John Lescroart

1 KATE JAMESON AND BETH TULLY WALKED WEST AT THE bayside edge of Crissy Field. The hnes of the Golden Gate Bridge materiaUzed in haphazard fashion through the fog in front of them, but neither paid much attention. This was a view they encountered nearly every time they walked together, and they...

At the tail end of a dog of a morning, Dismas Hardy was beginning to fear that he would also be spending the whole stiflingly dull afternoon in municipal court on the second floor of the Hall of Justice in San Francisco. He was waiting—interminably since nine a.m.—for his client to be...

Mark Dooher couldn't take his eyes off the young woman who had just entered the dining room at Fior d'ltalia and was being seated, facing them, at a table ten feet away. His companion for lunch was, like Dooher, an attorney. His name was Wes Farrell and he generally practiced in a different...