Saboteur: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

a groan. “I never read Emerson either to be honest. My mother had a
thing for sewing and for making sure I remembered to have some fun is all.
Look, let me level with you, I don’t care much about your past--not any of it.
You make for an interesting read on paper and I’ll bet you are what this
recommendation says you are, more or less. Out here in Southern California we
have just two threats to police work: criminals and the press. Both are equally
dangerous. If you make me, or the force look bad, I’ll make it hurt for you in
ways you can’t imagine. I know every police chief from here to Kalamazoo and if
you think this job was a demotion, just you try me.” Tierney finally looked up
from his papers. “A cop has to be disciplined to be effective and I can tell
just by looking at that goddamn suit, not to mention that piece of shit car of
yours that was sitting in the lot, that you have very little of either.”
    He thought the car would go
unnoticed. Damn . Tierney sat up in
his seat.
    “Tell me something detective. What
could you tell an investigator about Bob Tierney after only one meeting?
Please, you have permission to speak freely.”
    Sullivan’s gaze suddenly hardened,
losing its boyish playfulness. He went into the almost primal state, the trance
that overtook him when he was keenly observing. It was a test then. He brought his fingertips together to a point
before speaking, his pupils appearing to almost dilate.
    “Well, go on,” Tierney said chiding
him.
    “Frankly sir, Bob Tierney is a true
professional, but he plays his cards very, very close to his chest. He uses his
eye glasses as a prop to imply thoughtfulness, not from necessity, and shitty
wall art to distract people from his real motives. He claims the art was made
by his mother, but this is very doubtful since it still has the Salvation Army
price tag still clearly visible, from underneath, on the back. Probably his
mother is still alive, though his use of the past tense suggests he has a poor
relationship with her.” Sullivan pulled his hands together behind his head and
leaned back in his seat. “He has family working in the department, and based on
a strong physical resemblance is related to one Detective--Sheppard whose name
was changed to his mother’s maiden name to avoid any suggestion of nepotism.
Sheppard is subpar since talent would erase the need for subterfuge and
endlessly seeks the approval of his father, causing him to take needless risks
on the job. Bob Tierney feels guilt over both of these issues, naturally, but
he genuinely respects cops, which suggests he used to be one, so he’s worked
his way up through the ranks. This is why he doesn’t make eye contact when
hurling threats against them, because he knows they are empty. He is actually
very well read, though he likes to pretend to be more superficial than he is,
probably to preserve the sense that he is still just one of the gang, though in
his current position as chief he knows he most certainly is not.” Sullivan
suddenly looked up, stopping himself. Tierney’s face was unmistakably flushed,
drawn, but he did not seem angry exactly.
    “I can see why Carl Dickson didn’t
want you around. That’s remarkable.”
    He had been right on everything it
seemed. Tierney sat back down and picked up a large manila folder from his
desk.
    “Here is your first case,” Tierney
said holding it out with a chilly look in his eye, “It’s from the basement, a
cold case, eleven years ice cold. This should keep your self-control issues at
bay for at least, oh I don’t know, the next year or two or so, but do take your
time.”
    He grimaced as he took the folder
from Tierney’s hand. “With all due respect, sir, I think my abilities clearly
demonstrate that I can handle something mo--”
    “More what?” Tierney snapped. “Take
every case I give you seriously Detective Sullivan.”

 
      “You were right about my reading habits
though,” he said without looking up.