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Synopsis
Stingrays – they solve unsolvable crimes.
When a teenager goes missing on a Caribbean beach, the local police are baffled. It's up to the Stingrays, a world class team that solves the unsolvable, to unearth the truth – a truth that no one will believe.
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A Hachette Audio production.
Release date: June 6, 2017
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Print pages: 144
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Stingrays
James Patterson
Chapter 2
THE STINGRAYS
“Paige Ryerson’s body was never found,” Matthew Quinn says, continuing his tale as he sprays the inside of a Teflon pan with coconut oil.
The five of them, as usual, gather in the oversized kitchen where Quinn is cooking breakfast. His $7,000-a-month Cambridge loft has plenty of other places where they can gather, but they prefer to talk about their cases over a hot meal. In this instance: the Sunday morning omelet station.
The other four take in the details of Quinn’s story as the pan heats up.
“That last bit is your theory, of course,” says Theo Selznick, who is standing at Quinn’s immediate right. The stocky, clean-cut man has known Quinn the longest, and he expects to be served first.
“My theory?” Quinn asks, as he cracks an egg over the side of a silver bowl.
“You know, the part about the hands grabbing her out of the darkness and all that. The last person to see her alive was the cop with the sweet lips, right? As far as we know, Paige Ryerson is still alive and well somewhere in paradise. Oh, and no cheese in mine, please.”
“It’s not an omelet without cheese,” Quinn says.
“You’ve known me since college,” Theo replies. “When have you ever known me to give a damn about the rules?”
Quinn cracks another egg. “Kate? How about you?”
Kate Weber, standing to Quinn’s left, has a stormy look on her thin face. “If she were my sister, I’d be rounding up the lifeguard, the rich kid, the captain, and the cop and work them over hard until I learned the truth. Maybe twice, just to be sure.”
“No,” Quinn says. “On your omelet, I mean.”
“Oh,” Kate says. “Just egg whites, please.”
“That’s also not an omelet, either,” Theo says. “You know, according to the rules.”
Quinn expertly cracks three eggs and separates the yolks from the white by using the two halves of the shell. His movements are fluid, relaxed—almost sleight-of-hand. He admires Kate’s Spartan tastes. She was the same way in the US Army, when they briefly served together. No muss, no fuss. Just get the job done.
“Believe me, Kate,” Quinn says as he works. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to gather those men in a room and squeeze them until they pop. But you know how we work. We never let—”
“—our targets know they’re in our crosshairs,” says Jana Rose, who has positioned herself directly opposite Quinn. “We know, Matthew, honey. Maybe you could have that embroidered on a quilt.”
Quinn smiles at Jana, who has the classic beauty of a stage actor from another era. She’s the only one who dares to tease him like this. Even Theo—whom Quinn has known since they were roommates at Harvard—knows there are limits. But Jana knows Quinn more intimately than anyone else in this room. Or the planet, for that matter.
“And what would you like, Jana?” Quinn asks.
“Now, you know I don’t like eggs,” she says.
“Which is why you’ll find Greek yogurt and a small fruit salad in the fridge at knee-level.”
Jana’s face lights up. “Wonderful.”
From the other side of the kitchen comes a sigh. “I guess it’s up to me, then.”
The fifth member of the team, Otto Hazard, is perched on the kitchen counter, apart from the group. As usual. Otto met Theo in “finishing school”—the US Penitentiary at Leavenworth—making him the only member of the team without a direct connection to Quinn. So he constantly tries to earn his place, with a curious combination of bravado and laid-back disinterest.
“What are you thinking, Otto?” Quinn asks.
“That I’m gonna be the only one who will order a real omelet. Six eggs, plenty of cheese, mushrooms, onions, ham, and the hottest peppers you have. You’ve got habanero sauce somewhere in this place, right?”
“Check the pantry behind you.”
As Quinn cooks and Otto searches, Kate shifts impatiently. “I don’t know what we’re waiting for. Let’s vote and get moving on this one.”
“Hold on a sec,” Theo says. “We need to know a little more. For starters, which agency is interested? The feebs? The CIA?”
“Nope,” Quinn says. “Private party.”
Which is unusual for the group. Their particular set of skills—creating elaborate stings to entrap those who believe they’re above the law—are usually in demand by various government agencies. Not ordinary civilians.
“Huh, that’s weird,” Theo says. “The girl’s parents?”
“I don’t want that to cloud our judgment,” Quinn says. “We always evaluate cases on their intrinsic merits alone.”
“What’s our objective?” Jana asks.
“We’ve been asked to find Paige alive—or catch her killer.”
“And she disappeared…?” Kate asks.
“Two nights ago. Friday evening.”
“So the trail is going cold fast,” Theo says.
The others consider this. Even Otto stops searching for the habanero sauce and turns to face the group. Meanwhile, Quinn finishes the three omelets cooking in three separate pans, then glides them onto waiting plates.
“What do you think, boss?” Kate asks.
Quinn says, “I think that Paige Ryerson is probably dead. I believe that I may know who did it, and I believe I know how the girl died. But right now I have no idea how to prove it.”
“So who did it?”
“No shortcuts,” Quinn said. “You find the evidence and bring it to me…then I’ll tell you. Shall we put it to a vote?”
“I’m in,” says Kate. “We either bring her home safe or give her a proper burial.”
“Sure,” says Theo. “I could stand a little island action.”
“Absolutely,” adds Otto through a mouthful of omelet.
“You wouldn’t have brought this case to us without good reason,” Jana says. “Let’s do it.”
“Actually, I don’t think we should take this one,” Quinn says. “But it’s four to one, so consider us officially engaged.”
The rest of them stare at Quinn, trying hard not to express their surprise. Their boss can be mercurial, but they’ve all learned it’s better to just roll with it. You don’t play chess with Matthew Quinn. You play five games of chess simultaneously, and you just have to accept that you won’t be able to see all of the pieces (or the boards, for that matter).
Instead of ruminating further, they simply eat the breakfast he prepared for them.
“What about your omelet?” Jana asks.
“I ate earlier,” Quinn says, pulling a file folder from the side of the omelet station. “Now here’s the plan.…”
Chapter 3
THEO (THE TRADER)
The flight down to Turks and Caicos is smooth as can be expected, and within minutes of clearing the gate I ha. . .
THE STINGRAYS
“Paige Ryerson’s body was never found,” Matthew Quinn says, continuing his tale as he sprays the inside of a Teflon pan with coconut oil.
The five of them, as usual, gather in the oversized kitchen where Quinn is cooking breakfast. His $7,000-a-month Cambridge loft has plenty of other places where they can gather, but they prefer to talk about their cases over a hot meal. In this instance: the Sunday morning omelet station.
The other four take in the details of Quinn’s story as the pan heats up.
“That last bit is your theory, of course,” says Theo Selznick, who is standing at Quinn’s immediate right. The stocky, clean-cut man has known Quinn the longest, and he expects to be served first.
“My theory?” Quinn asks, as he cracks an egg over the side of a silver bowl.
“You know, the part about the hands grabbing her out of the darkness and all that. The last person to see her alive was the cop with the sweet lips, right? As far as we know, Paige Ryerson is still alive and well somewhere in paradise. Oh, and no cheese in mine, please.”
“It’s not an omelet without cheese,” Quinn says.
“You’ve known me since college,” Theo replies. “When have you ever known me to give a damn about the rules?”
Quinn cracks another egg. “Kate? How about you?”
Kate Weber, standing to Quinn’s left, has a stormy look on her thin face. “If she were my sister, I’d be rounding up the lifeguard, the rich kid, the captain, and the cop and work them over hard until I learned the truth. Maybe twice, just to be sure.”
“No,” Quinn says. “On your omelet, I mean.”
“Oh,” Kate says. “Just egg whites, please.”
“That’s also not an omelet, either,” Theo says. “You know, according to the rules.”
Quinn expertly cracks three eggs and separates the yolks from the white by using the two halves of the shell. His movements are fluid, relaxed—almost sleight-of-hand. He admires Kate’s Spartan tastes. She was the same way in the US Army, when they briefly served together. No muss, no fuss. Just get the job done.
“Believe me, Kate,” Quinn says as he works. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to gather those men in a room and squeeze them until they pop. But you know how we work. We never let—”
“—our targets know they’re in our crosshairs,” says Jana Rose, who has positioned herself directly opposite Quinn. “We know, Matthew, honey. Maybe you could have that embroidered on a quilt.”
Quinn smiles at Jana, who has the classic beauty of a stage actor from another era. She’s the only one who dares to tease him like this. Even Theo—whom Quinn has known since they were roommates at Harvard—knows there are limits. But Jana knows Quinn more intimately than anyone else in this room. Or the planet, for that matter.
“And what would you like, Jana?” Quinn asks.
“Now, you know I don’t like eggs,” she says.
“Which is why you’ll find Greek yogurt and a small fruit salad in the fridge at knee-level.”
Jana’s face lights up. “Wonderful.”
From the other side of the kitchen comes a sigh. “I guess it’s up to me, then.”
The fifth member of the team, Otto Hazard, is perched on the kitchen counter, apart from the group. As usual. Otto met Theo in “finishing school”—the US Penitentiary at Leavenworth—making him the only member of the team without a direct connection to Quinn. So he constantly tries to earn his place, with a curious combination of bravado and laid-back disinterest.
“What are you thinking, Otto?” Quinn asks.
“That I’m gonna be the only one who will order a real omelet. Six eggs, plenty of cheese, mushrooms, onions, ham, and the hottest peppers you have. You’ve got habanero sauce somewhere in this place, right?”
“Check the pantry behind you.”
As Quinn cooks and Otto searches, Kate shifts impatiently. “I don’t know what we’re waiting for. Let’s vote and get moving on this one.”
“Hold on a sec,” Theo says. “We need to know a little more. For starters, which agency is interested? The feebs? The CIA?”
“Nope,” Quinn says. “Private party.”
Which is unusual for the group. Their particular set of skills—creating elaborate stings to entrap those who believe they’re above the law—are usually in demand by various government agencies. Not ordinary civilians.
“Huh, that’s weird,” Theo says. “The girl’s parents?”
“I don’t want that to cloud our judgment,” Quinn says. “We always evaluate cases on their intrinsic merits alone.”
“What’s our objective?” Jana asks.
“We’ve been asked to find Paige alive—or catch her killer.”
“And she disappeared…?” Kate asks.
“Two nights ago. Friday evening.”
“So the trail is going cold fast,” Theo says.
The others consider this. Even Otto stops searching for the habanero sauce and turns to face the group. Meanwhile, Quinn finishes the three omelets cooking in three separate pans, then glides them onto waiting plates.
“What do you think, boss?” Kate asks.
Quinn says, “I think that Paige Ryerson is probably dead. I believe that I may know who did it, and I believe I know how the girl died. But right now I have no idea how to prove it.”
“So who did it?”
“No shortcuts,” Quinn said. “You find the evidence and bring it to me…then I’ll tell you. Shall we put it to a vote?”
“I’m in,” says Kate. “We either bring her home safe or give her a proper burial.”
“Sure,” says Theo. “I could stand a little island action.”
“Absolutely,” adds Otto through a mouthful of omelet.
“You wouldn’t have brought this case to us without good reason,” Jana says. “Let’s do it.”
“Actually, I don’t think we should take this one,” Quinn says. “But it’s four to one, so consider us officially engaged.”
The rest of them stare at Quinn, trying hard not to express their surprise. Their boss can be mercurial, but they’ve all learned it’s better to just roll with it. You don’t play chess with Matthew Quinn. You play five games of chess simultaneously, and you just have to accept that you won’t be able to see all of the pieces (or the boards, for that matter).
Instead of ruminating further, they simply eat the breakfast he prepared for them.
“What about your omelet?” Jana asks.
“I ate earlier,” Quinn says, pulling a file folder from the side of the omelet station. “Now here’s the plan.…”
Chapter 3
THEO (THE TRADER)
The flight down to Turks and Caicos is smooth as can be expected, and within minutes of clearing the gate I ha. . .
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