The Other Path

Chapter 8

Closing her eyes, Kate savors a piece of perfectly seasoned chicken. "This is incredible, Babe. Ordering from Berlati's was a great idea."

"From what you told me, your session with Michael Drew was a pretty great idea, too. You made the connection between Drew Anniston and Snodgrass. He's got to be behind the murders," Rick asserts.

Kate sighs. "Except those connections aren't proof. But I've got more than enough reason to dig into Snodgrass. So while Michael was baring his soul to me, how did your writing go?"

"Pretty well. I'd originally had Rook thinking about taking a guest professorship at an upstate university. With Nikki stuck at the precinct, it would have taken him away from her for six months."

"Ouch!"

"Ouch, indeed. I was basing Nikki's feelings on how I felt when you took that job in DC. And with Nikki spending less time on the street, Rook felt left out. I think Gina liked the scenario better than I did. But now I've got Jameki pursuing a particularly sneaky murderer."

"Sounds like fun."

"They'll have their hurdles, or else the book would be about two pages long. But it should be a good yarn. And now that I've made some progress, I'm looking forward to my visit to the Kingsbridge Club."

"Really? I thought that after what I got out of Michael, you wouldn't have to go."

"Maybe not to get the skinny on Michael, but my guess is the Drews aren't the only money bags Snodgrass is cozying up to. And if he's picking other deep pockets, Kingsbridge would be the place to hear about it. Perhaps Snodgrass has a disgruntled victim who, with enough lubrication, will let something slip."

"I suppose it's worth a try," Kate concedes.

Light dances in Rick's eyes. "However, I'm not going anywhere tonight. And I can think of a few other things that are worth a try."

"New plotlines?"

"Maybe later."


Desmond Snodgrass is not having a good day. He woke up at an urgent call from Gary Crewland that something was wrong at the center. Desmond was tempted to tell him to get his crew to fix whatever it was and go back to sleep. But Gary insisted that it wasn't that simple. And by that time, Snodgrass had passed his window into dreamland.

Staring into his closet, he considers what to put on. He's already racked up some heavy-duty drycleaning bills by wearing his expertly tailored suits to the construction site. Things should be cleaned up by now, but from the desperation in Gary's voice, anything is possible. He reaches for his one and only set of sweats, a perk received for judging a charity race. It looks cheap, and he doesn't even remember what the disease was. So if he gets plaster dust or some other construction crap on it, he can throw the damn thing away.


Gary runs to meet Snodgrass at his car, waving an official-looking document.

"What the hell is that?" Snodgrass demands.

"It's a close down notice. The city got a complaint that we were using substandard materials, and an inspector came around when my brothers and I weren't here. I guess the materials passed, but the inspector said the standards for this type of building say electrical lines have to run through conduits."

"And you didn't do that?" Snodgrass queries.

"I used guys with no papers, you know? I just paid them a little cash under the table. Good workers, but they don't speak much English. And they're used to working residential structures where they can just run Romex. They had no idea the wiring needed conduits."

Shaking his head, Snodgrass blows out a hard breath. "So now what?"

"That depends on whether you can fix this. If you can, we finish on time, no sweat. But if you can't, we have to redo the wiring, which means tearing up the walls. And if we do that, there's no way this place can open on schedule. We're going to lose our on-time completion bonus. So can you do something?"

Snodgrass studies the notice. "The inspector's Murray Sandler. He's not one of my guys. And he's got a reputation for being a real hardass. But I'll see what I can do."

"You better," Gary warns. "Because if the center can't open as promised, my brothers and I aren't going to be the only ones with egg on our faces. And the real press, not just the neighborhood rag, will be asking questions."

"I told you I'd see what I can do," Snodgrass repeats. "So I need to get out of here to work on covering for your screw-up."


"What's the grin about?" Kate inquires as Rick swipes the screen on his phone.

"I told you I had an ongoing search for those ugly dolls Gates loves so much. Well, I just got an alert from eBay that the ones she wants are up for sale. I hit 'Buy now' before the auction could run. And I'm paying the charge for expedited shipping. With any luck, they should be here bright and early tomorrow, and your captain will reveal her soft gooey center."

"How much did you have to pay for them?"

"More than for my Ironman #4, but I think they'll be worth it. Anyway, I think I'll stay away from the precinct today and get as much writing in as I can before I go to Kingsbridge. Then I can turn up to execute my grand gesture. Unless you need me for something today."

"Not unless you want to ply your skills with inventive prose. Gates demanded to see a case report of everything I've got so far, which isn't that much."

"Then you have my enthusiastic permission to call me if you get writer's block. Otherwise, I'm hoping to induce Gina to retract her claws."

Kate smothers a laugh. "Good luck with that. Talk to you later?"

"All procrastination welcome."


Snodgrass mops his brow with a linen handkerchief. Of course, Murray Sandler isn't in his office. He's out making his rounds and probably stirring up more trouble. But Desmond has no idea what to say to him anyway. Usually, he manages to pick up on some oversight he can hold over a staffer's head when he wants something. Or he can just offer a green incentive. But he didn't have to give Drew Anniston anything at all to do his dirty work. She took care of his little problem for love. He snorts. As if he would ever return the feeling for a Drew wannabe like her. But she was useful – until she wasn't. And he misses having someone that eager to fulfill his every whim. Still, he had no way of knowing if she could keep her mouth shut.

What had to be done was done. He considers for a moment if that solution would work for his current problem but decides against it. The center's shutdown is a matter of public record. And if Murray Sandler were to meet his maker, the finger would immediately point to the Crewlands. From there, it might eventually find its way to him. But perhaps he can have Sandler overruled. Snodgrass knows of a few questionable moves Larry Credwell, the Commissioner of Buildings, made. Credwell's been known to down a lunchtime shot or two at a bar near a corner of City Hall Park. Snodgrass could meet him there to have a little talk and trade a few favors. That could work. And Snodgrass can really use a drink himself.