End of Watch (The Bill Hodges Trilogy Book 3)

Because things can get better, and if you give them a chance, they usually do.

How did I get into this?’ he moans.
‘The way everybody gets into everything,’ Brady says gently. ‘One step at a time.’

Brady began to release his own fish into the aquarium of Sadie MacDonald’s mind: tiny poisonous blowfish that were little more than exaggerations of thoughts she herself harbored in the twilight area that exists between the conscious mind and the subconscious.

And being needed is a great thing. Maybe the great thing.

He’s living like Donald Trump, Ruth Scapelli thinks. He killed eight people and wounded God knows how many more, he tried to kill thousands of teenage girls at a rock-and-roll concert, and here he sits with his meals brought to him by his own personal staff, his clothes laundered, his face shaved. He gets a massage three times a week. He visits the spa four times a week, and spends time in the hot tub.
Living like Donald Trump? Huh. More like a desert chieftain in one of those oil-rich Mideast countries.