20
• • •
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
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.
“Here’s the deal, Pell, and you have to agree to it. If we get this guy, we are not going to kill him, we are going to arrest him. This is no longer your personal vendetta. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“If we get this set up, we are going back to Kelso. I am not a goddamned cowboy like you. I want to do this the right way, and I want to make sure it works.”
“You want to save your job.”
“Yes, Pell, I want to save my job. They might fire me anyway, but I want to go out as the police officer I am, and not some half-cocked asshole who got Buck Daggett killed.”
Pell stared out the window. She thought he was trying to memorize whatever he saw out there.
“If I go in with you, I might be taken into custody.”
“You don’t have to go. Come if you want, or not. I’m just telling you how it has to be played.”
Pell nodded again. She knew that was hard for him. He would be taking himself out of the play.
“Then what do you need me for?”
“Mr. Red waits for me. He’s got this … fixation. I can use that. But I need your computer to get back on Claudius. Kelso took mine.”
Pell glanced away again.
“I should have told you what I was doing. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’ve been living with one thing in my life for a long time. You get used to doing things a certain way.”
“Is this what you’ve been doing for two years, Pell? Bullshitting your way from city to city after this guy?”
Pell shrugged, as if it embarrassed him.
“I have a badge and an ID number. I know the procedure, and I have friends. Most people don’t question the badge. Cops never question it.”
“Look, I don’t care, and I don’t want to talk about it. You want to do this or not?”
He looked at her.
“I want to do it.”
“Then let’s go.”
She started to slide out of the booth. He took her arm, stopping her.
“Carol?”
“What? Don’t touch me like that, Pell. I don’t like it.”
“I fell in love with you.”
She hit him again, so fast that she didn’t even know she was doing it. The people at the surrounding tables looked at them.
“Don’t you say that.”
Pell felt his face.
“Jesus, Starkey, that’s three.”
“Don’t you say that.”
He shoved himself out of the booth.
“The computer is in my car.”
They went to her place.
It was hard looking at Pell. It was difficult being in the same room with him, but she told herself to be strong. They had brought themselves down this road together. There was no other way to play it, but she was uncomfortably aware of the feelings she’d had when they’d been in this position before.
They set up the computer at the dining room table, and Starkey signed on as before. It was earlier than the previous times she’d had contact with Mr. Red, but she couldn’t just sit. When the flaming head stared out at her, she entered the chat room, which was empty.
Pell said, “What are you going to say?”
“This.”
“Who’s John Michael Fowles?”
“Mr. Red. Warren Mueller got his prints off Tennant’s book. I knew that if Red had gone in there, Tennant would have made him look at that damned book.”
Pell stared at the screen. Starkey saw his lips move, as if he were reading the name silently to himself, branding it into his cells.
Starkey didn’t expect Fowles to be waiting for her, not this early in the day. He might come anytime, or no time; they might have a long wait. She struck a cigarette, and told Pell that if he wanted anything in the kitchen, he could find it for himself. Neither of them left the computer.
Fowles was there almost at once.
WILL YOU ACCEPT A MESSAGE FROM MR. RED?
Starkey smiled. Pell shifted forward, Starkey thinking he might fall into the computer.
“Fast.”
“He’s been waiting.”
She opened the window.
MR. RED: Excellent, Detective Starkey. You rock.
HOTLOAD: Your praise makes me blush.
MR. RED: How did you learn my name?
HOTLOAD: Ah … a question. Do you want the truth, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?
MR. RED: I am laughing, Carol Starkey. Well done.
Starkey did not answer.
Pell said, “Why aren’t you answering him?”
“Let him wait. It’s a game he plays.”
Finally, another message appeared.
MR. RED: The truth is a commodity. What will you want in return?
HOTLOAD: You will have to answer a question of mine. Do you agree?
MR. RED: Within reason. I will not tell you my whereabouts or answer questions of that nature. All else is fair game.
HOTLOAD: Agreed.
MR. RED: Agreed.
HOTLOAD: Tennant’s book. When I realized that you had seen him, I knew he would have made you look at the book.
Fowles again fell silent. It was several moments before he replied.
MR. RED: Fuck.
HOTLOAD: Only in your dreams.
“Christ, Starkey, how close are you two?”
“Shut up.”
MR. RED: Do you know why I looked at his book, Carol Starkey?
HOTLOAD: To read the articles about yourself?
MR. RED: To read the articles about you.
Pell shifted again. Starkey watched the screen, thinking, then typed:
HOTLOAD: Now, my question.
MR. RED: Yes.
Starkey hesitated. Her fingers trembled, and she thought of the flask again. She lit a fresh cigarette.
“You okay?”
She didn’t answer him.
HOTLOAD: I ask you again: Would you have come to Los Angeles if we had not baited you?
MR. RED: The truth, or what you want to hear?
HOTLOAD: Answer my question.
Fowles paused again.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s thinking. He wants something. He’s trying to figure out how to get it.”
“What does he want?”
“Pay attention, Pell. He wants me.”
MR. RED: I will answer your question in person. Give me your phone number.
HOTLOAD: You must be nuts.
MR. RED: I AM MR. RED! OF COURSE, I’M NUTS!
HOTLOAD: Don’t have a cow, John.
MR. RED: Don’t call me John. I am Mr. Red.
HOTLOAD: I still won’t give you my number. That is farther than I’m willing to go.
MR. RED: I’ve had more than a few fantasies about you going all the way, Carol Starkey.
HOTLOAD: Remember the ground rules, John. You get graphic, I’m gonna sign off and go take a cold shower.
MR. RED: What’s in it for you is … the truth.
HOTLOAD: The truth hurts.
MR. RED: The truth can also set you free.
She leaned back, letting it sit. She needed to think. She knew that they would have only one shot to bring him in; if he figured out what she was trying to do, her chance would be gone, and so would he.
Pell said, “Be weak.”
Starkey glanced over and found Pell watching her.
He said, “He’s male. If you want him, need him. Let him take care of you.”
“That isn’t me.”
“Pretend.”
She turned back to the keyboard.
HOTLOAD: I am afraid.
MR. RED: Of the truth?
HOTLOAD: You want to be in the Ten Most Wanted. I am afraid you will use me to get there.
MR. RED: There are things I want more than being on that list.
HOTLOAD: Like what?
MR. RED: I want to hear your voice, Carol Starkey. I want to have a conversation. Not like this. I want to see your expressions. I want to hear your inflections.
HOTLOAD: Do you see how weird this is? I am a police officer. You are Mr. Red.
MR. RED: We are both in Tennant’s book.
She didn’t respond.
MR. RED: We are the same.
She hesitated again. She knew what she wanted, but she could not suggest it. He had to suggest it. It had to be his idea or he would never go for it.
HOTLOAD: I will not give you my phone number.
MR. RED: Then I will give you a number.
HOTLOAD: I am laughing. If you give me a number, I will know your location.
MR. RED: Perhaps that is my idea. Perhaps I would like you to, ah, cum.
HOTLOAD: Don’t be crude.
MR. RED: Crude, but not stupid. Let us do this: Sign on to Claudius later today at exactly three P.M. I will be here. I will give you a phone number. If my phone doesn’t ring in fifteen seconds, I will leave, and you will never hear from me again. If you call, we will talk for exactly five minutes, and I will answer your question. No more than five minutes. I would like a longer conversation, but we both know what you’ll be doing.
HOTLOAD: Yes. I will be tracing the call.
MR. RED: Perhaps. But perhaps I can convince you that we were meant for better things.
HOTLOAD: Don’t count on it.
MR. RED: Fair enough. I will beat you at that, you know. You won’t catch me.
HOTLOAD: We’ll see.
“You’ve got him, Starkey.”
“Maybe.”
She had what she needed to go back to Kelso, but everything depended on Mr. Red. A large part of her was scared that if he signed off now, he would not return. He would not be there at three o’clock. She knew better than to type this, but something in her wanted to know. She told herself that if she brought him to this point, he would be hers. He would not vanish, he would not disappear. He would return to her, and she would catch him.
It was such an intimate thing that she felt embarrassed writing it in front of Pell.
HOTLOAD: When you’re having your fantasies of me, what do you think about?
He hesitated so long that she grew scared that he had gone. When his answer came, she regretted having asked.
MR. RED: Death.
Starkey did not reply. She signed off Claudius, then turned off the machine.
Pell was staring at her.
She said, “Stop looking at me like that. We’ve got a lot to do.”
Mr. Red
John Michael Fowles was parked less than two blocks up the street from Starkey’s house. He closed the iBook and smiled.
“DAMN, I’m good! I am so fucking good that somebody should tattoo ‘Mr. Irresistible’ on both cheeks of my ass.”
He pushed the iBook aside and patted the jar of Modex. He liked having it with him, the gray explosive in its jar like a big glob of toothpaste. It was better than having a goldfish. You didn’t have to feed it.
He waited until Starkey and Pell left, then drove back to his hotel to work on the new bomb. He was building a different kind of bomb this time, one just for Carol Starkey. He didn’t have much time.