be a natural on the abduction, Ryder. You’ve got an interesting history with psychopaths.”
Maybe because my brother’s crazy, Ryderconsidered saying. A man accused of killing five women. Or perhaps because I grew up in a house where any wrong word or glance or sound could turn my father from a respected engineer into a violent, raging whirlwind of hate. My brother Jeremy killed my father, was institutionalized for years, escaping months ago, slipping from my hands in New York. I watched my mother die a horrific death, refusing medicine, hoping her pain purchased her way into a Heaven she feared she’d lost by not better protecting my brother and me. I dropped a Masters in psychology to become a cop…after years of studying the worst psychopaths and sociopaths in the penal system.
How about that for history, Sandhill?
Instead, Ryder sighed and shook his head. “Squill doesn’t care about experience, just payback. He installed Meyers as lead, supposedly. But Meyers is run by Duckworth, who happens to be—”
“A wholly owned subsidiary of Squill,” Sandhill said. “Nothing changes, does it? Who had the great fucking idea of putting Squill into Internal Affairs, giving him a springboard back into the action? Probably that dolt, Bidwell. Now Bidwell’s taking orders from Squill. It’s ironic, but what Bidwell deserves, of course.”
Ryder found it interesting that a guy gone from the department for several years was so well informed.
“I’ve got a favor to ask, Mr Sandhill.”
Sandhill held the plate to the side of the table and brushed crumbs on to it with the side of his hand.
“My answer is no.”
“Just see if anyone missed anything. Stop by the department and take a look.”
“The department and I don’t get along.”
Ryder sighed. “I don’t care about your past, Sandhill. We’re in trouble here.”
“The department has shit on its shoes. I’m fine. And you’re either lying or misled; no way Squill wants me within a thousand miles of the MPD.”
“The mayor ordered Squill to contact you.”
“Bullshit, Ryder. The woman doesn’t know me from Adam’s poodle.”
“She asked Squill about former cops who might help. Zemain ran your name up the flagpole, but others kept it flying. Even Bidwell, for crying out loud.”
Sandhill crossed his arms on the table, leaned forward. “So if our new little lady mayor wants me, and Squill is required to act on the request, how is it, Detective Ryder, that you got the dirty job of asking?”
Ryder felt his jaw clench. “Squill’s hated me for years. If I don’t convince you to give the department a few hours to mollify the mayor, Squill will spin it to look like I failed, not him.”
Sandhill leaned back in his chair. He slipped the crown from his head, dusted it with his palm, returned it to his head.
“You’ve got to understand, Detective, I’m gone from the game; I’ve got a new life now. I like it.”
“What you’re saying is, no way?”
“What I’m saying is, if MPD wants my services on a consultation basis, it might be arranged.”
“You mean you’ll charge.”
Sandhill winked. “Nothing gets by you, Detective Ryder. You’re a pro.”
“What sort of, uh, payment you thinking about, Sandhill?”
The Gumbo King pursed his lips, eyes flicking horizontally as if balancing weights on a scale.
“An official apology, both verbal and written; reinstatement of my pension vestment with accrued interest…”
“Come on, Sandhill, they’ll never—”
“And two hundred bucks an hour for my consultation time.”
“You’re crazy.”
The Gumbo King crossed his arms high on his chest.
“So have I spoken, so let it be writ.”
Ryder stood and walked to the door without looking back, wondering what Squill’s next move would be. Shooting the messenger? He stepped outside and headed to the departmental Crown Victoria.
“Ryder!” Sandhill bellowed.
Ryder turned to see the restaurateur filling the open doorway, his
Maybe because my brother’s crazy, Ryderconsidered saying. A man accused of killing five women. Or perhaps because I grew up in a house where any wrong word or glance or sound could turn my father from a respected engineer into a violent, raging whirlwind of hate. My brother Jeremy killed my father, was institutionalized for years, escaping months ago, slipping from my hands in New York. I watched my mother die a horrific death, refusing medicine, hoping her pain purchased her way into a Heaven she feared she’d lost by not better protecting my brother and me. I dropped a Masters in psychology to become a cop…after years of studying the worst psychopaths and sociopaths in the penal system.
How about that for history, Sandhill?
Instead, Ryder sighed and shook his head. “Squill doesn’t care about experience, just payback. He installed Meyers as lead, supposedly. But Meyers is run by Duckworth, who happens to be—”
“A wholly owned subsidiary of Squill,” Sandhill said. “Nothing changes, does it? Who had the great fucking idea of putting Squill into Internal Affairs, giving him a springboard back into the action? Probably that dolt, Bidwell. Now Bidwell’s taking orders from Squill. It’s ironic, but what Bidwell deserves, of course.”
Ryder found it interesting that a guy gone from the department for several years was so well informed.
“I’ve got a favor to ask, Mr Sandhill.”
Sandhill held the plate to the side of the table and brushed crumbs on to it with the side of his hand.
“My answer is no.”
“Just see if anyone missed anything. Stop by the department and take a look.”
“The department and I don’t get along.”
Ryder sighed. “I don’t care about your past, Sandhill. We’re in trouble here.”
“The department has shit on its shoes. I’m fine. And you’re either lying or misled; no way Squill wants me within a thousand miles of the MPD.”
“The mayor ordered Squill to contact you.”
“Bullshit, Ryder. The woman doesn’t know me from Adam’s poodle.”
“She asked Squill about former cops who might help. Zemain ran your name up the flagpole, but others kept it flying. Even Bidwell, for crying out loud.”
Sandhill crossed his arms on the table, leaned forward. “So if our new little lady mayor wants me, and Squill is required to act on the request, how is it, Detective Ryder, that you got the dirty job of asking?”
Ryder felt his jaw clench. “Squill’s hated me for years. If I don’t convince you to give the department a few hours to mollify the mayor, Squill will spin it to look like I failed, not him.”
Sandhill leaned back in his chair. He slipped the crown from his head, dusted it with his palm, returned it to his head.
“You’ve got to understand, Detective, I’m gone from the game; I’ve got a new life now. I like it.”
“What you’re saying is, no way?”
“What I’m saying is, if MPD wants my services on a consultation basis, it might be arranged.”
“You mean you’ll charge.”
Sandhill winked. “Nothing gets by you, Detective Ryder. You’re a pro.”
“What sort of, uh, payment you thinking about, Sandhill?”
The Gumbo King pursed his lips, eyes flicking horizontally as if balancing weights on a scale.
“An official apology, both verbal and written; reinstatement of my pension vestment with accrued interest…”
“Come on, Sandhill, they’ll never—”
“And two hundred bucks an hour for my consultation time.”
“You’re crazy.”
The Gumbo King crossed his arms high on his chest.
“So have I spoken, so let it be writ.”
Ryder stood and walked to the door without looking back, wondering what Squill’s next move would be. Shooting the messenger? He stepped outside and headed to the departmental Crown Victoria.
“Ryder!” Sandhill bellowed.
Ryder turned to see the restaurateur filling the open doorway, his
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