Death On a High Floor: A Legal Thriller
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
When much-despised Marbury Marfan senior partner Simon Rafer turns up in a cold pool of blood with an ornate dagger in his back, it comes as a surprise to no one—least of all to Robert Tarza, who is first on the scene. A long-time partner at Marbury, Tarza knows dozens of attorneys in the firm who had good motive to want Rafer in the ground. But despite his own decades of conflict with Rafer—and a recent heated quarrel over a rare ancient coin Simon bought from him—Robert never imagined that homicide Detective Spritz would zero in on him as prime suspect.
As Spritz’s case builds with uncanny speed, Robert quickly falls from his respected position at Marbury to a criminal being dragged through the tabloids. Along with his kick-butt defense attorney, Jenna James, he is forced to play detective in a race to find the real killer—and uncovers a web of fraud amongst his closest colleagues in the process. In the end, only Jenna’s untested trial skills can keep him out of prison.
breath through the lips, somewhere between a grunt and sigh. I took it to mean he didn’t believe me. “No, really. It must have come from my touching him.” “Sure, sure,” Spritz said. “Okay,” I said, trying to keep my aplomb from thudding to the floor. “You can have the shirt, tie and jacket. I’ve got spares in my office.” “I’m afraid we’ve got your office taped off. The criminalists have to swab it down. Same reason. You won’t have access till tonight.” “So I have to go home in my
elegant hotel in Chicago, but it’s got a terrific view, and it’s only about a ten-minute drive from Hyde Park. That’s where Serappo has his office. If you can call it an office. It didn’t take long to pack my small roll-aboard. I was planning to stay only one night, so I figured I could get away with wearing the same suit a second day, much as I hated that. All I needed was a clean shirt, some underwear, and my travel kit. I picked up Volume III of Grueber’s Coins of the Roman Republic in the
know you well enough to help you a lot. Help you to . . . what’s that old phrase? Oh, yeah, ‘Keep your head about you.’ We can hire some crim-head to front the thing.” “Jenna, I don’t think I need a lawyer. Once the cops really get into this, it will blow over. In the meantime, I can just lie low.” “Well, when you get out of bed and go look out your front door, you may feel differently about it.” “What’s outside my front door?” “A couple of reporters. But you should check it out for
Finally, Jenna spoke. “So now do you want to see the L.A. Times?” “I guess.” “It’s in the kitchen.” CHAPTER 4 When I got back to the kitchen, the paper was lying in the middle of the table, headline up. I saw instantly what Jenna meant for me to see—the right-hand lead: Prominent Lawyer Stabbed to Death. Below it was a color picture of Simon Rafer, dead on the carpet, with the dagger in his back. “How did they get that picture?” “Cell phone camera. One of the people who stepped off
there—almost a thousand of them—on ceiling-high shelves covering two adjoining walls. The other two walls are dark mahogany. The floor of the room is wide-plank dark wood, covered by an old oriental rug. One I bought during a trip to Turkey, after way too many glasses of something whose name I still can’t pronounce. In one of the corners there is a big chair, its red leather cracked from age and use, with a battered old ottoman in front of it. Next to the chair there’s a small, marble-topped