A very satisfying read for me. Sandford is at the top of his game with this police procedural featuring Lucas Davenport of the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. Lucas is at the top of his game too, a supervisor of detectives who has mastered the art of leading his team, marshaling information sources, and playing the political angles. A family man with independent wealth, he is not worried about losing his job. He still likes to drive flashy cars, but he is no longer driven by his emotions to break all the rules or to make conquests of hot women (bending rules and flirting is enough).
At the start of this tale, we get a glimpse of a man, Tubbs, waking up in a car trunk on the way to being murdered and buried in a remote place. Scene two: in the last week of a closely contested Senate race, child pornography is found on the computer of the Republican candidate, Small. The governor asks Lucas to resolve this high-profile case as quietly as possible. Lucas soon suspects there is a connection with the disappearance of Tubbs, a political fix-it man and lobbyist, known for dirty tricks and usually on behalf of Democrats. Could the wealthy female opposition candidate, Taryn Grant, be behind it, with a murder of Tubbs part of the cover-up? Might instead a personal enemy of Small’s or some twisted supporter of Grant be the perp? Or maybe Small’s team planted the porn expecting an investigation lead to a smear of the Democrats. Another twist soon appears when signs emerge suggesting that the porn came from Minneapolis police files, with a potential motive being that Small wants to abolish the police union. The danger level rises when a potential accomplice in planting the porn ends up murdered.
Sandford appears to have had great fun painting a cynical portrait of the politicians in this tale. Davenport faces incredible barriers investigating Grant, who suspects him to be working on behalf of Small. Grant was diagnosed by a psychologist with narcissistic personality disorder in grad school. She looks it up its key indicators in the library:
• Has excessive feelings of self-importance
• Reacts to criticism with rage
• Takes advantage of other people
• Disregards the feelings of others
• Preoccupied with fantasies of success, power, beauty, and intelligence
Each one of this features appear like strengths to her. For the last one, she remembers reflecting: …Hey, had he taken a good look at her and her CV? She was running for class valedictorian; she looked like Marilyn Monroe, without the black spot on her cheek; and she had, as age twenty-two, thirty million dollars of her own, with twenty or thirty dollars more than that yet to come. What fantasies?
I had so much fun experiencing Davenport work the clues and his adversaries like a chess player and play his team like a brilliant hockey coach. He can’t resist getting in on the action:
“I could drive,” Del said.
“They’re too far ahead of us,” Lucas said. “I need to drive.”
“Goddamnit. I hate it when you drive,” Del said. “I get so puckered up that I’ve got to pull my asshole back out with a nutpick.”
“Thanks for the image,” Lucas said. “Let’s go.”
In one transcendent moment, Davenport’s love for his work is revealed by Sandford in way that tickles me:
…he’d gone to a murder scene on a beautiful fall day, and heard children laughing outside. And why not? The murder had nothing to do with them, and old people die all the time.
Now he, the hunter, was headed south to tackle a couple of probable killers, a fairly grim task; but over here, to the right of the highway as he went by, a man was washing down his fishing boat, preparing it for winter storage; and coming down the road toward him, a half-dozen old Corvettes, all in a line, tops down on a fine blue-sky day, the women in passenger seats all older blondes, one after another.
And why not? Life doesn’t have to be a long patch of misery. …He’d made himself smile with all the rumination. He really ought to lighten up more, Lucas thought, as the last of the Corvettes went past. Hell, what were a couple more killers in a lifetime full of them? And he liked hunting, and what better day to do it than a fine blue day in the autumn of the year, with not a cloud in the heavens, when riding through a singularly beautiful tract of country, in a Porsch with the top down?
Fuck a bunch of E.A. Poe.
And his Raven.
I see no reason why anyone tempted to explore Sandford's marvelous stories could lose by starting with this one.