Demolition Angel (24 page)

“It’s not the big headline you’re making it sound. I wanted to talk it over with you guys today. I didn’t get a chance yesterday.”

“Well, whatever. Maybe you were too busy thinking about Pell.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hey, he’s a good-looking guy. For a fed.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“He got you in on that Claudius thing, right? All I’m saying is when a guy does you a turn like that, you should think about paying him back. Give the man a blow job.”

Hooker lurched to his feet and walked away. Marzik laughed.

“Jorge is such a goddamned tightass.”

Starkey was irritated.

“No, Beth. He’s a gentleman. You, you’re trailer trash.”

Marzik wheeled her chair closer and lowered her voice.

“Now I’m being serious, okay? It’s pretty obvious you’re attracted to him.”

“Bullshit.”

“Every time somebody mentions the guy, you look like you’re scared to death. And it’s not because he might take the case.”

“Beth? When’s the last time you were choked out?”

Marzik arched her eyebrows knowingly, then rolled her chair back to her desk.

Starkey went for more coffee, ignoring Marzik, who sat on her fat ass with a smugfuckingsmile. Hooker, still embarrassed by Marzik’s remark, lingered on the far side of the squad room, too humiliated to meet Starkey’s eye.

Starkey went back to her desk, scooped up the phone, and dialed Mueller. It was still early, but it was either call Mueller or shoot Marzik between the eyes.

When Mueller came on the line, he sounded rushed.

“I gotta get movin’ here, Starkey. Some turd put a hand grenade in a mailbox.”

“I just have a couple of questions, Sergeant. I spoke with Tennant, and now I need to follow up a few things with you.”

“He’s a real piece of work, ain’t he? He loses any more fingers, pretty soon he’ll be countin’ on his toes.”

Starkey didn’t think it was funny.

“Tennant still denies that he had a shop.”

Mueller interrupted her, annoyed because she was wasting his time.

“Waitaminute. We talked about this, didn’t we?”

“That’s right.”

“There’s nothing new to cover. If he’s got a shop, we couldn’t find it. I been thinking about this since you called. I’ve got to tell you I think the guy is probably telling the truth. A pissant like this wouldn’t have the balls to hold out when he could trade for time.”

She didn’t bother pointing out that for a pissant like Tennant, his shop would be the most important thing in the world.

Instead, she told him that she had reason to believe that Tennant had a shop and more RDX, also. This time when he spoke, his voice was stiff.

“What reason?”

“Tennant told us the same thing he told you, that he salvaged the RDX from a case of Raytheon GMX antipersonnel mines. That’s six mines.”

“Yeah. That’s what I remember.”

“Okay. I looked up the GMX in our spec book down here. It says that each GMX carries a charge of 1.8 pounds of RDX, which means he would have had a little over ten pounds. Now, I’m looking at the pictures of these three cars you sent. They’re fairly light-bodied vehicles, but most of the damage seems to be from fire. I ran an energy calc on the RDX, and it seems to me that if he had used a third of his load on each car, the damage would’ve been much greater than it is here.”

Mueller didn’t answer.

“Then I saw here in your interview notes with Robert Castillo that Tennant asked him to steal a fourth car. That implies to me that Tennant had more RDX.”

When Mueller finally spoke, his tone was defensive.

“We searched that rathole he was living in. We searched every damned box and cubbyhole in the place. We had his car impounded for three months and even stripped the damned rocker panels. We searched the old lady’s house, and her garage, and I even had the Feebs bring out a goddamned dog for the flower bed, so don’t try to make out that I fucked up.”

Starkey felt her voice harden and regretted it.

“I’m not trying to make out anything, Mueller. Only reason I called is that there aren’t many notes here from your interviews with his landlady or employer.”

“There was nothing to write. The old bat didn’t want to talk to us. All she gave a shit about was us not tromping on her flower beds.”

“What about his employer?”

“He said what they all say, how surprised he was, how Dallas was such a normal guy. We wear cowboy boots up here, Starkey, but we’re not stupid. You just remember. That sonofabitch is sitting in Atascadero because of me. I made my case. When you make yours, call me again.”

He hung up before she could answer, and Starkey slammed down her phone. When she looked up, Marzik was staring at her.

“Smooth.”

“Fuck him.”

“You’re really pissed off today. What got up your ass?”

“Beth. Just leave it alone.”

Starkey shuffled through the casework again. Tennant’s landlady had been an elderly woman named Estelle Reager. His employer had been a man named Bradley Ferman, owner of a hobby shop called Robbie’s Hobbies. She found their phone numbers and called both, learning that Robbie’s Hobbies was out of business. Estelle Reager agreed to speak with her.

Starkey gathered her purse, and stood.

“Come on, Beth. We’re going up there to talk to this woman.”

Marzik looked shocked.

“I don’t want to go to Bakersfield. Take Hooker.”

“Hooker’s busy with the tapes.”

“So am I. I’m still talking to the laundry people.”

“Get your shit together and put your ass in the car. We’re taking the drive.”

Starkey left without waiting.

The Golden State Freeway ran north out of Los Angeles, splitting the state through the great, flat plain of the Central Valley. Starkey believed it to be the finest driving road in California, or anywhere; long, straight, wide, and flat. You could set the cruise control at eighty, put your brain on hold, and make San Francisco in five hours. Bakersfield was less than ninety minutes.

Marzik sulked, bound up tight on the passenger side with her arms and legs crossed like a pouting teenager. Starkey wasn’t sure why she had made Marzik come, regretting it even as they left Spring Street. Neither of them spoke for the first half hour until they crested the Newhall Pass at the top of the San Fernando Valley, the great roller coasters and spires of the Magic Mountain amusement park appearing on their left.

Marzik shifted uncomfortably. It was Marzik who spoke first.

“My kids want to go to that place. I keep putting them off because it costs so much, but, Jesus, they see these damned commercials, these people on the roller coasters. The commercials never say how much it costs.”

Starkey glanced over, expecting Marzik to look angry and resentful, but she didn’t. She looked tired and miserable.

“Beth, I want to ask you something. What you said about me and Pell, is it really that obvious?”

Marzik shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was just saying that.”

“Okay.”

“You never talk about your life. I just kinda figured you don’t have one.”

Marzik looked over at her.

“Now can I ask you something?”

Starkey felt uncomfortable with that, but told Marzik she could ask whatever she wanted.

“When’s the last time you had a man?”

“That’s a terrible thing to ask.”

“You said I could ask. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine.”

Starkey realized that she was gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. She took a breath, forcing herself to relax. She grudgingly admitted that she wanted to talk about this, even though she didn’t know how. Maybe that was why she had made Marzik come with her.

“It’s been a long time.”

“What are you waiting for? You think you’re getting younger? You think your ass is getting smaller?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know what you want because we never talk. Here we are, the only two women in the section, and we never talk about anything but the goddamned job. Here’s what I’m saying, Carol, you do this damned job, but you need something else, because this job is shit. It takes, but it doesn’t give you a goddamned thing. It’s just shit.”

Starkey glanced over. Marzik’s eyes were wet and she was blinking. Starkey realized that suddenly everything had turned; they were talking about Marzik, not Starkey.

“Well, I’ll tell you what
I
want. I want to get married. I want someone to talk to who’s taller than me. I want someone else in that house even if he spends all his time on the couch, and I have to bring him the beer and listen to him fart at three in the morning. I am sick of being alone, with no one for company but two kids eating crackers. Shit, I want to be married so bad they see me coming a mile away and run.”

Starkey didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry, Beth. You’re dating, right? You’ll find someone.”

“You don’t know shit about it. I hate this fucking job. I hate my rotten life. I hate these two kids. Isn’t that the most horrible thing you’ve ever heard? I hate these two kids, and I don’t know how I’m gonna get them up here to Magic Mountain.”

Marzik ran out of gas and lapsed into silence. Starkey drove on, feeling uncomfortable. She thought that Marzik must want something for having said all that, but didn’t know what. She felt that she was letting Marzik down.

“Beth, listen?”

Marzik shook her head, not looking over, clearly embarrassed. Starkey was embarrassed, too.

“I’m not very good at girl talk. I’m sorry.”

They lapsed into silence then, each of them lost in her own thoughts as they followed the freeway down from the mountains into the great Central Valley. When Bakersfield appeared on the flat, empty plain, Marzik finally spoke again.

“I didn’t mean that about my kids.”

“I know.”

They left the freeway a short time later, following directions that Estelle Reager had given until they came to a prewar stucco home between the railroad transfer station south of Bakersfield, and the airport. Mrs. Reager answered the door wearing jeans, a checked shirt, and work gloves. She bore the lined, leathery skin of a woman who had spent much of her life in the sun. Starkey guessed that Mueller had come in like a cowboy, thinking he could ride roughshod over the old woman, who had gotten her back up. Once up, she would be hard to win over.

Starkey introduced herself and Marzik.

Reager eyed them.

“A couple of women, huh? I guess none of the lazy men down there wanted to drive up.”

Marzik laughed. When Starkey saw the twinkle that came to Estelle Reager’s eye, she knew they were home free.

Mrs. Reager showed them through the house and out the back door to a small patio covered by a translucent green awning. The awning caught the sun, washing everything with a green glow. The driveway ran along the side of the house to a garage, behind which sat a small, neat guest house. A well-maintained vegetable garden filled the length of the yard between the patio and the guest house.

“We appreciate your seeing us like this, Mrs. Reager.”

“Well, I’m happy to help. I don’t know what I can tell you, though. Nothing I ain’t already said before.”

Marzik went to the edge of the patio to look at the guest house.

“Is that where he lived?”

“Oh, yes. He lived there for four years, and you couldn’t ask for a better young man. I guess that sounds strange, considering what we know about him now, but Dallas was always very considerate and paid his rent on time.”

“It looks empty. Is anyone living there now?”

“I had a young man last year, but he married a teacher and they needed a bigger place. It’s so hard to find quality people in this price range, you know. May I ask what it is you’re hoping to find?”

Starkey explained her belief that Tennant still had a store of bomb components.

“Well, you won’t find anything like that here. The police searched high and low, let me tell you that. They were all in my garden. I was happy to help, but they weren’t very nice about it.”

Starkey knew that her guess about Mueller had been right.

“If you want to look through his things, you can help yourself. They’re all right there in the garage.”

Marzik turned back, glancing at Starkey.

“You’ve still got Tennant’s things?”

“Well, he asked me to keep them, you know, since he was in jail.”

Starkey looked at the garage, then at Mrs. Reager.

“These were things that were here when the police searched?”

“Oh, yes. I got’m in the garage, if you want to look.”

She explained that Tennant had continued to pay rent on his guest house for the first year that he was in prison, but that he had finally written to her, apologizing that he would have to stop and asked if she would be willing to store his things. There weren’t very many. Only a few boxes.

Starkey asked the older woman to excuse them, and walked with Marzik to the garage.

“If she says we can go into the garage, we’re okay with that because it’s her property. But if we go into his boxes and find anything, we could have a problem with that.”

“You think we need a search warrant?”

“Of course we need a search warrant.”

They would need a search warrant, but they were also out of their operating area, Los Angeles police in the city of Bakersfield. The easist thing to do would be to call Mueller and have him come out with a request for a telephonic warrant.

Starkey went back to Mrs. Reager.

“Mrs. Reager, I want to be clear on something. These things in your garage, they are things that the police have already looked at?”

“Well, they were in the guest house when the police came. I would guess they looked.”

“All right. Now, you said that Tennant asked you to store his things. Did you pack them?”

“That’s right. He didn’t have very much, just clothes and some of those adult movies. I didn’t pack those. I threw them away when I found them. The furniture was mine. I rented it furnished in those days.”

Starkey decided that there was nothing to be gained by
searching the boxes. Her real hope was in identifying people with whom Tennant might have stored his components well before the time of his arrest.