Everyone kept telling me this was a straightforward legal thriller. Detective thinks husband did it, lawyer thinks he didn't. Pick a side, watch it play out. Simple, right?
Except Allen Eskens isn't interested in simple. And honestly? Neither am I.
The Psychology of Opposing Certainties
Here's the thing that hooked me from the first hour: both Max and Boady are absolutely convinced they're right. Not "pretty sure" or "leaning toward" — we're talking bone-deep certainty. The research actually shows that this kind of motivated reasoning is one of the most fascinating (and dangerous) cognitive patterns humans exhibit. We don't just believe what we believe; we construct entire frameworks to protect those beliefs.
Max Rupert is still drowning in grief four years after losing his wife. The Pruitt case isn't just a case for him — it's a projection screen. Every piece of evidence gets filtered through his own loss. Classic displacement behavior, and Eskens writes it with the kind of psychological accuracy that made me pause my morning jog more than once to just... think about it.
And Boady? He's textbook guilt-driven redemption-seeking. He failed a client before. Someone died. Now he's back in the courtroom with something to prove, and that desperation colors everything. His need to save Ben Pruitt isn't purely noble — it's selfish in the most human way possible. That's what makes him compelling.
Three Voices in My Head (Literally)
Okay, so the multiple narrator situation. I've listened to plenty of audiobooks with ensemble casts that felt like a committee designed them. This one actually works, though I'll admit it took me a bit to settle in.
R.C. Bray as Max Rupert? Spot on. There's this weariness in his delivery that feels earned, not performed. When Max spirals into his grief, Bray doesn't oversell it. He lets the silence do work. (My therapist would have thoughts about this character, but she'd also appreciate the restraint.)
Amy McFadden handles Lila Nash with exactly the right energy — sharp, observant, still learning. She's the audience surrogate in a lot of ways, and McFadden makes that feel natural rather than expository.
Now, David Colacci as Boady. Look, I'm going to be honest here because that's what we do. The first couple chapters, his pacing threw me. There's this slightly formal cadence that initially felt like he was narrating a documentary about migration patterns rather than a legal thriller. But — and this is important — it started making sense as Boady's character developed. The man is performing competence while falling apart inside. That measured delivery? It tracks, psychologically.
Where the Narrative Cracks Open
Eskens does something clever with the dual perspective structure. Instead of just alternating chapters (lazy, honestly), he uses the opposing viewpoints to create genuine uncertainty. I found myself asking: why does Max really believe Ben is guilty? Is it the evidence, or is it his own unprocessed trauma looking for a target?
The pacing is tight — around nine and a half hours, which felt just right for the complexity of what Eskens is doing. No bloat, no filler subplots about characters we don't care about. The story earns its runtime.
And the ending? I won't spoil it, but I will say this: the truth about what happened to Jennavieve Pruitt doesn't arrive with a dramatic courtroom confession or a convenient witness. It unfolds in a way that felt psychologically authentic. Humans don't typically reveal themselves in neat packages. They crack slowly, under pressure, when their defense mechanisms finally fail. Pieces of Her explores that same slow unraveling—watching someone's carefully constructed identity fracture under crisis is psychologically riveting.
Your Ideal Listen If...
This is a fascinating case study in how grief distorts perception, how guilt drives behavior, and how two intelligent people can look at identical evidence and reach opposite conclusions. If you enjoy character-driven mysteries where the psychology matters as much as the plot, you're going to have a good time.
If you need your mysteries fast and uncomplicated, with clear good guys and bad guys? This might frustrate you. Eskens is more interested in moral ambiguity than moral clarity. And if you're looking for something more action-driven where moral certainty isn't questioned, Any Means Necessary delivers that straightforward thriller energy without the ambiguity.
Content note: there's violence, some language, and brief sexual content. Nothing gratuitous, but it's there.
Case Notes
I listened to most of this during my morning runs through Cambridge, and there were definitely moments I slowed down because I needed to focus on what was happening rather than my pace. (My fitness tracker was confused. I regret nothing.)
The production is clean — no weird audio glitches, no volume inconsistencies. The three narrators are balanced well, and the transitions between perspectives never jarred me out of the story.
Would I listen again? Probably not immediately — it's not that kind of book. But I'm absolutely tracking down more Eskens. The man understands human nature in a way that feels researched rather than assumed, and that's increasingly rare.
