Read Online The Door to December by Dean Koontz - Free Book Online Page A

violin. A master of deception, ass-kicking, and flattery, he had an uncanny ability to sense pending changes in the currents of power in the department's hierarchy, aligning himself with those superiors who could do the most for him, abandoning former allies who were about to lose power. He knew how to smooth-talk politicians and reporters. Those talents had helped him obtain more promotions than Dan. Rumor ranked Ross Mondale high on the mayor's list of candidates for police chief.
     However, as ingratiating as he was with everyone else, Mondale could find no words of praise or flattery for Dan. 'You got a food stain on your shirt, Haldane.'
     Dan looked down and saw a rust-colored spot the size of a dime.
     'Chili dog,' he said.
     'You know, Haldane, each of us represents the entire department. We have an obligation — a duty — to present a respectable image to the public.'
     'Right. I'll never eat another chili dog until I die and go to Heaven. Only croissants and caviar from now on. A higher quality of shirt stain henceforth, I swear.'
     'You make a habit of wisecracking at every superior officer?'
     'Nope. Only you.'
     'I don't much care for it.'
     'Didn't think you would,' Dan said.
     'You know, I'm not going to put up with your shit forever, just because we went to the academy together.'
     Nostalgia wasn't the reason that Mondale tolerated Dan's abuse, and neither of them had any illusions otherwise. The truth was, Dan knew something about Mondale that, if revealed, would destroy the captain's career, something that had happened when they had been second-year patrolmen, a vital bit of information that would have made any blackmailer swoon with joy. He would never use it against Mondale, of course; as much as he despised the man, he couldn't bring himself to engage in blackmail.
     If their roles had been reversed, however, Mondale would have had no compunctions about blackmail or vindictive revelation. Dan's continued silence baffled the captain, made him uneasy, encouraged him to tread carefully each time they met.
     'Let's get specific,' Dan said. 'Exactly how much longer will you put up with my shit?'
     'I don't have to. Not for long, thank God. You'll be back in Central after this shift,' Mondale said. He smiled.
     Dan leaned his weight against the unoiled spring-action back of the office chair, which squealed in protest, and put his hands behind his head. 'Sorry to disappoint. I'll be sticking around for a while. I caught a murder last night. It's my case now. I figure I'll stay with it for the duration.'
     The captain's smile melted like ice cream on a hot plate. 'You mean the triple one-eighty-seven in Studio City?'
     'Ah, now I see why you're in the office so early. You heard about that. Two relatively well-known psychologists get wasted under mysterious circumstances, so you figure there's going to be a lot of media attention. How do you tumble to these things so quickly, Ross? You sleep with a police-band radio beside your bed?'
     Ignoring the question, sitting on the edge of the desk, Mondale said, 'Any leads?'
     'Nope. Got pictures of the victims, though.'
     He noted, with satisfaction, that all the blood drained out of Mondale's face when he saw the ravaged bodies in the photographs. The captain didn't even finish shuffling through the whole series. 'Looks like a burglary got out of hand,' Mondale said.
     'Looks like no such a thing. All three victims had money on them. Other loose cash around the house. Nothing stolen.'
     'Well,' Mondale said defensively, 'I didn't know that.'
     'You still should've known burglars usually kill only when they're cornered, and then they're quick and clean about it. Not like this.'
     'There are always exceptions,' Mondale said pompously. 'Even grandmothers rob banks now and