Demolition Angel (39 page)

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked at her.

Dick said, “Carol, why don’t we go into Barry’s office.” Starkey followed them into Kelso’s office, where Morgan nodded politely.

“Looks like you’re in some trouble, Detective.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, let’s see how this turns out.”

Kelso wasn’t happy about any of it, but he wasn’t stupid, either. He wanted Mr. Red, and if this was their best shot, he was game to take it. Three representatives from the phone company had set up a computer of their own, feeding into Barry’s phone jack.

Leyton said, “Carol, I sketched out our discussion both to Chief Morgan and to Lieutenant Kelso. They’re on board with this. The dispatch office is standing by with secure communication to the patrol division. SWAT has been alerted, and the Bomb Squad is, as always, ready to roll.”

Starkey nodded, smiling at the “as always.”

“All right.”

Secure communication meant that all directions to patrol units would be transmitted through the computers in the black and whites. No one wanted to use radio calls because those could be intercepted by the media and private citizens.

“Where do you want to do this?”

Kelso said, “Here in my office. Do you need anything special for the computer?”

“Just a phone line. I’ll use my cell phone to make the voice call.”

One of the Men in Black said, “Shouldn’t she use a hard line for the trap?”

One of the phone company people said, “Negative. He’s providing the number. We’ll work the address from that unless he’s on a cell. If he’s mobile, it doesn’t matter what she’s on.”

Kelso cleared his desk so that Starkey could set up the computer. She caught a glimpse of Pell out in the squad room, talking with the federal suits.

At ten minutes before three, Starkey was waiting to sign on with an audience crowded around her. Leyton came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders.

“We’ve still got a few minutes. Get a cup of coffee.”

Starkey left for the squad room, glad for the break. Pell was still with the two suits, but he wasn’t in handcuffs. She didn’t go for a cup of coffee. She went over to Pell.

“Are these people with the ATF?”

The shorter of the two introduced himself as Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge Wally Coombs and the taller as Special Agent Burton Armus, both of the Los Angeles field office.

“Is Mr. Pell under arrest?”

“Not at this time. We’d like to ask you a few questions about all this.”

“You’ll have to ask me later.”

“We understand that.”

“I will need Mr. Pell’s assistance in the other room.”

The two agents traded a look, then Coombs shrugged.

“Sure.”

Pell followed her back to Kelso’s, walking very close behind her.

“Thanks.”

At two fifty-nine, Starkey was again in front of the computer.

She said, “Are we ready?”

Morgan met the eyes of the section leaders and the phone company people. One of the phone people murmured something into his private line, and gave a thumbs-up. Morgan nodded at her.

“Go.”

Starkey opened the door into Claudius. Almost at once, the words appeared.

WILL YOU ACCEPT A MESSAGE FROM MR. RED?

Kelso said, “Jesus.”

Morgan frowned.

“No talking.”

When the window appeared, it wasn’t what any of them expected.

Kelso said, “Damnit!”

Morgan shushed him. He nodded to Starkey, encouraging.

“Play it as you would, Detective Starkey. You know what they say, shit happens.”

Starkey glanced up at him, and the Man in Black smiled.

Starkey typed.

Kelso said, “Ah, Carol—”

Pell said, “She knows what she’s doing.”

Starkey leaned back, waiting. She could feel Kelso, Leyton, and the others shifting behind her, and didn’t like it.

Morgan quietly told his assistants to have plainclothes units position themselves around Echo Park. She heard Dick Leyton speaking softly into his cell phone, alerting the Bomb Squad. She ignored them.

They set it up on the roll, coordinating SWAT and the Bomb Squad to meet in a parking lot six blocks east of Echo Park. Plainclothes spotters of Latin descent were posted on the streets surrounding the park, equipped with radios. All uniformed officers and black and white radio cars were pulled.

The phone people wrapped a wire on Starkey there in Kelso’s office, even as the orders were being given. Starkey was to drive to the park in her own car and do exactly as John Michael Fowles had instructed. Once in the park, if and when he approached her and identified himself, the area would be sealed. Snipers would be in position if needed.

Pell said, “You okay with this?”

It was happening so fast that she wanted to throw up.

“Sure.”

They hustled her out to her car less than eight minutes after the computer was off.

Starkey drove to Echo Park pretending that none of this was happening. She knew that this was the best approach. Forget about all the activity in support of her, just like approaching a bomb. Do it that way, and she wouldn’t be caught looking for the snipers or the plainclothes people, and give herself away.

The drive from Spring Street to Echo Park took twelve minutes. She parked on the south side like he said, fighting the urge to throw up. He wouldn’t be standing there with a grin and a hot dog in his hand. He was Mr. Red. There would be a surprise.

“Radio check.”

“One two three, three two one.”

“You’re clear.”

“I’m pulling the plug.”

“Rog.”

She took the plug from her ear. If he saw it, he would know she was wired. The mike taped between her breasts would pick up her voice. If she said, “Hello, Mr. Red,” they would hear.

The plan was simple. Point him out, hit the ground, let everyone else do their jobs.

Starkey locked her car and walked toward the concession stand. It was a weekday summer afternoon. The park was jammed with families, kids with balloons, bladers and boarders and plenty of ice cream. It was so hot that the tarmac beneath her feet was soft. Starkey hoped that it wouldn’t get hotter.

A long line waited at the concession stand. She had to cover about sixty yards, which she did slowly so that she could search each face in the area. She didn’t care if Fowles thought she was being careful, but she didn’t want him to think she was stalling to give other officers a chance to set up.

When she reached the concession stand, she stopped. No one approached her, and no one even looked like they could be Mr. Red. The crowd was mostly Latin, with a smattering of blacks and Asians. She was one of the few Anglos that she could see.

Starkey shook out a cigarette and lit up. The minutes stretched. He could be anywhere, he could be nowhere. She wondered if he had changed his mind again.

A short, squat woman and her children joined the line. She reminded Starkey of the women she had seen from Dana’s window, the women trying to catch their bus. This woman had four children, small ones, all boys, all short, squat, and brown like their mother. The oldest boy stood close by his mother’s side, but the other three ran pell-mell in circles, chasing each other and screaming. Starkey wished that they would shut the hell up. All the screaming was getting on her nerves. The two smallest boys raced behind the concession stand, came out from around the other side, and skidded to a stop. They had found the bag. At first, Starkey wasn’t sure what they were doing or what they had, but then the earth heaved up against her feet and she knew.

The two smallest boys looked in the bag. Their older brother joined them. A plain paper shopping bag that someone had left at the corner of the concession stand.

Starkey wished she had eaten more Tagamet.

“Get away from there.”

She didn’t shriek or rush forward. This was Mr. Red. He would have a remote. He was watching, and he could fire the charge whenever the fucking hell he wanted.

Starkey dropped her cigarette and crushed it. She had to get those kids away from there.

She walked toward the bag.

“We have a possible device. I say again, possible device. I gotta get these kids away.”

When she was closer, she raised her voice, made it sharp and angry.

“Hey!”

The boys looked. They probably spoke no English.

“Get the fuck away from that.”

The boys knew she was talking to them, but stared at her without comprehension. Their mother said something in Spanish.

Starkey said, “Tell them to get away from that.”

The mother was chattering in Spanish when Starkey reached the bag and saw the pipes.

“BOMB!”

She grabbed two of the boys, she could only get two, and lunged backwards, screaming, “BOMBBOMBBOMB! POLICE OFFICER, CLEAR THE AREA, MOVE MOVE MOVE!”

The boys screamed, their mother lit into Starkey like a mama cat, the people in the line milled in confusion. Starkey pushed and shoved, trying to get the people to move even as police units bucked over the curb and roared toward her across the park—

—and nothing happened.

Russ Daigle, wet with sweat, his face drawn in the way a person’s face can be drawn only when they work a bomb, said, “There’s no charge in the pipes.”

Starkey had guessed that forty minutes ago. If Mr. Red had wanted to blow it, he would have blown it when she was standing there. Now she was sitting in the back of Daigle’s Suburban, just as she used to sit when she was on the squad, and winding down from de-arming a device. Daigle had sent the Andrus robot forward with the de-armer to blow the pipes apart.

“There was a note.”

Daigle handed her the red 3 × 5 index card. Dick Leyton and Morgan had walked over with him.

The note said:
Check the list
.

Starkey looked at them.

“What the fuck does this mean?”

Leyton squeezed her arm.

“He’s on the Ten Most Wanted List. As soon as the Feebs had his identity, they added him.”

Starkey laughed.

“I’m sorry, Carol. It was a good try. It was a really good try.”

They were done. Any relationship she’d had with Mr. Red was history. He would’ve seen what they had tried to do. Wherever he was, he was no doubt laughing his ass off. She might sign on to Claudius again, and he might be there, but any hope of baiting him into a trap was gone. He had what he wanted.

Kelso came over and told her pretty much the same thing. He even managed to look embarrassed.

“Listen, Carol, we’re still going to have to deal with what happened, but, well, maybe we can work out something to keep you on the job. You won’t be able to stay with CCS, but we’ll see.”

“Thanks, Barry.”

“You can even call me by my first name.”

Starkey smiled.

The two ATF agents hovered around Pell like his personal
guards. Starkey caught Pell’s eye. Pell spoke to the agents, then walked over.

“How you doing?”

“Been better. But I’ve been worse, too. You hear they put him on the list?”

“Yeah. Maybe he’ll retire. The sonofabitch.”

Starkey nodded. She didn’t know what to think about that. Would Mr. Red stay in Los Angeles? Would he continue to kill, or would he simply vanish? She thought about the Zodiac Killer up in San Francisco, who had murdered a string of people, and then simply stopped.

She looked at the two feds.

“What’s going to happen with your friends?”

“They’re not going to drag me away in chains. They want me to come in to the FO for an interview, they advised me of my rights, and told me to get an attorney. What does that tell you?”

“That you’re fucked?”

“You have such a way with words.”

Starkey smiled, even though she didn’t feel much like smiling.

“That’s a nice smile.”

“Don’t.”

“I need to talk to you, Carol. We have to talk about this.”

Starkey shoved off the back of the Suburban.

“I don’t want to talk. I just want to go somewhere and heal.”

“I don’t mean talk about what’s going to happen to me. I mean talk about us.”

“I know what you meant. Good-bye, Jack. If I can help you when they interview me, I will.”

Starkey looked deeply into the two dimming eyes, then walked away so that he could not see how very much she wanted that time with him.

Starkey did not drive back to Spring Street. The summer sun was still high in the west, but the air was clear, and the heat felt good. She drove with the windows down.

Starkey stopped at an
A.M./P.M
. minimart, bought a jumbo iced tea, then took a turn through Rampart Division. She watched the citizens and enjoyed the play of traffic. Every time she saw a black and white, she tipped her head at them. The pager at her waist vibrated once, but she turned it off without checking the number. Pell, she figured. Or Kelso. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was done with the bombs. She could walk away and live without working the bombs or being a bomb investigator and get along just fine. She was heartened by what Kelso had said. She thought that she might like working Homicide, but most detectives wanted Homicide. It was a tough billet to get, and she hadn’t done all that well at CCS. When word got out that she had withheld information from her own detectives, she’d be lucky to find a spot in Property Crimes.