class, a svelte woman in red opened the door, admitting a warm night wind that made the air conditioner huff. Table candles flickered and the barman sensed something in the warning breeze. He retrieved a concealed Colt automatic and slipped it in his pocket.

The piano player was doing "Perfidia" while Thomas Andrew Conover III held night court for the faithful, the curious, and the thirsty. Conover casually checked out the woman in red. It had been a good press week for the District Attorney. Some columnists loved Tommy's rugged good looks, his history as a boxer, his robust optimism. But slam-dunk ballot box wins were news-killers and most journalists would welcome a Conover disaster, something darkand insidious that would make the smug election a contest and drive citizens to their newspapers.

Her red dress slid on black leather, a trim hip touching Tommy with a soft, electric contact that made him think that somehow he knew her. But Tom was tiredly forgetful, dangerously unattached, and warm with drink.

"Yo!" he called. "Whatever she wants." He removed his coat and loosened his silk tie. In moments, she was considering him over an ice-cold Margarita. Tommy had been relating a long-ago bout. Now he rebegan his account of the fifth round, when he had knocked his opponent's mouthpiece into the cheap seats as the lubricated crowd roared and the enemy corner tossed a torn, pink-stained towel into the ring to a chorus of flash photography.

"Can you still fight?" Her question dilated his best capillaries. She was an advocate of blood sports, games of risk, and late-night shots at catastrophe. Hot lipstick broke the glass's salt rim. Sweet green eyes, heavy black hair, a good chest, a bumpy past.

The Cutlass's torn roof smoothed with the turn into the dead end of Eleventh and the K Street Mall. To the left of the four men was the looming Old Latin gravity of the Cathedral of the Holy Sacrament. Opposite was A Shot of Class, bright, warm, and rhythmic.

Billy McManus didn't like a four-pack of heavies this close to the DA's traditional Friday night watering hole. And Thomas Conover's bodyguard, a bald, spectacularly stupid ex-wrestler named Large Louis, was as useful in these matters as a dead cat in a pool game.

McManus kind of liked the DA, the way cops kind of liked all prosecutors. DAs were a necessary vice--they did the trials that put the bad guys away. But DAs were still lawyers who could bust good cops for overenthusiastic arrests, or publicly crap on the Blues to fatten a lead in the polls in a tight election year. Luckily, there was no sweat; this election was a done deal.

The Cutlass driver saw the trailing police cruiser and smoothly backed out. McManus turned to follow when a woman's bright, bloody cry of terror cut through the warm air. McManus braked, tires smoking toward the mall, giving up the Buick for the scream.

"I can still fight," said Tom with a sly Kevin Costner grin. He turned as a woman's eyewatering shriek jiggled ice cubes and made drinkers inhale mixed drinks. The piano player froze on the keys. Tom, his antenna alerted, looked toward the cathedral.

There, on the steps, an obese man bellowed violently at a woman in a short white dress, making her twist and scream crazily against his strong-armed grip.

With an oath, Tom was up. He knocked over jacketed waiters, small tables, and slow patrons, bulled through a fire door, setting off panic alarms. He stepped into the mall's warm night air, closed the distance, and rocked Obese Man with a huge right cross that induced a brain-rattling loss of memory and consciousness. Tom hauled Obese Man up for a combination encore, and now the woman screamed even louder, damaging local eardrums.

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