Demolition Angel (8 page)

Starkey tried not to let herself get excited, but it was hard.

Marzik said, “Why would a white guy pretend to be Latino unless it was the guy who set the bomb, Carol? If it was some white guy pretending to be Latino, then he was trying to hide, for Christ’s sake. We could have an eye-wit to the fuckin’ asshole who set the bomb.”

Starkey saw the possibilities, too, but she knew that investigations often took turns that seemed to be sure things only to have them fall apart.

“Let’s take it a step at a time, Beth. I think this is a good thing, and we’re going to go with it, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your wit only thinks the guy he saw was Anglo. Maybe the guy was Anglo, but maybe he only looked Anglo to the kid. We’ll just have to see.”

“Okay. That’s right. I know you’re right, but the kid comes across solid. You need to come talk to him.”

“Is he there now, Beth?”

“Well, for a while. He’s got more deliveries to make and it’s getting late.”

“Okay. Keep him there. I’m coming down.”

“I can’t just keep him here. If they get an order, he’s got to make the delivery.”

“Ask
him, Beth. Say pretty please.”

“What do you want me to do, suck his dick?”

“Yeah. Try that.”

Starkey broke the connection, then punched in Santos’s number. When he answered, his voice was so soft that she could barely understand him.

“What are you whispering for?”

“Carol, is that you?”

“I can barely hear you. Speak up.”

“I’m at the office. An agent from the ATF is here. He flew in from Washington this morning.”

Starkey felt a burst of tension in her stomach and reached into her purse for a Tagamet.

“You’re sure it’s Washington? He didn’t just drive over from the L.A. field office?”

She had submitted the preliminary bomb component information through the NLETS only yesterday. If this guy came from Washington, he must have hopped the first jet.

“He’s from Washington, Carol. He went in there with Kelso, and now Kelso wants to see you. He’s been asking for our reports. I think they’re going to take over our case. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ve been stalling, but Kelso wants me to give him what we have.”

“Waitaminute, Jorge, did the guy say that? Did he
say
he wanted the case?”

“I’ve got to go, Carol. Kelso just stuck his head out. He’s looking at me.”

“Stall longer, Jorge. I’m coming in. Marzik turned up something good for us.”

“From the looks of the guy in with Kelso, it’s going to be something good for him.”

Starkey ate a Tagamet, then drove back to Spring Street with her dash bubble flashing.

Starkey made it back to her office in twenty-five minutes. Santos caught her eye from the coffee machine and nodded toward Kelso’s door. It was closed.

“Did you give him the reports?”

Her look made him cringe.

“What could I do, tell Kelso no?”

Starkey set her jaw and stalked to Kelso’s door. She knocked hard three times, then opened the door without waiting.

Kelso gestured wearily toward her as he spoke to the man seated across from his desk.

“This is Detective Starkey. She comes in whenever she wants. Starkey, this is Special Agent Jack Pell from—”

“The ATF. I know. Is he taking over this case?”

Pell was leaning forward with elbows on knees as if he were about to leap forward. Starkey guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, but if he was older, it wouldn’t have surprised her. He had pale skin and intense gray eyes. She tried to read the eyes, but couldn’t; they seemed guarded.

Pell turned to Kelso without acknowledging her.

“I need a few more minutes with you, Lieutenant. Have her wait outside until we’re ready.”

Her. Like she wasn’t standing there.

“Out, Starkey. We’ll call you.”

“This is my case, Lieutenant. It’s
our
case. One of
our
people died.”

“Wait outside, Detective. We’ll call you when we want you.”

Starkey waited outside his door, fuming. Santos started over, saw her scowl, and veered away. She was cursing Kelso for giving away the CCS investigation when her pager buzzed on her hip.

“Oh, shit. Marzik.”

Starkey phoned Marzik from her cubicle.

“Carol, I’m standing here with this kid and he’s got deliveries to make. Where in hell are you?”

Starkey kept her voice low, so the other detectives couldn’t hear.

“Back at the office. The ATF is coming in.”

“You’re shitting me? What’s happening?”

“All I know is that an agent is in there with Kelso now. Look, I’ll talk with the kid when I’m done here. Tell him to make his damned deliveries.”

“It’s almost five, Carol. He’s got deliveries, then he’s going home. We can catch him tomorrow.”

Starkey checked her watch and thought it through. She wanted to talk to the kid now because she knew that time was a witness’s enemy; people forgot details, people grew confused, people had second thoughts about cooperating with the police. Starkey finally decided that she was getting ahead of herself and pressing too hard. She wouldn’t help herself with this kid by making him wait around for another couple of hours.

“Okay, Beth. Set it up. Is he working tomorrow morning?”

Marzik told her to hang on. The kid must have been standing there with her.

“He’s in at eight. His father owns the store.”

“Okay. We’ll get him tomorrow morning.”

“Us or the ATF?”

“I’m about to find out.”

Kelso stuck his head out, looking for her. Starkey put down the phone, wishing she’d used the time to eat more Tagamet. Sometimes she thought she should buy stock in that company.

When she reached Kelso, he whispered, “Just relax, Carol. He’s here to help us.”

“My ass he is.”

Kelso closed the door behind them. Pell was still poised forward in the chair, so Starkey gave him her best scowl. Those damned gray eyes were the coldest eyes she’d ever seen, and she had to fight the urge to look away.

Kelso returned to his desk.

“Agent Pell flew in from D.C. this morning. The information you fed into the system raised some eyebrows back there.”

Pell nodded.

“I don’t have an interest in taking over your investigation, Detective. This is your town, not mine, but I do think I can
help you. I flew out because we flagged some similarities between your bomb and some others we’ve seen.”

“Like what?”

“The Modex is his explosive of choice: fast, sexy, and elite. He also likes to use this particular type of radio detonator, hiding it in one of the pipes so you can’t see it with the X-ray.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“If your guy is our guy, he uses the name Mr. Red. We don’t know his true name.”

Starkey glanced at Kelso, but his expression told her nothing. She figured he would be relieved to hand over the case to the feds, so he wouldn’t have to worry about clearing it.

“What are we talking about here? Mr.
Red?
Is this guy some kind of serial bomber? Is he a terrorist? What?”

“No, Detective, this mutt isn’t a terrorist. As far as we know, he doesn’t care about politics or abortion or any of that. Over the past two years, we’ve had seven bombings that show Modex Hybrid and a radio-triggering device similar to the one used here. Because of the nature of the targets and the people involved, we believe that four of them were done for criminal profit. He blows up something or someone probably because he’s being paid to do it. This is how he makes his money, Starkey, blowing up things. He’s a hit man with a bomb. But he also has a hobby.”

“I’m dying to know.”

Kelso snapped, surprising the hell out of her.

“Shut up, goddamnit, and listen.”

Starkey turned back to Pell, and the gray eyes were as depthless as stillwater pools. She found herself wondering why they might be so tired.

“He hunts bomb technicians, Starkey. He baits them, then he murders them. He’s killed three so far, if we count your man, all with identical devices.”

Starkey watched the gray eyes. They did not blink.

“That’s insane.”

“The profilers say it’s a dominance game; I think he sees it as a competition. He makes bombs, bomb techs like you de-arm them, so he tries to beat you.”

Starkey felt a chill; Pell clearly read it.

“I know what happened to you. I looked you up before I flew out.”

Starkey felt invaded, and the invasion angered her. She wondered what he knew about her injuries and suddenly felt embarrassed that this man might know those things. She made her voice cool.

“Who and what I am is none of your business except for this: I am the lead investigator on this case.”

Pell shrugged.

“You signed the NLETS request. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Thinking about it now, Starkey had a recollection of reading an ATF flyer on an unknown suspect who might have been identified as Mr. Red. It was the kind of flyer that passed through their office on a routine basis, but bore little relevance, as the subject was operating in other parts of the country.

“I would have remembered this, Pell, some nut murdering bomb technicians. No one here has heard of this asshole.”

Kelso shifted.

“They’ve kept that part of his activities on a need-to-know basis.”

“We don’t want copycats, Starkey. We’ve kept all the details of his M.O. and bomb designs classified except the components that we list through NLETS.”

“So you’re saying that your guy is our guy on the strength of a components list?”

“I’m not saying anything yet, but the Modex and the radio receiver are persuasive. The other design signatures are distinctive. And you have this letter you’ve found.”

Starkey was confused.

“What letter? What are you talking about?”

Kelso said, “The number we found etched into the frag. The 5. Agent Pell thinks it might be the letter S.”

“Why do you think it’s a letter?”

Pell hesitated, leaving Starkey to wonder what he was thinking.

“We’ve found etchings in Mr. Red’s work before. What I’ll need to do is read your reports and compare your reconstruction with what we know. Then I’ll make a determination whether or not your bomber is Mr. Red.”

Starkey could see her case slipping away.

“Pardon me if I make up my own mind. But if you get to see mine, then I want to see yours. I want to compare whatever you have with what we find here.”

Kelso showed his palms.

“Now, Starkey, we don’t need to be adversaries here.”

She wanted to kick him. That was just the kind of mealy-mouthed thing Kelso would say.

Pell gathered together a short stack of papers and gestured with them.

“That’s not a problem, Detective. Lieutenant Kelso was kind enough to share your case reports; I’ll be happy to give you copies of mine. They’re at my hotel now, but I’ll get them to you.”

Pell rolled the reports that Kelso had given him into a tube, then stood.

“I skimmed through these. They look pretty good, but I want to read them more carefully now.”

Pell turned to Kelso and gestured with the reports.

“Could you set me up with a place to read these, Lieutenant? I’d like to cover as much ground this evening as I can before Detective Starkey and I get down to business.”

Starkey blinked hard twice, then also faced Kelso.

“What does
that
mean? I’ve got my hands full with this investigation.”

Kelso came around his desk to open the door.

“Just relax, Carol. We’re all on the same side here.”

As Pell walked past with the reports, he stopped beside Starkey, well into her personal space. She would have bet a thousand dollars that he did it on purpose.

“I won’t bite, Detective. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

Kelso called Santos to take care of Pell, then came back into his office and closed the door. He wasn’t happy, but Starkey didn’t give a damn. Her hands were shaking so badly that she put them in her pockets so that he wouldn’t see.

“You couldn’t have been any less helpful.”

“I’m not here to be helpful. I’m here to find whoever killed Riggio, and now I’ve got to worry about the ATF second-guessing what I do and stealing my case.”

“Try to remember that it’s a team effort, Detective. It can’t hurt to let him look. If he can’t tie our bomb to his man, he’ll go back to Washington and be out of our hair. If our bomber and his bomber are one and the same, we might be damned lucky to have his help. I’ve already spoken to Assistant Chief Morgan about this. He wants us to extend our full cooperation.”

Starkey thought that was just like Kelso, call the brass and cover his ass.

“Marzik found a wit who might’ve seen our guy make the 911 call. He says that the person making the call was an Anglo guy.”

That stopped Kelso, who fidgeted with his pencil as he considered it.

“I thought the caller was Hispanic.”

“So did I.”

Starkey didn’t add anything more. She figured that even Kelso was smart enough to see the implication.

“Well, I guess you’d better see to it. Call me at home to tell me what develops.”

“I was going to go see about it, Lieutenant, but I had to come meet Mr. Pell instead. Now it has to keep until tomorrow. The witness had plans.”

Kelso looked disappointed.

“It couldn’t be helped, then. See about it tomorrow and keep me informed. You’re going to close this case, Starkey. I have every faith in that. So does the A-chief.”

Starkey didn’t answer. She wanted to get out of there, but Kelso looked nervous.

“You’re doing okay with this, aren’t you, Carol? You’re okay?”

Kelso came around his desk again, getting close to her, as if he was trying to smell her breath.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Go home and get a good night’s sleep. Rest is important to keep your mind sharp.”

Starkey let herself out, hoping that she wouldn’t see Pell when she left. It was after six when she pulled out into the downtown traffic, but she didn’t head home. She turned her car west toward a bar called Barrigan’s in the Wilshire Division.