But how do we get the bad guy in the cop car?
Research is the answer, but it’s fantastically expensive. All around the world, teams of biochemists are working hard, but they have to pay the rent. And eat. Their funding comes from governments and institutions and drug companies – but also from hundreds of thousands of concerned individuals. Many of them are parents of diabetic children, and it’s easy to see why. The primeval instinct that makes a mother or father fight to the death is a powerful one – perhaps the most powerful among our emotional inheritance. But in the case of diabetes it’s frustrated. There’s no identifiable antagonist, no role for a gun or a blade. There’s no bar fight to be had. If only it was that easy. I know of no parent who wouldn’t gladly smash a long-neck bottle and join the fray. But they can’t. Such parents have to channel their natural aggression into a long, patient, endless struggle for progress. They raise awareness and money any way they can.
This anthology is an example. It will help fund the search for a cure. All good. In fact better than good, because whatever else, there are some great authors and some great stories here to enjoy. So if you buy it, you’ll get some excellent entertainment – but also you might just get the chance to be that mysterious character on page 297 of our notional thriller, who contributes the tiny but vital clue that eventually leads to the big reveal on page 397. Your few cents could make the difference. You could be the one.
Lee Child
New York
2015
Aim to Kill
Allison Brennan
Chapter One
The interview had not gone well.
Alex Morgan walked out of the hotel’s third-floor suite of offices in a daze. She simmered with an odd blend of anger and defeat. Why had she expected anything different?
She felt nauseous and sidestepped into a restroom at the end of the hall. Thankfully, it was empty. She splashed cold water on her face and closed her eyes.
She’d like to blame her frustration on the ridiculous questions that came from the three person hiring panel. Maybe she’d been out of the job market too long, but did it really matter what her hobbies were, how she spent her free time, or the last book she read? They were hiring a security chief, not a best friend. Her resume spoke for itself: she’d graduated with a degree in criminal justice from U.C. Davis; she’d been a decorated street cop for seven years; and a detective for five. She was more than qualified to manage security for a major hotel.
Then came the zinger.
“Ms. Morgan, can you please tell us more about why you left the Sacramento Police Department?”
She’d been expecting the question. Of course they would ask why a thirty-four year old detective in her prime would leave a good job to work hotel security, when nearly every other applicant for the position was a retired law enforcement officer.
“I needed a change,” she’d said.
Why the hell had she said that?
The three panelists had looked at each other, the truth written all over their smarmy faces.
It was the female assistant manager who asked:
“Would you please talk a little about what led up to that decision of needing a change? Were you reprimanded for abuse of authority and illegally discharging your weapon?”
That had been a smokescreen by her direct supervisor to cloud the D.A.’s case against Alex’s partner. And someone had leaked it to the press.
“That was a personnel matter. The reprimand was removed from my file as being unsubstantiated.”
The woman pursed her lips. Glanced at her colleagues, then said:
“So much of your employment file is sealed, Ms. Morgan, we don’t have a lot to go on as to why you might be a good fit for us. Perhaps if you can explain the circumstances that led to your firing?”
“I wasn’t fired, I resigned.”
“According to the newspaper—”
“The newspaper was wrong.”
“We called your former supervisor—”
“I didn’t put Sergeant Young down as a reference.”
“We always contact previous supervisors.”
And that was it. She walked out in the middle of the interview. Sergeant Young hated her so violently that when he found out she’d been keeping a log about her partner’s illegal activities, he’d leaked false information to the press. He denied it ... but not convincingly.
Why had she thought her past wasn’t going to bite her in the ass?
She wiped her face with a paper towel that felt like sandpaper, and told herself to grow up. She’d done the right thing turning in her corrupt partner ... but she’d made a lot of mistakes in the process. She had to take the good with the bad, suck it up, and deal.
Maybe she should have listened to her father and applied for a Lieutenant position in the Sacramento County Sheriff's Department. Her father’s closest friend was the Sheriff.
You really want to be indebted to your father for the rest of your life?