Demolition Angel Read Free

from
considering
it.
    “Why do you think you keep changing therapists, Carol?”
    Starkey shook her head, then lied.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Are you still drinking?”
    “I haven’t had a drink in over a year.”
    “How’s your sleep?”
    “A couple hours, then I’m wide awake.”
    “Is it the dream?”
    Carol felt herself go cold.
    “No.”
    “Anxiety attacks?”
    Starkey was wondering how to answer when the pager clipped to her waist vibrated. She recognized the number as Kelso’s cell phone, followed by 911, the code the detectives in the Criminal Conspiracy Section used when they wanted an immediate response.
    “Shit, Dana. I’ve gotta get this.”
    “Would you like me to leave?”
    “No. No, I’ll just step out.”
    Starkey took her purse out into the waiting room where a middle-aged woman seated on the couch briefly met her eyes, then averted her face.
    “Sorry.”
    The woman nodded without looking.
    Starkey dug through her purse for her cell phone, then punched the speed dial to return Kelso’s page. She could tell he was in his car when he answered.
    “It’s me, Lieutenant. What’s up?”
    “Where are you?”
    Starkey stared at the woman.
    “I was looking for shoes.”
    “I didn’t ask what you were doing, Starkey. I asked where you were.”
    She felt the flush of anger when he said it, and shame that she even gave a damn what he thought.
    “The west side.”
    “All right. The bomb squad had a call-out, and, um, I’m on my way there now. Carol, we lost Charlie Riggio. He was killed at the scene.”
    Starkey’s fingers went cold. Her scalp tingled. It was called “going core.” The body’s way of protecting itself by drawing the blood inward to minimize bleeding. A response left over from our animal pasts when the threat would involve talons and fangs and something that wanted to rip you apart. In Starkey’s world, the threat often still did.
    “Starkey?”
    She turned away and lowered her voice so that the woman couldn’t hear.
    “Sorry, Lieutenant. Was it a bomb? Was it a device that went off?”
    “I don’t know the details yet, but, yes, there was an explosion.”
    Sweat leaked from her skin, and her stomach clenched. Uncontrolled explosions were rare. A bomb squad officer dying on the job was even more rare. The last time it had happened was three years ago.
    “Anyway, I’m on my way there now. Ah, Starkey, I could put someone else on this, if you’d rather I did that.”
    “I’m up in the rotation, Lieutenant. It’s my case.”
    “All right. I wanted to offer.”
    He gave her the location, then broke the connection. The woman on the couch was watching her as if she could read Starkey’s pain. Starkey saw herself in the waiting room mirror, abruptly white beneath her tan. She felt herself breathing. Shallow, fast breaths.
    Starkey put her phone away, then went back to tell Dana that she would have to end their session early.
    “We’ve got a call-out, so I have to go. Ah, listen, I don’t want you to turn in any of this to the insurance, okay? I’ll pay out of my own pocket, like before.”
    “No one can get access to your insurance records, Carol. Not without your permission. You truly don’t need to spend the money.”
    “I’d rather pay.”
    As Starkey wrote the check, Dana said, “You didn’t finish the story. Did you catch the man who made the firecrackers?”
    “The little girl’s mother took us to a garage two blocks away where we found him with eight hundred pounds of smokeless gunpowder. Eight hundred pounds, and the whole place is reeking of gasoline because you know what this guy does for a living? He’s a gardener. If that place had gone up, it would’ve taken out the whole goddamned block.”
    “My Lord.”
    Starkey handed over the check, then said her good-byes and started for the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob because she remembered something that she had intended to ask Dana.
    “There’s something about that guy I’ve