John Sandford - Heat Lightning
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- Book:Heat Lightning
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- Year:2008
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Heat Lightning: summary, description and annotation
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Fresh from his spectacular (Cleveland Plain Dealer) debut in Dark of the Moon, investigator Virgil Flowers takes on a puzzlingand most alarmingcase, in the new book from the #1 bestselling author. John Sandfords introduction of Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension investigator Virgil Flowers was an immediate critical and popular success: laser-sharp characters and a plot thats fast and surprising (Cleveland Plain Dealer); an idiosyncratic, thoroughly ingratiating hero (Booklist). Flowers is only in his late thirties, but hes been around the block a few times, and he doesnt think much can surprise him anymore. Hes wrong. Its a hot, humid summer night in Minnesota, and Flowers is in bed with one of his ex-wives (the second one, if youre keeping count), when the phone rings. Its Lucas Davenport. Theres a body in Stillwatertwo shots to the head, found near a veterans memorial. And the victim has a lemon in his mouth. Exactly like the body they found last week. The more Flowers works the murders, the more convinced he is that someones keeping a list, and that the list could have a lot more names on it. If he could only find out what connects them all . . . and then he does, and hes almost sorry he did. Because if its true, then this whole thing leads down a lot more trails than he thoughtand every one of them is booby-trapped. Filled with the audacious plotting, rich characters, and brilliant suspense that have always made his books compulsively readable (Los Angeles Times), this is vintage Sandford.
John Sandford: author's other books
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Heat Lightning — read online for free the complete book (whole text) full work
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Table of Contents
ALSO BY JOHN SANDFORD Rules of Prey
Shadow Prey
Eyes of Prey
Silent Prey
Winter Prey
Night Prey
Mind Prey
Sudden Prey
The Night Crew
Secret Prey
Certain Prey
Easy Prey
Chosen Prey
Mortal Prey
Naked Prey
Hidden Prey
Broken Prey
Dead Watch
Invisible Prey
Phantom Prey
Eyes of Prey
Silent Prey
Winter Prey
Night Prey
Mind Prey
Sudden Prey
The Night Crew
Secret Prey
Certain Prey
Easy Prey
Chosen Prey
Mortal Prey
Naked Prey
Hidden Prey
Broken Prey
Dead Watch
Invisible Prey
Phantom Prey
KIDD NOVELS
The Fools Run
The Empress File
The Devils Code
The Hanged Mans Song
VIRGIL FLOWERS NOVELS
Dark of the Moon
For Benjamin
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Heat Lightning was written in cooperation with my old friend and hunting partner Chuck Logan, the author of a terrific bunch of thrillers of his ownthe latest being South of Shiloh from HarperCollins. Chuck and I have shared a number of adventures that later turned up in our books, and that taught us about things like tracking blood trails through the North Woods....
JOHN SANDFORD
THE MIDNIGHT SHIFT: the shooter was going to work.
He jogged through the night in a charcoal-colored nylon rain suit and black New Balance running shoes, with a brilliant reflective green strap over his shoulders, like a bandolier. With the strap, he jumped out at passing cars; nothing furtive here, nobody trying to hide anything....
He ran carefully, taking his time. The old sidewalk, probably laid down in the first decades of the twentieth century, was cracked and shifting underfoot. A wrong step could leave him with a sprain, or worse. Not good for a man with a silenced pistol in his pocket.
The night was hot, cloudy, humid. Lightning flickered way off to the north, a thunderstorm passing by. The tempest would miss by ten miles: no relief from the heat, not yet. He ran through the odor of summer flowers, unseen in the darknessnice houses here, well-maintained, flourishes of Victorian gingerbread, fences with gardens, flower heads pale in the dim ambient light.
Stillwater, Minnesota, on the bluff above downtown, above the St. Croix River. Third Street once had so many churches that it was called Church Street by the locals. The churches that remained pushed steeples into the night sky like medieval lightning rods, straining to ward off the evil that men do.
THE SHOOTER passed the front of the redbrick historic courthouse, which was guarded by a bronze Civil War infantryman with a fixed bayonet and a plaque. He paused next to a hedge, behind a tree trunk, bent over with his hands on his knees, as if catching his breath or stretching his hamstrings, like runners do. Looked around. Said quietly, On point.
Dark, silent. Waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. After a last look around, he pulled off the reflective strap and stuffed it in a pocket. When he did that, he vanished. He was gone; he was part of the fabric of the night.
Across from the courthouse, just downhill, a metal spire pushed up from a vest-pocket park, illuminated by spotlights. Ten-foot granite slabs anchored the foot of the needle. On the slabs were more bronze plaques, with the names of the local boys who didnt make it back from all the wars fought since Stillwater was built. A blank plaque awaited names from Iraq and Afghanistan.
The shooter slipped across the street, to the edge of the memorial. The brilliant spotlights made the nearby shadows even darker. He disappeared into one of them, like an ink drop falling into a coal cellar. Before he went, he pulled back the sleeve of the running suit and checked the luminous dial of his combat watch.
If Sanderson stuck to his routineor the dogs routine, anyway hed walk down the west side of Third Street sometime in the next ten minutes. Big German shepherd. Shame about the dog.
CHUCK UTECHT had been the first man on the controllers list. Hed been a smooth white egg of a man, whose insides, when he cracked, flowed out like a yellow yolk. Hed given up three names. Hed given them up easily.
I only did one bad thing in my life, he cried. Ive been making up for it ever since.
His final words had been Im sorry, not for what hed done, but because he knew what was coming and had peed his pants.
The scout could extract only so much information from a man who accepted his own execution, who seemed to believe that he deserved it. They had not been in a place where the scout could use pliers or knives or ropes or electricity or waterboards. All he had was the threat of death, and Utecht had closed his eyes and had begun mumbling through a prayer. The scout had seen the resignation; he looked at the shooter and nodded.
The shooter shot him twice in the back of the head, halfway through the prayer.
Now he waited for Sanderson and the dog.
They needed two more names.
The scout said in the shooters ear, Hes coming.
BOBBY SANDERSON strolled down Third Street with the dog on the end of its lead, a familiar nighttime sight. The dog was as regular as a quartz watch: took a small dump at eight oclock in the morning, and a big one at eleven oclock at night. If it wasnt out on the street, itd be somewhere in the yard, and Sanderson would step in it the next day, sure as God made little green apples. So, twice a day, they were on the street.
Sanderson was preoccupied with an argument hed had with his girlfriend. Or maybe not an argument, but he didnt know exactly what else you could call it. She didnt want him out at night; not for a while. Not until they found out whether something was going on.
If youre scared enough that you have meetings, then you ought to be scared enough to stay inside at night, shed said. Shed been in the kitchen, drying the dishes with an old square of unbleached muslin. She smelled of dishwashing liquid and pork chop grease.
You know what happens with the dog if he dont get his walk, Sanderson said. Besides, whos going to mess with Mike?
But before hed gone, hed stepped back to the bedroom, as though hed forgotten something, had taken the .38 out of a bedroom bureau and slipped it into his pocket. He was not the kind of guy to be pushed. If somebody pushed, hed push back, twice as hard.
Sanderson was fifty-nine, five-six, a hundred and sixty pounds. A short man, with a short-man complex. You dont fuck with me. You dont fuck with the Man.
He thought like that.
He thought like a TV show.
THE SHOOTER was waiting behind a rampart of limestone blocks next to the monument. Not tense, not anythingnot thinking, just waiting, like a rock, or a stump, or a loaded bullet. Waiting... Then two words in his ear: Hes coming.
He heard first the click of the dogs toenails on the sidewalk. The animal probably went a hundred pounds, maybe even one-twenty. Had to take him smoothly....
Close now.
The shooters hand was at his side, with the pistol dangling from it. When theyd scouted Sanderson on a previous walk, they noted that the dog was always on a long leadthered be some distance between the dog and Sanderson. The dog didnt seem particularly nervous, but might well sense a man waiting in the night.
Comes the dog.
The shooter went into his routine, squaring his feet, the deep breath already taken. He exhaled slowly, held it, and the dog was there, ten feet out, turning his big head toward the shadowthe alarm, or curiosity, or something, in his eyes, he knew
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