Detective Carson Ryder Thriller Series Books 4-6: Blood Brother, In the Blood, Little Girls Lost

“The only way out of the Institute is to stop breathing. They don’t rehabilitate, they analyze.”

Waltz nodded. “He’s right. I know of the Institute.”

I said, “Have you checked Dr Prowse’s whereabouts since she arrived, Lieutenant? Maybe she was targeted by the perp earlier. Maybe as early as at the airport. You might want to –”

She held up her hand. Shot me a fake and indulgent smile. “I’m sure you do fine on your home turf, Detective. But the NYPD actually looks into such things. We’ve done it a few times before.” She turned the fake smile to Waltz. “Take him to lunch, Detective. Show him the Statue of Liberty. Let him buy some postcards. But then it’s time for Mississippi to get its missing policeman back.”

Before I could correct her, she showed me her back and strode away with the sycophants in tow. The little turf war now over, Waltz seemed unperturbed.

“Somewhere in the good Lieutenant’s soliloquy I heard the word lunch. There’s a decent deli a couple blocks away. Give it a shot, Detective Ryder?”

The deli was little more than a long, narrow counter, and a few tables against a wall decorated with faded posters of Sardinia. I was without hunger and fiddled with a salad. Waltz seemed light on appetite as well and nibbled at a chicken sandwich.

I couldn’t quite figure out Waltz’s position in the hierarchy. His rank was detective, the Alpha Lady – named Alice Folger, I’d discovered – was a lieutenant. She was brusque to Waltz, but was obviously afraid to push him too far. Another big question: What gave Waltz the power to slow an investigation for several hours so I could be flown here? That would have taken sledgehammer clout.

I was about to ask when Waltz slid a mostly uneaten sandwich to the side of the table. “Let’s say Dr Prowse felt she was in danger. Why didn’t she ask the NYPD for protection?” He paused. “Unless, of course, she wasn’t in danger. That fits with her taking a midnight run through the neighborhood.”

“What about the recording?”

“We have no idea when it was made. Or why. Are you sure you have no idea why she’d record a testament to your abilities vis-à-vis psychopaths?”

Waltz was conversational, but I knew I was being interrogated. I looked down, realized it was a tell for a person about to lie. I scratched my ankle to give my down-glance a purpose.

“I’m as much in the dark as you, Shelly.”

“You have no idea what she was sorry for? Or anything about the serious whatever she was seeking?”

This time I could look him in the eyes. “I’m utterly dumbfounded.”

“What’s your background, Detective Ryder – if I may ask?”

“Eight years on the force, five in Homicide. I studied at the FBI Behavioral Division for all of a month. I also work in a special unit called the PSIT: the Psychopathological and Sociopathological Investigative Team.”

“Impressive.”

“In name only. The whole unit, which everyone calls Piss-it, is me and my partner Harry Nautilus. We’re activated maybe five times a year, usually a false alarm. Though we do have a decent solve rate when the action is bona fide.”

“Which is?”

“A hundred per cent. Still, like the unhappy lady lieutenant said, this is New York. Y’all deal with more crazies in a day than Mobile does in a year.”

Waltz spun his glass of iced tea. “Dr Prowse said you had a special gift for investigating psychos. She called it a dark gift. What’s that mean, if I may ask?”

I repeatedly punctured a piece of romaine. I didn’t want to lie, but couldn’t tell the truth. Not fully.

“I was a Psych major in college, Shelly. I did prison interviews with psychos and socios. Dr Prowse thought I had a rapport with them, made them drop their guard. That’s probably the gift she was talking about.”

I sensed Waltz didn’t believe I was telling the full story. But he shifted the conversation. “I’m not ready to close this box yet. I’ve convinced those in command to give you a few days here in case we need your input.”

I raised an eyebrow at Waltz’s ability to sidestep immediate authority. “Sounds like you went above Lieutenant Folger.”

“A step or two. That’s not a comment on her, either personally or professionally. She seems unhappy with some aspect of her life, and it makes her brittle, but the Lieutenant is blessed with a highly analytical mind. She’s destined ever upward, as the sages say.”

“She seems young for all the authority.”

“She’s thirty-two, but has been climbing the ladder three steps at a time. After a degree in criminal justice – top of her class, highest honors – she started in uniform in Brooklyn, grabbed attention by using her head, analyzing crime patterns, offering realistic solutions. She worked undercover for a while, setting up sting operations, pitting dope dealers against one another, busting a fencing operation that reached from Florida to Canada …”

“Not your ordinary street cop.” I felt a sudden kinship with Alice Folger. My departmental rise began by solving a major crime while still in uniform.

Waltz nodded. “She seemed almost driven to prove herself as a cop. It got her noticed by a few people with clout. They touted Ms Folger to the big brass at One Police Plaza – HQ. Her supporters suggested the brass jump her in rank and send her here to be tested. We’re a big precinct and our homicide teams handle everything from street craze-os to murderous stockbrokers. It’s a plum placement for a detective displaying more tricks than usual.”

Perhaps like you, Shelly, I thought.

“I’m a fellow officer. Why does Folger think I’m useless?”

“Johnny Folger, her late father, was NYPD. All three of Johnny’s brothers were on the force, one died on 9/11. An aunt works in the impound. That’s just this generation. Before that …”

I held up my hand. “I get your point, Shelly. Folger has cop in her DNA.”

“Or overcompensating to create the genes.”

“What?”

He waved it away. “Nothing. I always found families more custom and tradition than blood, but that’s my take. What it boils down to is that Folger’s a partisan. She sees you as a –, as um …” Waltz fumbled for the word.

“As a rube,” I finished. “Someone to stumble over while the pros handle the heavy lifting.”

Waltz sighed an affirmation. I slid my unfinished salad over to join his sandwich and leaned forward, arms crossed on the table.

“How did I get here, Shelly? You know what I mean. How does a detective push the pause button on a homicide investigation, and get the NYPD to pull me from Mobile to New York in a heartbeat?”

Waltz looked uncomfortable. His fingers traced the rim of his glass. “Five years ago a councilman’s daughter ran off with a cult leader, a psychopath. I tracked him down in Alaska and personally brought her back. She had a successful deprogramming and the whole nasty incident stayed under wraps.”

I pursed my lips, blew silently. “There’s a grateful councilman on your shoulder? No wonder you could call the Chief direct.”

He shrugged. “That and a few other successes have given me a reputation for dealing with cases like your PSIT handles, the psychological stuff. I’m allowed latitude others don’t have. An input role.”

A thought about Shelly’s clout hit me. “Were you one of the supporters responsible for Alice Folger’s jump to the major leagues?”

He waved it away like it was no big deal. “I saw talent, I passed her name upstairs.”

I figured Waltz had seen a bright spark in Alice Folger and decided to drop it into an oxygen-laden environment to see if it would blaze or burn out. Judging by the veiled admiration in his voice, Folger had blazed bright.

I said, “Where do I go from here?”

“I’ve arranged you a hotel room nearby. Check in, get whatever you need and you’ll be reimbursed. You can come in to the department, or I’ll send reports to your hotel. I simply want you to see if you can add anything.”

“That’s all?”