The Angel Maker
By Ridley Pearson
Synopsis:
Potent blend of medical thriller and police procedural that resurrects the cop-hero of Pearson's Undercurrents (1988) and pits him against--of all things--a maniacal veterinarian. Lou Boldt has been off the Seattle force for two years, tending his infant son and playing jazz piano at a local dive, but his extraordinary empathy for murder victims won't let him refuse the request of police shrink and ex-lover Daphne Matthews (whose throat was slashed in Undercurrents) to help with her new case--a series of street kids found dead and missing a kidney, liver, or lung. Immediately suspecting that a transplant surgeon is "harvesting" the organs and selling them at great profit, Boldt rejoins the SPD and pushes for advice from the medical examiner. The narrative bristles with the sort of forensic detail that informed Undercurrents. Meanwhile, Pearson bares his villain- - sociopathic society vet Elden Tegg--as we see him snatching social-worker Sharon Shaffer with an eye to selling her heart to a mobster whose wife is dying from heart disease. Unlike Undercurrents, then, where suspense derived from "whodunit," the tension here is strictly--and tightly--time-wound: Can Boldt i.d. the killer and rescue Sharon--or can Sharon herself escape from the remote dog kennel where Tegg's imprisoned her, naked and terrified- -before the vet wields his scalpel? Thriller fans will note that this setup strongly echoes Thomas Harris's The Silence of the Lambs--but Pearson matches Harris's pace as the hours tick down, marking off twists (a hiker chancing on the kennel) and hot suspense sequences (a pawnshop sting to break into Tegg's computer) until the cathartic, brutal climax. Exceptionally gripping and full of amazing forensic lore (e.g., that Band-Aids emit low-level radioactivity from being sterilized): a top-flight offering from an author who's clearly found his groove.
"THIS IS A HARD BOOK TO PUT DOWN AND I HAVE AN IDEA IT'S GOING TO BE AN EVEN HARDER BOOK TO FORGET...SMOOTH, STATE-OF-THE-ART SUSPENSE WHICH COMBINES FORENSIC MEDICINE, MODERN POLICE INVESTIGATION TECHNIQUES AND CHARACTERS WE CARE ABOUT." Stephen King
PRAISE FOR RIDLEY PEARSON
"One hell of a writer!"
Clive Cussler
"IF YOU LOVE TO SLEEP, FORGET THE ANGEL MAKER. Don't even peek at Ridley Pearson's new thriller. Once you start reading, you won't be able to stop ... A compelling story of a nightmare subject."
Idaho Statesman
"The Pearson trademarks are here: meticulous attention to forensic detail, tightly written scenes where every word is calculated to give you the creeps, and a careful buildup of evidence ... In Pearson's gripping style, this unconscionable story is completely plausible." Seattle Times
"Pearson's engaging forensic detail-and brisk prose will have readers racing to the cliffhanger climax."
Publishers Weekly
"Potent blend of medical thriller and police procedural ... exceptionally gripping and full of amazing forensic lore ... a top-flight offering from an author who's clearly found his groove."
Kirkus Reviews
Also by Ridley Pearson
NEVER LOOK BACK ,
BLOOD OF THE ALBATROSS
THE SEIZING OF YANKEE GREEN MALL
PROBABLE CAUSE
HARD FALL
Again, for Colleen. You keep me in stitches.
I am a sort of phantom in life who has lost all beginning and end, and who has even forgotten his own name.
-Fyodor Dostoyevski, The Brothers
The original story that inspired The Angel Maker was told to me by Tona Backman on an autumnal evening in Hamstead, England. I owe a huge debt of thanks to her and to Clarence Stilwill.
I would also like to acknowledge the help and assistance of a variety of experts who educated and guided me through the maze of organ transplantation and criminal investigation, including but not limited to: Frances Campbell, psychotherapist; Dr. James B. Perkins, F.A.C.S., director, Division of Transplantation, University of Washington; Dr. Royal McClure, Sun Valley, Idaho; Donna Oiland, director, Lions Eye Bank, Seattle, Washington; Dr. Christian Harris, forensic psychiatrist, Seattle, Washington; Larry Merkle, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers; Joe Weber, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Hydrology and Hydraulics Branch; Dr. Donald Reay, King County Medical Examiner; Lieutenant David Reichert, King County Police; Charles H. Duke, Bureau Chief, Bureau of Forensic Services, Idaho Department of Law Enforcement; Pamela J. Marcum, Principal Criminalist, Bureau of Forensic Services, IDLE; Mark Acker, D.M.V.; Randy Acker, D.M.V.; and Steve Edsall, D.M.V. (Thanks also to those who wished to remain anonymous!)
Readers: Premi Pearson, Brad Pearson, Karen Oswalt, Colleen Daly, Ollie Cossman, Franklin Heller. Office management, Mary Peterson; manuscript preparation, typesetting, and proofing, Maida Spaulding; office assistance, jenny Femling.
Special thanks to: Mr. Albert Zuckerman, Ms. Carole Baron, Mr. Brian DeFiore, and Mr. Chuck Adams.
Also thanks to: The Fulbright Commission; Wadham College, Oxford- , England; and to Sue-Todd and Chuck Yates, Mino Tomacelli and the gang at Kailuum, Michael Lewis, and all The Rockbottom Remainders.
_________________
The young woman's pale, lifeless expression cried out to Daphne Matthews from across the room. Nearly all of the kids who sought out The Shelter were high on something. The hollow cheeks and dirty hair were common to all the runaways, as were the torn jeans, the soiled T-shirts, and the disturbing smell.
The windowless basement room in the King Center Baptist Church on South Jackson held thirteen beds and was void of any color except for the odd assortment of unframed art posters. The beds, arranged in perfect rows, were each covered with a gray wool blanket atop which had been placed a white towel and a dull green cardboard box containing a toothbrush, comb, bar of soap, a package of condoms, and a leaflet on AIDS.
The boys' dorm, across the hall and next to the room where the choir robes were kept, held only eight beds, because teenage boys were less likely to seek help from such places and because girls between the ages of thirteen and eighteen accounted for a larger percentage of the runaways who wandered Seattle's streets.
The other volunteers at The Shelter welcomed Daphne's expertise as a psychologist as much as her being a member of the Seattle Police Department, though this latter qualification was rarely called upon and never mentioned in front of the girls. For Daphne, each young woman who passed through The Shelter's door represented a challenge, each had her own unique, often terrifying story. By coming here they called out for help. Homeless. Penniless. Distrustful. Addicted. Pregnant. Filthy. Diseased. The job of each volunteer was to reverse all of that, to connect the runaway with counselors, doctors, halfway houses, government funds, jobs, housing, recovery programs and safety. To rescue and rebuild a life.
Daphne sat down quietly and slowly on the bed opposite the girl and forced a welcoming smile that made her feel cheap and dishonest: There was nothing to smile about here. She noticed a tiny scab on 'the inside of the girl's elbow joint and felt her heart sink. To her relief, she didn't see any other needle marks. Perhaps this was the girl's first time. With any luck, her last.. The girl never looked at her; she just stared off into the room in a catatonic daze.
Daphne suggested gently, "Would you like to lie down?"
The girl nodded slightly. Daphne moved aside the towel and box and supported her head as it traveled to the pillow. Some of the drunks felt this hot, some of the druggies, but this contact gave Daphne a sickening feeling in her stomach that told her this was something worse. Exactly what, she wasn't sure. She wasn't even sure she wanted to find out.