17
• • •
Starkey phoned Mueller from her car, trying to catch him at his office, but he was gone. She left word on his voice mail that the man in the photo was no longer a suspect, and that she would be faxing up a new image. She phoned Beth Marzik next.
“Beth, I want you to get together a six-pack and meet me at the flower shop. Call Lester and make sure he’s there. If he’s on a delivery, tell them to have him come back.”
“I was just getting ready to go to lunch.”
“Damnit, Beth, lunch will keep. I want a mix of Anglos and Latins in their forties, just as Lester described. Don’t tell anyone, Beth. Just get it together and meet me at Lester’s.”
“Listen, you can’t just drop this on me. Who am I putting together the six-pack for? Do you have a suspect?”
“Yes.”
Starkey hung up before Marzik could ask who. Time was now a factor. She could not trust that Natalie wouldn’t tell Buck about her visit, or about her interest in Charlie Riggio. She didn’t fear that Buck would flee; her concern was that he would move to destroy evidence that might be necessary in the case against him.
She drove faster now, swinging past her house for a snapshot of Buck Daggett before turning toward Silver Lake. Like the shot of Dick Leyton, it was a picture of Buck in civilian clothes. When she reached the flower shop, Marzik and Lester were talking together on the sidewalk. Marzik left Lester, and walked over as Starkey got out of her car. She had the six-pack sheet in a manila envelope.
“You want to tell me what’s going on here? That kid’s old man is raising nine kinds of hell.”
“Let me see the sheet.”
The six-pack was a paper sandwich with places for six photographs like a page from a photo album. Detective bureaus kept files of them based on age, race, and type, most of the pictures being file photos of police officers. Starkey pulled out one of the six pictures, then fitted in the picture of Buck Daggett.
Marzik gripped Starkey’s arm.
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not joking, Beth.”
Starkey brought the sheet to Lester. She explained that she wanted him to look at each picture carefully before making his decision, then asked if any of the men pictured here was the man that Lester saw using the telephone. Marzik watched Lester so closely that Lester asked her what was wrong.
“Nothing, pal. Just look at the pictures.”
“None of these guys are wearing hats.”
“Look at their faces, Lester. Think back to the guy you saw on the phone. Could any of these men be him?”
“I think it’s him.”
Lester pointed out Buck Daggett.
Marzik walked away.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, Lester. Thanks.”
“Did I pick the right one?”
“None of the answers are right, Lester. Some are just more wrong than others.”
Marzik was staring at the sidewalk when Starkey joined her.
“You going to tell me now?”
Starkey laid it out, and then they called Kelso, telling him that they were on their way in. Starkey asked if he would have Hooker meet them. Kelso demanded to know why Starkey wanted to see them together.
“I have some additional evidence in the case, Barry. I need your advice on how to proceed with it.”
The ploy of asking for his guidance worked. Kelso told her that he and Santos would be waiting.
Marzik was still leaning against her car when Starkey got off the phone.
Marzik said, “This is going to sound stupid, Carol, but can we take one car? I don’t want to ride back alone.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid.”
When they reached Spring Street, Starkey didn’t bother wrestling her car in the parking garage. They left it in the red zone out front and used the elevator.
For the first time that she could remember, Kelso’s computer was turned off. He was waiting behind his desk with his fingers steepled as if he had been like that since she called. Santos was on his couch, looking like a kid who’d been called in to see the principal. Carol thought he looked tired. They probably all looked tired.
Kelso said, “What is it, Carol?”
“It isn’t Mr. Red, Barry. It was never Mr. Red.”
Kelso raised his hands, shaking his head even as she spoke.
“We covered that, didn’t we? The signatures are identical—”
Marzik snapped, “Barry, just listen.”
Santos arched his eyebrows, surprised. Kelso stared at her, then spread his hands.
“I’m listening.”
Starkey went on.
“Barry, the signatures are not identical. Almost, but not. If you don’t believe me, call Rockville yourself and ask the ATF.”
Santos said, “What will they tell him?”
“That the Silver Lake bomb is different. They will suggest that the person who built the Silver Lake device was working from an ATF bomb analysis because the one deviation from the other devices was an element that was not included in those reports.”
Starkey took it one step at a time, never mentioning Buck Daggett until the end. She went through the difference in the bomb devices, then the similarities, and that the builder would need to find a source of RDX in order to mix the Modex Hybrid that Mr. Red favored.
“RDX is the hardest of the components to find, Barry. The only person in this area in recent history who’s had any was Dallas Tennant. If you were looking to find some, you would go to him. Beth and I found Tennant’s shop. A man similar in description to the individual who made our 911 report was seen there about a month ago. I believe he went there for Tennant’s RDX. I don’t know how this man learned of Tennant’s shop. I don’t know if he discovered it the way Beth and I did, through a property search, or if he made a deal of some kind with Tennant. We can’t ask Tennant because Tennant is now dead.”
“What man?”
Starkey plowed on without answering. She believed that if she accused Buck Daggett before laying out the supporting evidence, the meeting would become a shouting match.
Starkey held up the six-pack, but didn’t yet give it to him.
“We showed this six-pack to Lester Ybarra. Lester identified one of these men as the man who placed the call. We’ll have to show a similar six-pack to the witness up in Bakersfield to see if they confirm.”
She handed the sheet to Kelso and pointed out Buck Daggett’s picture.
“Lester identified that man.”
Kelso shook his head and looked up.
“He made a mistake. That’s all there is to it.”
Starkey put Riggio’s phone bills on top of the six-pack.
“These are Charlie Riggio’s cell phone bills. Look at every phone number I’ve marked. That’s Buck Daggett’s home phone number. Riggio and Natalie Daggett were involved. Natalie Daggett confirmed this involvement to me less than an hour ago. I believe that Buck found out, and murdered Charlie because of it.”
Hooker sighed loudly.
“Oh, my Lord.”
Kelso’s jaw flexed. He went to the window, looked out, then came back and leaned against his desk with his arms crossed.
“Who else knows this, Carol?”
“Only the people in this room.”
“Did you tell Natalie that you suspect Buck of the murder?”
“No.”
Kelso sighed again, then went back behind his desk.
“Okay, we can’t let this sit. If Buck has explanations for these things, he can make them and clear this up.”
Marzik grunted, and Kelso’s eyes flashed angrily.
“You think this is easy, Detective? I’ve known this man for ten years. This isn’t just some fucking collar.”
Starkey had never heard Barry Kelso swear.
Jorge said, “No, sir. It’s not.”
Kelso glanced at Santos, then took another breath and leaned back.
“I’ll have to notify Assistant Chief Morgan. Starkey, I’ll want you with me. He might want to see us, and I’m damned well sure he’ll have questions. This is goddamned terrible, a Los Angeles police officer involved in something like this. We’ll have to bring in Dick Leyton. We’re not going to roll over there and arrest one of his people without telling him what’s happening. As soon as I talk to Morgan and Leyton, we’ll get this done.”
Starkey found herself liking Barry Kelso. She wanted to say something.
“Lieutenant, I’m sorry.”
Kelso rubbed at his face.
“Carol, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I want to tell you that this is good work, but it doesn’t seem like the thing to say.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
Penance
Buck didn’t go back to Glendale. He phoned Dick Leyton to tell him that he’d left early for the day and wouldn’t be back. The real reason for the call was to get a sense of what Leyton knew. If Leyton considered Buck a suspect, Buck was going to hire the best damned attorney he could find and ride it out straight down the middle. But Leyton was relaxed and friendly, and Buck was willing to bet the farm that Starkey had kept her suspicions to herself.
And that’s what he was doing, betting the farm.
Buck still had almost seven pounds of Modex Hybrid, plus components left over from copycatting Mr. Red’s bomb. He convinced himself that Starkey hadn’t yet gathered enough evidence to make her move, which gave him hope. If he acted fast enough and took her out before she could develop her case, he might still get out of this.
After he spoke with Leyton, Buck concocted an elaborate list of errands to get Natalie out of the house, then went home. She seemed strained, probably from Starkey’s visit and questions, but he pretended not to notice. He gave her the list, kicked her out, then forced himself to calm down and think it through again. He was desperate, and scared; he knew that desperate and scared men make mistakes.
When Buck felt composed, and absolutely convinced that killing Starkey was the only way out, he said, “Well, get to it, then.”
Buck kept the Modex Hybrid and the remaining components in a large Igloo cooler out in the garage. He backed his 4-Runner out to give himself room, then shut the overhead door so no one could see him from the street. He opened the side door that let onto his backyard for air and turned on a utility fan; the Modex sublimated vapors that were toxic.
Buck pulled the cooler from the high shelf where it was out of Natalie’s reach and brought it to his workbench. The remaining Modex was in a large, nonreactive glass jar. It was dark gray in color and looked like window putty. He wore vinyl gloves as he laid out the components so as not to leave fingerprints, but also to avoid getting the Modex on his skin. The shit could kill you dead as lead just from handling it.
The sudden voice in Buck’s backyard damn near made him piss his pants.
“Yo yo yo, whasup, whasup? Anybody home?”
Buck threw a towel over his bench, and went to the door. He had thought it was a black guy from the voice, but this kid was white.
“What do you want?”
“Be lookin’ to earn a little extra bank, my man. Saw the yard was in, shall we say, disarray? Thought I’d offer my landscaping services.”
“I’ll mow it myself, thanks anyway. Now I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Looks like that ain’t exactly on your immediate agenda, if you see what I’m sayin’. Help a brother who wants to earn a living instead of do crime.”
Buck’s head began to throb. Now that he looked at him, this kid wasn’t a kid. He looked to be in his late twenties.
“Help yourself by getting out of here, asshole. I said I was busy.”
The kid took a step back, but didn’t look scared.
“Yowza! Guess you be handin’ out walkin’ papers. Feets, do yo stuff!”
“Are you fuckin’ crazy?”
“Nah, Mr. Daggett, I’m just tryin’ to have a good time. Sorry I bothered you.”
Buck caught the name right away.
“Chinaman across the street told me. I tried to cut his place first, but he told me to come over here. He said your place always looks like shit.”
“Well, fuck him, too. Now let me get back to work.”
Buck watched the kid walk away, then went back into his garage, hating the Chinaman across the street. Buck didn’t see the kid come back, didn’t see the hard thing that knocked him to his knees. Even if he had seen it coming, it would not have mattered. It was already too late.
Buck was never fully unconscious. He knew that something had hit him, and that he was hit twice more after he went down. He saw the kid over him, but he couldn’t raise his arms to protect himself. The kid handcuffed him to the workbench, then disappeared from view.
Buck tried to speak, but his mouth didn’t work any better than his arms and legs. Buck grew frightened that he was paralyzed, and cried.
After a while, the kid came back and shook him.
“You awake?”
The kid looked into his eyes, then slapped him. The kid had a thin, gaunt face like a ferret. Buck noticed now for the first time that his scalp was very pale; he hadn’t been bald for long.
“You awake? C’mon, I know I didn’t hit you hard enough to kill you. Get your fuckin’ act together.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t want your money, dumbass. You should be so lucky, I only wanted your money.”
Buck’s ears were ringing, a steady high-pitched sound that did not diminish. Once, during a high school baseball game, he had collided with another player and gotten a concussion. He remembered it feeling like this.
“Then what do you want? You want the truck, the keys are in my pocket. Take it.”
“What I’m going to take is the rest of this Modex. What I want is to teach you a lesson.”
Buck wasn’t thinking at his best. It surprised him that this kid made up like some kind of black rapper would know about the Modex, or even what it was.
“I don’t understand.”
The kid took Buck’s face in his hands and leaned close.
“You stole my fucking work, you cocksucker. You pretended to be me. Can you spell … error in judgment?”
“I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about.”
“Maybe this will help you understand.”
The kid went to the other end of the bench. When he came back, he had one of the pipes. Wires led into an open end; the other end had been capped. He waved it under Buck’s nose to let Buck catch the sharp smell of the Modex inside, and in that moment, Buck grew scared.
“Now do you know who I am?”
Buck knew, and felt so scared in that moment of knowing that the urine ran out of him in a rush of warmth.
“Please don’t kill me. Please. Take the fucking Modex and go. Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry I pretended I was you but you see I had to kill that motherfucker who was fucking my wife and—”
Mr. Red put a hand over Buck’s mouth.
“Chill. Just be cool. Relax.”
Buck nodded.
“You okay now?”
Buck nodded.
“Okay. Now listen.”
Mr. Red sat cross-legged on the hard concrete in front of him, holding the bomb in his lap as if it was a playful kitten.
“You listening?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to kid you about this, I am seriously pissed off you tried to make everyone think it was me who killed that guy, but here’s your shot. You got one shot, and here it is.”
Buck waited, but Mr. Red was waiting for him to ask.
“What? What’s my shot?”
“Tell me what Carol Starkey knows.”
John walked out to the stolen car he’d left on the street. The Chinaman was nowhere to be seen. He had left Buck at his bench, very much alive, but unconscious. John had splashed some water on Daggett and slapped his face to bring him around. When he saw that Buck was waking up, he left.
John climbed behind the wheel, started his car, and shook his head. It was a hot day on a crappy street in the middle of Shitsville, U.S.A. How could people live like this? John let his car creep down the street as he counted to a hundred. When he reached one hundred, he figured Buck was fully awake.
That’s when he pressed the silver button.
Spring Street
Marzik and Santos phoned their homes, Santos telling his wife and Marzik her mother that they would be late. Starkey could tell from Marzik’s reaction that her mother wasn’t happy about it. After those calls, the three detectives sat at their desks, alone with their thoughts. At one point, Jorge asked if anyone wanted a fresh pot of coffee, but neither Starkey nor Marzik answered. He did not make the coffee.
Marzik was the first one bored with the wait, and expressed her annoyance.
“What in hell is taking so long? We don’t need Parker Center to rubber-stamp this thing. Let’s just go pick up the sonofabitch.”
Santos frowned at her.
“He wants Morgan to sign off, is all. It’s politics.”
“Kelso’s such a chickenshit.”
“Maybe Morgan isn’t there. Maybe he can’t reach Lieutenant Leyton.”
“Oh, screw that.”
Starkey had decided to head for the stairwell with a cigarette when Reege Phillips called. The tone of his voice was careful and measured, which immediately put her on edge. She didn’t want Hooker and Marzik to hear.
Starkey said, “I don’t know that I can talk right now, Reege. Will this keep?”
“I don’t think so, Carol. You got a problem on your hands.”
“Ah, can I call you right back?”
“You want to change phones?”
“That’s right. I’ve got your number.”
“Okay. I’m right here.”
Starkey hung up, told Santos and Marzik she was going for a smoke, and brought her purse. When she was in the stairwell, she called Phillips on her cell phone. Just pressing the numbers left her feeling sick.
“What do you mean, that I have a problem?”
“Jack Pell isn’t an ATF agent. He used to be, but not anymore.”
“That can’t be right. Pell had bomb analysis reports from Rockville. He had a spook at Cal Tech doing work for us.”
“Just listen. Pell was an ATF field agent working for the Violent Crime Task Force, attached to the Organized Crime Division of the Justice Department. Twenty months ago, he was in a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey, trying to get the goods on some Chinese AKs coming up from Cuba. You read those reports he gave you?”
“Yes.”
“Think Newark.”
“Mr. Red’s first bomb.”
“Pell was in that warehouse when it went off. The concussion caused something in his eyes called commotio retinae. You catch it in time, you can fix it with the laser. Pell’s didn’t show up until later, and then it was too late.”
“What does that mean, too late?”
“He’s going blind. Way the man explained it is that the retinas are pulling away from his optic nerves, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. So the Bureau retired him. Now you’re telling me he’s acting like he’s still on the job. You got a rogue agent on your hands, Carol. He’s hunting down the bastard who took his eyes. You call the FO and get them in on this before Pell hurts somebody.”
Starkey leaned against the wall, feeling numb.
“Carol? You there?”
“I’ll take care of it, Reege. Thank you.”
“You want me to get the office on this?”
“No. No, I’ll do it. Listen, I’ve gotta go, Reege. We have something here.”
“You watch out for that guy, Carol. He’s looking to kill that sonofabitch. No tellin’ what he might do. He might even kill you.”
After she ended the call, Starkey finished her cigarette, then went back into the squad room. She must have looked odd.
Marzik said, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
Finally, Kelso’s door opened and Kelso stepped out. Starkey could see that something was wrong with him, but Marzik was already halfway to the stairs, muttering.
“It’s about goddamned time.”
“Beth, wait.”
Kelso stared at them. He didn’t speak; he didn’t move for the longest time.
Santos said, “What is it, Lieutenant?”
Kelso cleared his throat. His jaw worked as if he were trying to make spit.
“Detectives, the San Gabriel police were notified that an explosion occurred at Buck’s home. He was pronounced dead at the scene.”