Demolition Angel (36 page)

Marzik came up, shaking her head.

“Was it bad?”

“Not too bad. We’ve both seen worse.”

“It must have been pretty goddamned bad. You’re crying.”

Starkey turned away.

Marzik cleared her throat, embarrassed.

“I didn’t want to see all that mess. I’ve got enough mess to last me into my next life. Let me have a cigarette.”

Starkey looked at her, surprised.

“You don’t smoke.”

“I haven’t smoked in six years. Are you going to give me one of those things or do I have to buy it from you?”

Starkey gave her the pack.

They heard Natalie’s screams before they saw her, coming from the cordon at the end of the street. Natalie tried to
push past the officers, struggling to get to her home. An older woman, probably a neighbor, wrapped Natalie in her arms as Dick Leyton ran to her from the front of the house. Later, Starkey knew, a San Gabriel detective would question her, asking about the explosives, asking if Buck had talked about suicide. Starkey was relieved that she would not have to ask those questions, and guilty for feeling that relief.

Marzik shook her head.

“Could this get any worse?”

Starkey knew that it could. She crushed out her cigarette.

“Beth, get a ride back with Kelso, okay? I’m taking the car.”

“Where are you going?”

Starkey walked faster.

All the small, odd things about Pell made sense now; the shitty motel, him needing her to run the NLETS search and the evidence transfer, the way he had lost it with Tennant. Driving to his motel, Starkey tried to put herself into the same mind-set that she used when she was de-arming bombs. It had always felt to her, then, as a kind of separation. As if she was in some other dimension, safe and secure, from where she used her body to handle the bomb like a flesh-and-bone robot, devoid of feelings. She tried to get to that place, but failed. It wasn’t so easy to separate herself from her feelings anymore.

Starkey parked outside the motel, used her cell phone to call him. The phone rang ten times before the hotel operator, a tired male voice, asked if she’d like to leave a message. Starkey hung up, then went inside, walking past the lobby as if she knew where she was going. She knew Pell’s room number from calling him there, found the room, then searched the halls until she found a housekeeper. Starkey tried to make herself look pleasant, an expression she didn’t trust herself to pull off.

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Pell, in 112. My husband has both keys, and he’s not here right now. Could you let me in?”

“Wass you name?”

“Pell. P-e-l-l. It’s room 112.”

The housekeeper, a young Latina, looked up the room on her clipboard.

“Shoe. I let you in.”

The housekeeper keyed the lock, then stepped out of the way as Starkey entered. Mr. Red’s words echoed in her brain.

He is using you, Carol Starkey. He has been playing us against each other
.

The computer was sitting on a spindly desk against the wall. Identical to her computer. The same. She turned it on. The same icons on the screen. She opened them. The same doorway to Claudius.

Starkey turned to the bed. It was rumpled, and smelled of sweat. A thought came:
I would have slept in that bed
. Words lost like a whisper on a breeze.

She searched the room. She did not know what she was looking for, nor what she might find, but she went through the bathroom, the chest and desk, and his suitcase without finding anything more. Again in the center of the room, she tried to decide if she should wait or go. She was walking to the door when she turned to the closet, and searched the pockets of his clothes there. A plastic Ziploc baggie was in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. A piece of frag. She unzipped the plastic, dropped the fragment into her palm, and saw the letters:

TARKEY

Her hands and forearms tingled as if the blood had been cut off. It didn’t matter that it was Buck Daggett who had etched her name to mislead them; Pell had thought that Mr. Red had built the bomb. Sitting in Barrigan’s, he had
known
.
That night in her house, holding her, he had believed that she was the target. And he had hidden that from her. He had used her.

“What are you doing here?”

Pell stood in the door. His face was pale, cut with hollows. He looked like a hundred-year-old man waiting for his second stroke. Now that she understood that he was a victim just as she was a victim, some deep part of her felt the urge to soothe him. She called herself a fool.

“You bastard.”

She didn’t slap him. She used her fist. She hit him hard in the mouth, making him bleed.

Starkey held up the bit of black metal.

“Where did you get this? The medical examiner? The
first
goddamned day you were here?”

Pell didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to feel the blow.

“Carol, I’m sorry.”

“What was I, Jack? Bait? All along you thought he was after me, and you didn’t warn me?” She pointed at the computer. “You’ve been on that damned thing trying to make him come for me,
and you didn’t warn me!”

“IT WASN’T MR. RED!
Buck Daggett killed Riggio, and now Buck is dead!”

“It’s Mr. Red.”

She hit him again.

“STOP SAYING THAT.”

The housekeeper appeared in the hall, staring with wide eyes. Starkey forced herself to calm.

“Charlie was having an affair with Buck’s wife, so Buck killed him. An eyewitness in Bakersfield put Buck at Tennant’s shop. That’s where Buck got the materials to make the bomb. We were on our way to arrest Buck when he was killed in his own garage with those same materials.
IT WASN’T MR. RED.”

Pell moved past her to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Is that why you came here? To tell me that?”

“No. I know that you’re not on active duty anymore, and I know why. I’m sorry about your eyes. I really am, Jack, but you’re already blind. You can’t even see that we’re killing people.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dallas Tennant. Buck Daggett. If they didn’t do it to themselves, then someone did it to them. What if we drew Mr. Red here, and they’re dead because of us?”

“If he’s here, then we can catch him.”

Starkey felt sad for him.

“Not you, Jack. That part of it is over. I’m going to tell Barry. He’s going to call the ATF field office. What you do about that is up to you. I wanted you to know it was coming.”

Pell started toward her, but Starkey shook her head.

“Don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you not to.”

“It doesn’t matter what you were going to do. What matters is what you did. I have tried for so long to feel nothing, but I opened myself to you, and you used me. Three years, I finally take a step, and it was a lie.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Don’t say that. It doesn’t matter if you felt something for me. Don’t tell me if you did, because that will just make this harder.”

To his credit, he nodded.

“I know.”

It was harder than Starkey thought it would be, to tell him these things. More difficult because she had expected that he would argue with her, or be defensive, but he wasn’t. He seemed hurt and confused.

“I believe that everyone has a secret heart, a heart deep down inside where we keep our secret selves. I think our
secret hearts see things that our eyes can’t. Maybe mine saw that you had been hurt the way I had been hurt. Like we were kindred spirits. Maybe that’s why I let myself feel again. I only wish mine could have seen that you were lying to me.”

When she looked at him again, tears had filled his eyes. She had to turn away from him. All of this was so much harder than it should have been.

“That’s what I came here to say. Good-bye, Jack.”

Starkey put the fragment bearing her name on the desk, then walked out.

Starkey signed on to Claudius as soon as she reached home. The chat room occupancy counter showed four people, none of whom were Mr. Red. She didn’t bother to read what they were writing. She typed three words.

The others responded, but no message from him appeared.

The window appeared. He was waiting for her.

Starkey slapped the mouse to open the message window. The conversation would be between only them. Private.

Starkey closed her eyes to calm herself. She waited until she was ready.

Starkey went into the kitchen, mixed a tall drink. She downed two Tagamet, telling herself that she had to stay calm and control the conversation.

She returned to the computer.

She knew that he had given his answer. He had written that on Buck Daggett’s wall.
The Truth Hurts
.

Calmly, she typed.

The screen blurred through Starkey’s tears. She had more of the drink, then wiped her eyes.

Starkey composed herself.

It took Starkey a moment to compose herself.

He let her wait. Starkey knew that he wanted her to ask again, but she didn’t. She decided that she would sit there the rest of her life and not ask him. She was tired of being manipulated.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Starkey read the question and felt nothing. She knew that he wanted a reaction, but she would not give him the satisfaction.

Starkey knew that there would be no more messages that night. She turned off the computer, then sat in her silent house, smoking. She went to her answering machine and played the messages that Pell had left. She played them over and over, listening to his voice. It hurt.

Starkey drank for most of the night, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes that left her home cloudy and gray. She fell asleep twice, both times dreaming of Sugar again and the day in the trailer park. The sleep was anguished, lasting only for a few minutes at a time. Once, she woke seeing the trailer with red words painted on its side: THE TRUTH HURTS. That was the end of the sleep.

She decided that she would tell Kelso first thing in the morning. There wasn’t anything else to do. The investigation had to turn back to Mr. Red, and it had to turn quickly if they were to have any chance of catching him. She thought she knew how.

At ten minutes after five that morning, she paged Warren Mueller. She was too drunk to give a damn about the time. Her phone rang twelve minutes later, a groggy voice on the other end of the line.

“Damn, Mueller, I didn’t expect you to call until later. I guess you sleep with your pager right there by your bed.”

“Starkey? Do you know what time it is?”

“Listen, I know how Tennant got the explosives that he blew himself up with. He got them from Mr. Red. Red went in there to see him.”

She could hear Mueller clearing his throat.

“How do you know that?”

“He told me.”

“Tennant?”

“No, Warren, Mr. Red. There’s two things you need to do. First, you want to check the video record for whoever went in there to see him in the past couple of days. And here’s the other thing, and this is important. You know Tennant’s scrapbook?”

“I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about.”

“You never went to see Tennant there?”

“Why in hell would I go see him?”

“He had a scrapbook, Mueller. A collection of clippings and junk about bomb incidents. Anyone who went in there to see him had to look at that damned book. Get the book. Have it printed and run every print you find. There’s no way Red went to see him and didn’t touch that book.”

She described the book in detail, giving Mueller the rest of the facts. After that, she showered, dressed, and packed up the computer. She would need it when she explained to Kelso about Claudius. The last things she did before leaving were fill her flask and drop a fresh pack of Tagamet into her purse.