Predator Concrete Jungle 8

What the hell kept Schaefer going, anyway? It wasn't a woman; Rasche had seen Schaefer's apartment once, and there wasn't any doubt that Schaefer lived alone. No other human being could have put up with that place-stained ceilings and cracked windows and the TV blaring from next door through paper-thin walls, but the bed was made with military precision and razor-sharp creases at the corners, the floor was spotless, everything was folded and sorted and filed away. The goddamn coffee cups in the kitchen cupboard had all had their handles pointing in the same direction, for Christ's sake.

Nobody but Schaefer could have lived there. So what drove Schaefer? Why was he a cop? He could have landed a job somewhere else-there was always work
for a big, smart, tough guy who wasn't afraid to tackle anything. So why was he still with the department? He wasn't after any pension; Schaefer never gave a damn about money. If he'd wanted a pension, he could have stayed in the military instead of becoming a cop. So far as Rasche knew, it had been Schaefer's idea to switch. Maybe he hadn't been seeing enough action in the army.-pg.48 chpt.5