Demolition Angel (37 page)

Starkey timed her arrival at Spring Street so that Kelso would be in his office. She didn’t want to get into the office first and have to make conversation with Marzik and Hooker. She wedged her car into the parking lot next to Marzik’s, gathered up the computer, and brought it with her.

Hooker was at his desk.

“Hey, Hook. Is Kelso in?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Beth?”

“The ladies’ room.”

Starkey loved Jorge. He was the last man in America who called it the ladies’ room.

Starkey went out to the bathroom, where she found Marzik
smoking. Marzik fanned the air before she realized it was Starkey, and looked guilty.

“This is your fault.”

“Why don’t you just go in the stairwell?”

“I don’t want anyone to know. Six years I’ve been off these damned things.”

“Throw it away and come inside. I’ve got to see Kelso, and I want you and Hooker with me.”

“Jesus, I just lit the damned thing.”

“For God’s sake, Beth, please.”

Even when Starkey was loving Marzik, she hated her.

Starkey didn’t wait for Hooker and Marzik to get themselves together; she didn’t want the three of them trooping into his office like a bunch of ducks in a row. She knocked on the door, then pushed her way inside with the computer. Kelso eyed it because he knew that Starkey didn’t own a computer and knew nothing about them.

“Barry, I need to see you.”

“You and I have a meeting with Chief Morgan later. He wants to be briefed before the press conference. He also wants to congratulate you, Carol. He told me that. Everyone except you was running off half-cocked about Mr. Red, and you broke this case. I think he’s going to bump you to D-3.”

Starkey put the computer on his desk. Both Marzik and Hooker came in behind her.

“Okay, Barry, we can do that. But I have to tell you some things first, and I want Beth and Jorge to hear it, too. Buck didn’t kill himself. It wasn’t an accident. Mr. Red killed him.”

Kelso glanced at Marzik and Santos, then frowned at Starkey.

“Maybe I’m confused. Weren’t you the one who said that Mr. Red wasn’t involved here?”

“Mr. Red did not kill Charlie Riggio. That was Buck. Buck copycatted Red’s M.O. to cover the murder, just like we proved.”

“Then what in hell are you talking about?”

“Mr. Red didn’t like someone pretending to be him. He came here to find that person. He did.”

Santos said, “Carol, how do you know that?”

Starkey pointed at the computer.

“He admitted it to me on that through Claudius. Mr. Red and I have been in personal contact now for almost a week.”

Kelso’s face closed into an unreadable scowl as she told them about the entire avenue of the investigation that she had held secret, and how, through Claudius, it had led to her contact with Mr. Red. Kelso only stopped her once, when she was telling them about Jack Pell.

“How long have you known that Pell is not a representative of the ATF?”

“Since yesterday. I confronted him about it last night.”

“You are sure about this? You are
positive
that this man is functioning without authority?”

“Yes.”

Kelso’s jaw flexed. His nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath. When Starkey glanced at Hooker and Marzik, they both stared at the floor.

She said, “Barry, I’m sorry. I was wrong for playing it this way, and I apologize. But we still have a shot at Mr. Red. Buck had more Modex. I’m sure he had more, and I think Red took it.”

“Did Red tell you this?”

“We don’t have conversations. It’s not like we tell each other secrets; he taunts me, he teases me. We have this, I don’t know what you would call it, a relationship. That’s why Pell and I went on-line like this, to try to bring him out. I’m sure I can contact him again. We can work him, Barry. We can catch the sonofabitch.”

Kelso nodded, but he wasn’t nodding agreement. She could see that in his face. He was angry, and probably nodding to something he had thought.

“We look like fools.”

Starkey took a breath.

“You don’t, Barry. I do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Detective. I’m going to call Morgan. I want you to wait outside. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t do anything. Marzik, Santos, that’s you, too.”

They nodded.

“Did either of you know about this?”

Starkey said, “No.”

“Goddamnit, I’m not asking you.”

Marzik said, “No, sir.”

“No, sir.”

“Wait outside.”

As Starkey was walking out, Kelso stopped her.

“One more thing. At any time during your, I don’t know what to call them, conversations? At any time when you were talking to that murderer, did you impart or reveal any, and I mean anything at all, information about this investigation?”

“No, Barry, I did not.”

“Starkey. Never call me by my first name again.”

Outside, Starkey apologized to Santos and Marzik. Santos nodded glumly, then went to his desk and lapsed into silence. Marzik was livid and didn’t try to hide it.

“If you cost me a promotion, I’m going to kick your drunken ass. I knew you were fucking that bastard.”

Starkey didn’t bother to argue. She sat at her desk and waited.

Kelso’s door remained closed for almost forty-five minutes. When it opened, Starkey, Marzik, and Santos all rose, but Kelso froze Marzik and Santos with a glance.

“Not you. Starkey, inside.”

When she went in, he closed the door. She had never seen him as angry as he was right now.

He said, “You’re finished. You are suspended immediately, and you will be brought up on professional-conduct charges, as well as charges of compromising this investigation. I have
already spoken to IAG. They will contact you directly, and you will be subject to their administrative orders. If any criminal charges arise from the subsequent investigation, you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. I would advise you to contact a lawyer today.”

Starkey went numb.

“Barry, I know I fucked up, but Mr. Red is still out there. He has more Modex. We can’t just stop; we can’t just end it like this.”

“The only thing at an end is you. You’re done. The rest of us are going to continue doing our jobs.”

“Damnit, I
am
the investigation.
I can get to him
, Barry. You want to fire me, fine, fire me after we get the sonofabitch!”

Kelso slowly crossed his arms, considering her.

“You
are the investigation? That’s the most arrogant, self-centered statement I’ve ever heard from a detective on this department.”

“Barry, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I
know
you took it upon yourself to conduct an investigation independent of my office. I know—because you told me so—that you secretly set about baiting the murderer we were all supposed to be trying to find. Maybe, if you had come to me, we would have done that anyway, but we don’t
know
that. And now, according to you, I know that Buck Daggett is dead by that man’s hand. How does that feel, Carol, knowing that you may have cost Buck his life?”

Starkey blinked hard, trying to stop the tears that filled her eyes.
The truth hurts
. But there it was.

“It feels just like you think it feels. Please don’t, Barry. Please let me stay and help you catch this guy. I need to.”

Kelso took a deep breath, stood, then went behind his desk and took his seat.

“You’re dismissed.”

Starkey moved for the computer. She needed the computer to get to Mr. Red.

“That stays.”

Starkey left the computer on his desk and walked out.

Marzik was at her desk; Santos wasn’t in the squad room. Starkey thought about telling Marzik what had happened, but decided to hell with it. Later, when everyone had calmed, she thought she might call.

“Good-bye, Beth.”

Marzik didn’t respond. So far as Starkey could tell, she didn’t even look.

Starkey worked her car out of the parking garage and drove out into the city with no idea of what to do or where to go. She had expected that Kelso would punish her, that there would be a suspension and loss of pay, but she never thought that he would jerk her from the investigation. She was too much a part of it, had too much of herself invested in it. Everything she had was invested in it. In Mr. Red. Thinking that, she felt the tears, and angrily fought them back. Pell was probably telling himself the same thing.

Starkey fished her flask from beneath the seat, propped it between her legs. She lit a cigarette, blowing a geyser of smoke out the window. The flask was real. She wanted the drink. She squeezed the flask hard between her legs and thought,
Oh, for Christ’s sake
. She shoved it back under the seat.

She drove to the top of Griffith Park. The place was crawling with tourists. It was hot; the smog was so thick it hung like a mist, hiding the buildings. Starkey watched the tourists trying to see the city through the curtain of crap in the air.
They probably couldn’t see more than two or three miles out into the basin. It was like staring at lung cancer. Starkey thought,
Here, here’s some more
. She lit a fresh cigarette.

She told herself to stop it. She was acting like an ass. She knew that it was Buck Daggett. Whatever Buck had done, it was eating her up that she might have played a role in his death. It was Pell, because the rotten prick had meant something to her, even more than she cared to admit.

Starkey bought a Diet Coke at the concession stand and was walking to the top of the observatory when her pager buzzed. She recognized Mueller’s number by the area code. When she reached the top, she called him.

“It’s Starkey.”

“You’re gonna be the FBI’s cover girl.”

“The book?”

“Oh, baby. Was that a call, or was that a call? We got a clean set, eight out of ten digits, both thumbs. You know the bastard went in there posing as Tennant’s attorney? Can you believe the balls?”

“Warren? Is there a surveillance tape?”

“Yeah. We’ve got that, too. The SLO field office is all over this thing. Starkey, the feds up here are creaming their pants. We got his ID. Listen to this, John Michael Fowles, age twenty-eight. No criminal record of any kind. Had his prints in the federal casket because he enlisted in the Navy when he was eighteen, but washed out as unsuitable for service. He used to start fires in the goddamned barracks.”

Starkey was breathing hard, like a horse wanting to get into the race.

“Warren, listen, I want you to call CCS down here and give them this information, okay? I’m off the investigation.”

“What in hell are you talking about.”

“I fucked up. It’s my fault. I would tell you about it, but I just can’t right now. Would you call them, please? They’re going to need this.”

“Listen, Starkey, whatever you did, they gotta be crazy. I just want you to know that. You’re a top cop.”

“Will you call them?”

Starkey felt as if the world was shifting away beneath her feet, sliding out to sea and leaving her behind.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll do that.”

“I’ll talk to you later about it.”

“Starkey?”

“What?”

“Look, you just take care of yourself, okay?”

“Good-bye, Sergeant.”

Starkey closed her phone and watched the tourists putting dimes into the telescopes so they could get a better view of the smog. John Michael Fowles. She saw John Michael hunched over his computer, waiting for Hotload to sign on. She saw him building his bomb with Buck Daggett’s leftover Modex. She saw him targeting another bomb technician and waiting to punch the button that would tear someone apart. She wanted to be on that computer with him. She wanted to finish the job she had started, but Kelso had cut her out of it.

No.

There was another way.

She opened her phone again, and called Pell.

Pell left the motel. He knew that once the local ATF field office was informed that an agent was illegally prosecuting a case, they would act quickly to investigate. He assumed that Starkey would identify his hotel, so he moved. He didn’t know what he would do or where he would go, but he was certain that his pursuit of Mr. Red was at its end. Now that he was found out, the local field offices around the country would be notified, as well as the bomb units of every police force in America. He was done.

He decided not to run. His retinas would soon detach completely, and irreparably—and that would be that. He thought he might wait a day or two, hoping that Starkey and the L.A. cops could bag Mr. Red, and then he would turn himself in. Fuck it. There ain’t no prize for second place.

He felt no loss at missing Mr. Red. That part of it surprised him. For almost two years, his private pursuit had been his consuming passion. Now, well, it just didn’t matter. The loss he felt was for Starkey. The regret he felt was for the pain he had caused her.

Pell checked into a different hotel, then drove aimlessly until he found himself at a diner on the water in Santa Monica. He had gone there to see the ocean. He thought that he should probably try to see as many things as possible while he was still able, but once there he hadn’t even bothered to get a table facing outward. He sat at the counter, thinking that he might try to stay in Los Angeles. At least long enough to try to make peace with Starkey. Maybe he could apologize. If he couldn’t make it right, maybe he could make her hate him less.

When his pager vibrated, he recognized her number, and thought that she might be calling to tell him to turn himself in. He thought that he might do that.

He returned her call.

“You calling to arrest me?”

What she said surprised him.

“No. I’m calling to give you one last chance to catch this bastard.”

Starkey found him at a rathole diner, waiting in a booth. Her heart felt heavy when she saw him, but she pushed that aside.

“You might as well know. You’re not the only one on the wrong side of the law.”

“What does that mean?”

She told him what had happened. She kept it short. She was uneasy being around him.