After sending a man to death row, a Los Angeles prosecutor has doubts about the evidence in Flores’ novel.

As the story opens in 2023, Linda Sanchez, a tenacious star attorney in the LA district attorney’s office, has just accomplished a feat that puts her in the elite “Nickel Choir”—a handful of attorneys who’ve sent five convicts to death row. The defendant in question, Nicolas Meza, had a history of petty crimes and domestic violence before he was accused and convicted of burning down his own home after a fight with his wife, killing her and their young son. However, Linda can’t sit back and savor her victory, because Jeremy Holder, a slick, smug, Texas-born attorney who specializes in death penalty defenses, is handling Meza’s appeal. As she reviews the case, she knows that she made no mistakes; she would ordinarily be proud of her hard work, but something about the case doesn’t feel right, and it sticks in her mind like “a pebble stuck in [her] shoe.” A key piece of evidence—a blue Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap that Meza always wore for good luck—wasn’t found until after investigators had gone through the scene several times. Why was it missed at first? Unwilling to let it go, Linda teams up with trusted investigator Raymond “Mon” Santos to quietly poke around, and they quickly discover that the situation is far more complicated than they suspected. Danger quickly escalates as Linda’s car is vandalized, her mother is threatened, and the state bar receives an anonymous complaint that could destroy the lawyer’s career.

Flores, a former trial attorney, professor of criminal justice, and judge who lives in Southern California, portrays the vibrant culture of East LA with humor and warmth, liberally sprinkling the text with Chicano slang and cultural references. Linda is shown to be a driven attorney, a recovering alcoholic, and a supportive daughter and sister who still imagines conversations with her late husband, who died in 2005. Santos, an ex-Marine, is said to be “trilingual”—fluent in “English, Legalese, and Chicano street slang.” The narrative is mostly focused on Linda, but it includes scenes from several other characters’ points of view, including some that address readers directly. These fill in details of Linda’s and the defendant’s backstories but are sometimes a bit odd: Linda’s late spouse, for instance, states, “Oh, by the way, I’m dead.” Other scenes, such as an anecdote from a lawyer whose client Linda prosecuted (“I know I’m not a part of this story, but hear me out”), interrupt the flow while adding little to the story. The prose is sometimes vivid, as when a rookie cop’s tattoo is described as “either a rattler or a fat, menacing worm,” and an old man’s toenails are said to be “trying to escape in ten different directions”; other passages, though, feel awkward, such as “Spike chugged the drink wryly.” The plot is full of surprises that keep the story moving, although some, such as a fortuitous natural disaster, may strain readers’ credibility.

An often entertaining but unevenly executed legal thriller.

Debut author Flores’ literary novel follows bizarre family troubles in a small Southern California town.

Welcome to Clarktown, California. Clarktown is located in Allen County, a place that “was created in the nineteenth century by the shear will, sweat and blood of the farmers, ranchers, and working families.” It is the 1960s, and the war in Vietnam is getting increasingly unpopular stateside. Veterans are returning from their time in combat in bad shape. Some are addicted to heroin, while others, like Matt Bradley, carry physical and emotional scars. Although Matt has managed to put his military training to use in civilian life advising police officers, his past still haunts him. Samuel Mendoza’s older brother Curtis “Curt” Mendoza served as a Green Beret. Once Curt is discharged from the Army, he winds up in all sorts of trouble, such as fighting and drug smuggling. Things go from bad to worse for Curt when he is accused of murder. It doesn’t help that local law enforcement is not exactly on the up and up. Sheriff Robert “Big Bob” Johnson seems keen on getting away with whatever might earn him a quick buck. His hobbies include quoting John Wayne movies and dealing in illicit human body parts. Big Bob believes Curt has information that could be useful, so he is hellbent on making Curt’s time behind bars as uncomfortable as possible. Lucky for Curt, his brother Hank is an Ivy League grad and lawyer who comes home from Boston to help with his case. Curt also has on his side local hippie attorney Robert “Bob” Stein. Bob and Hank may be sharp, but they have their work cut out for them.

Along with Curt’s legal situation, the narrative weaves in plenty of vivid period details of the 1960s. Baseball is well represented (snippets of Sandy Koufax’s career are mentioned throughout), as is the teen music scene: As one kid puts it, “I’m already tired of The Beatles…the Stones; that’s where it’s at, man.” Such aspects ground the story in a specific time and place, and the prose progresses in a breezy, conversational tone. The narrator explains complicated situations in a plain, matter-of-fact style: a good example is his description of his brother’s odd behavior upon his return from Vietnam (Curt seemed to be “nowhere and everywhere.”) The author also gives extensive background info on both major and minor characters. The reader learns everything from what car Stein drives to the special dish created in his honor at his landlord’s Mexican restaurant with kosher carne asida. The attorney describes “Combination Plate No. 7, The Stein Plate” as having “some heavy Old Testament vibe, and damn fucking good.” Such attention to detail enhances the main characters, although in the case of more peripheral characters, the detailed descriptions seem gratuitous. The question of whether Curt killed a man or not isn’t quite as suspenseful as one might expect. Despite such distractions, as the narrative centers on Curt’s trial it raises interesting questions about everything from pleas of insanity to the vagaries of small-town justice.

An unfocused tale of Vietnam War–era family dysfunction that’s rich in historical realism.