Damaged (29 page)

5. Scott Larsen’s weak character keeps him in thrall to the wily charms of smooth operator Joe Black. He’s thrilled to drink with Joe, to make Joe laugh, to be dubbed affectionately as “Dude” by Joe. When does this crush first begin to wane? What sends it totally over the edge? Does Scott ever fully recognize the depth of Joe’s betrayal? Is Scott an irredeemable character?

6. At what point do Maggie and Liz truly connect? Do you predict that Liz Bailey will make an appearance in the coming Maggie O’Dell novels?

7. This novel was written before the 2010 Deepwater Horizon oil rig disaster in the Gulf of Mexico, although its publication date was a few months after the accident. How did your knowledge of the oil spill affect your reading of the novel, with its repeated references to “emerald-green waters … sugar-white sands” (
this page
)?

8. Platt’s theory that the mystery illness felling wounded soldiers stems from biomechanical implements tainted by donor decomposition is the first and only plausible theory anyone has proposed. Why does Ganz dismiss it immediately and so thoroughly?

9. Maggie and Platt walk a delicate line between friendship and romance. Does their relationship develop over the course of the novel? Is either of them psychologically equipped for intimacy?

10. Despite the Florida Panhandle being at the storm’s bull’s-eye, there are repeated references in the novel to New Orleans being “where all the media is” (
this page
). What is the author’s intent with this crack?

11. What does Maggie refer to as “her leaky compartments” (
this page
)? What is her strategy for handling them? What do you think would solve the issue?

12. At what point does Liz realize she’s made the grade with Wilson, Ellis, and Kesnick?

13. As the novel closes, Trish and Mr. B cook dinner for the hungry neighbors, side by side in the Coney Island Canteen. Since his rescue, “Trish hadn’t left his side” (
this page
). How do you explain this total turnaround by Liz’s angry, aloof sister?

14. What was your reaction to the last few lines of the novel and the enormity of the task now facing Maggie O’Dell and her colleagues? What does the author seem to be saying about the plight of the FBI profiler?

(For a complete list of available reading group guides, and to sign up for the Reading Group Center enewsletter, visit:
www.readinggroupcenter.com.
)

SUGGESTED READING

Alex Kava,
A Perfect Evil
;
Split Second
;
The Soul Catcher
;
At the Stroke of Madness
;
A Necessary Evil
;
Exposed
;
Black Friday
; Lee Child,
61 Hours
;
Worth Dying For
;
Persuader
;
The Enemy
;
The Hard Way
;
One Shot
;
Gone Tomorrow
;
Bad Luck and Trouble

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I’ve spent most of my life in tornado country, so I have a healthy respect for the forces of nature. In 2004 I bought what I believed would be a writing retreat just outside of Pensacola, Florida. Six months later, Hurricane Ivan roared ashore.

It’s difficult to describe the damage, and even more difficult to explain how deep the damage cuts beyond that done to physical property. There’s a transformation that takes place within the community. You spend long, hot days without running water and electricity. Gasoline and groceries are limited to what you’ve stocked before the storm. The clean-up is physically and emotionally draining, but you find yourself grateful to be working alongside neighbors—in my case, people I had only recently met. They taught me what true strength and perseverance looks like.

Nine months after Ivan, Hurricane Dennis made a direct hit. And the Pensacola community simply rolled up their collective sleeves and started cleaning up all over again.

To the community of Pensacola: please know that it was out of respect and admiration that I decided to use your piece of paradise as the backdrop of
Damaged
.

As in all my novels, I have blended fact with fiction. For the record, here are some of the facts and some of the fiction.

The premise of infecting an entire tissue bank is based solely on my speculation. There have been, however, fatalities caused by infected donor tissue. One such case occurred in 2001 when it was determined that a twenty-three-year-old man who died after routine knee surgery was killed by a rare bacterium—
Clostridium sordellii—
and that he had contracted the infection from cadaver cartilage that was used to repair his knee.

Unlike those of organ donor banks, the standards for tissue, bone, and other donated body parts are more loosely regulated. Even though the FDA established the HTTF (Human Tissue Task Force) in 2006, they continue, by their own admission, to lack the resources to inspect and regulate this vast and growing industry.

The Uniform Anatomical Gift Act does prohibit the buying and selling of dead bodies, but the law allows for companies to recover their costs for expenses such as labor, transportation, processing, and storage. Demand is high, supply low, which sometimes opens the way to fraudulent brokers, as in the case of a New York funeral home where PVC pipe was swapped out for bones.

Yet, because of this industry, amazing technological advances have resulted. BIOMedics is fictitious, but similar companies have been creating and manufacturing innovative products like bone screws and bone paste, which have helped save the limbs of many soldiers returning from Afghanistan and Iraq.

It’s true that the Naval Tissue Bank at the Naval Medical Center in Maryland was the first to use frozen bone transplants and to set up the first body donation program. However, to my knowledge you will not find a similar tissue bank in Jacksonville, Florida. Nor
will you find Captain Ganz’s surgical program at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola.

Likewise, I must offer my apologies to the Coast Guard’s Air Station Mobile and Naval Air Station Pensacola. I’ve taken a few liberties with takeoffs and landings, many of which would not include Pensacola Beach.

While it is true that before Hurricane Dennis there were homemade signs asking The Weather Channel’s Jim Cantore to “stay away” or “go home,” I’m sure Mr. Cantore has witnessed many similar signs in other communities. Hopefully he views these with the same good-natured spirit in which they’re intended, and as a tribute to his expertise.

And last, Charlie Wurth would have found the Coffee Cup closed on Sundays, but if you’re in Pensacola any other day of the week, be sure to stop and try their award-winning Nassau grits.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Thank you to the men and women of the United States armed forces, especially the Coast Guard for what you do every single day to keep us safe. And special thanks to those few women rescue swimmers for quietly and bravely shattering glass ceilings that most of us wouldn’t dare attempt.

Thanks also to:

The incredible team at Doubleday—Jackeline Montalvo, Judy Jacoby, Alison Rich, Suzanne Herz, Lauren Lavelle, and John Pitts—for your warm welcome, your enthusiasm, dedication, and expertise.

Same goes to David Shelley and his crew at Little Brown UK.

Amy Moore-Benson, my agent, for refusing to use the words “never” or “impossible.”

Lee Child, Steve Berry, and Tess Gerritsen, three of the most generous authors in the business.

Ray Kunze, for lending his name to Maggie’s boss. Just for the record, the real Ray Kunze is a gentleman and all-around nice guy who would never send Maggie into the eye of a hurricane.

Lee Dixon, for giving me the idea of identifying a torso by its defibrillator implant.

Darcy Lindner, funeral director, for sharing your expertise.

My friends—Sharon Car, Marlene Haney, Sandy Rockwood, Leigh Ann Retelsdorf, Patti and Martin Bremmer, and Patricia Sierra—for keeping me sane and grounded.

My family: Patricia Kava, Bob and Tracy Kava, Nancy and Jim Tworek, Kenny and Connie Kava, and Patti Carlin.

My Florida neighbors: Lee and Betty Dixon, Terry and Bea Hummel, Sharon and Steve Kator, Elaine and Kelly McDaniels, Lee and Carol McKinstry, Mike and Jana Nicholson, Steve and Anna Ratliff, Bill and Barb Schroeder, and Larry and Diane Wilbanks.

The booksellers, book buyers, and librarians across the country, for mentioning and recommending my novels.

All you faithful readers—I know there’s plenty of competition for your time, your entertainment, and your dollars. I thank you for continuing to choose my novels.

And, as always, a special thanks to Deb Carlin, for everything. You are my Rock of Gibraltar.

Last, to Walter and Emilie Carlin. Walter passed away in September of 2008, and Emilie in November of 2005, but their enduring personalities, life stories, and spirit continue to inspire. Walter would have loved seeing his bright red, white, and blue Coney Island canteen come back to life, even if briefly and only in the pages of a novel.

Excerpt from

HOTWIRE

By Alex Kava

Coming from Doubleday

Summer 2011

CHAPTER 1

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 7TH
NEBRASKA NATIONAL FOREST
HALSEY, NEBRASKA

Dawson Hayes looked around the campfire and immediately recognized the losers. It was almost too easy to spot them.

He could pretend he had some super radar in reading people, but the truth was he knew the losers because … what was that old saying? It takes one to know one. It wasn’t that long ago that he would have been huddled over there with them, wondering why he had been invited, sweating and waiting to see what the price of the invitation was.

He didn’t feel sorry for them. They didn’t have to show up. Nobody threw them in the trunk of a car and brought them here. So anything that happened
was sort of their own fault. Their price for wanting to be somebody they weren’t. Admission to the cool club didn’t come without some sacrifice. If they thought otherwise, then they really were hopeless losers.

At least Dawson accepted who he was. Actually he didn’t mind. He liked being different from his classmates and sometimes he played up the part, purposely wearing all black on football Fridays when everyone else wore school colors. Being the geek got him noticed, even garnered an eye roll from Coach Hickman, who before Dawson started wearing black on Fridays hadn’t bothered to remember Dawson’s name.

At the beginning of the school year during roll call for history class Coach would yell out “Dawson Hayes” and look around the entire room, over Dawson’s head and sometimes straight at him. Then Coach Hickman’s eyebrows would dart up with Dawson’s hand like the man would never in a million years have put a cool name like Dawson Hayes together with the pimpled face and the hesitant, skinny arm claiming it. Dawson didn’t mind. He was finally starting to get noticed and it didn’t matter how it came about.

Even now Dawson knew the only reason for his continued invitation to these exclusive retreats in the forest was because Johnny Bosh liked
what Dawson brought to the party. Tonight that something was burning a hole in Dawson’s jacket pocket. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think how earlier he had lifted it—that’s right, lifted, borrowed, not stolen—from his dad’s holster while his dad slept on his one night off. His dad probably wouldn’t care as soon as he heard Dawson was hanging with Johnny B. Okay, that wasn’t true. His dad would be pissed. But wasn’t he always encouraging Dawson to make friends, go do stuff that other kids were doing? In other words, be a normal teenager for a change. He wanted this year to be different.