Mark Lindquist’s King of Methlehem

The detective novel finally has a new plot and a rich new crime background. After years of murder mysteries, cocaine trades, and oval office intrigue, the thriller has sick new lore to use as a backdrop. Mark Lindquist makes full use of the methamphetamine epidemic in the northwest and he succeeds in making his characters and the plot realistic. The formula draws on all the classics- hard drinking cop, mouthy, ego-inflated perp, desperate tweakers who have lost their way, and enough courtroom politics and legalese to move the plot along. The pages turn all by themselves: while I’m the kind of reader that plods through a dozen books at a time, this one I read cover to cover in one day. And though the plot and the sick sad life of the characters takes central stage, Lindquist doesn’t weaken his aim during the details: he never forgets small clues in the setting, descriptions of what’s on a character’s book shelf, or dialogue that shows what someone is thinking.

The King of Methlehem prides himself on being the best methamphetamine cook in Pierce County, Washington, and evading arrest. He’s a classic sleaze ball who likes his domain: he knows meth is more addictive and hence more profitable than other drugs. He also likes the risk that goes with making it; the explosions and the danger make him feel really important. While he’s a dirty bastard, playing head games with 12-year old girls to get them into his stuff, and into his pants as well, the full cast of tweakers reveals that most start out as normal people looking for a good time, for more energy at work, or looking to stay thin.

While hardly a psychological study, there are enough details to richly illustrate the interior hell of the speed freak. What struck me most was how universal some specific minutiae of madness are: the addicts all have half- dead cars in their lots that they take apart and put back together constantly. I used to see car parts and pieces of stereo with the cords cut off laying in yards, and wondered what the hell. Then a meth addict moved into my house and began taking apart the VCR and the light fixtures and tinkering around. Now when I see engine parts and electrical devices removed and piled up I know meth is not far. I still don’t know why this is universal- my roommate was looking for recording devices, and Lindquist says the speeding mind needs a mechanical mess to focus into. Either way, it’s creepy.

Wyatt is a good cop who loves his job and moved to meth enforcement to escape the stress of homicide. He was naïve then, but not now. He found the pain and madness meth caused to be a world different from any other kind of drug. He loves his job though, and notices all kinds of puzzle pieces that other cops miss, making him good at the new position. He knows that the megalomania and fearlessness meth causes are unique challenges- his perps don’t care if they die and they’re inside some other world altogether that he has to bridge. He’s not sentimental about it but he does recognize how this drug can twist a normal soul into a deranged, barely human skeleton. He also knows that years of law enforcement crying wolf is partially to blame- no one believes the “this is your brain on drugs” story when it’s been told so often and is so obviously a lie. Sadly, with crystal methamphetamine, it’s true.