The Last Detective by Robert Crais

dining table with the pages.
    “How far down the hill did you find the toy?”
    “Fifty, sixty yards, something like that. You want to get going down there now?”
    “The sun as low as it is, we'll have indirect light. That's not good. When the sun is higher, we'll get direct light. It'll be easier to see small objects and reconstruct what happened.”
    “You sound like you know what you're talking about.”
    “I've worked a few scenes.”
    She brought her coffee to the table.
    “Let's see what you have with the names. Show me the most likely candidates first.”
    I showed her the list of people from my civilian cases first. The more I had thought about it, the more it seemed likely that one of them was behind what had happened to Ben. We sipped the coffee as we went through their names. Beside each name I had written down the crimes they had committed, whether or not they had been sentenced to prison, and whether or not I had killed anyone close to them.
    Starkey said, “Jesus, Cole, it's all gangbangers, mobsters, and murderers. I thought you private guys did nothing but knock down divorce work.”
    “I pick the wrong cases.”
    “No shit. You have reason to believe that any of these people are familiar with your military history?”
    “So far as I know, none of them know anything about me, but I guess they could find out.”
    “All right. I'll run them through the system to see if anyone's been released. Now let's talk about these other four men, the guys who died. Could their families blame you for what happened?”
    “I didn't do anything for anyone to blame me.”
    “You know what I mean. Because their kid died and you didn't.”
    “I know what you meant and I'm telling you no. I wrote to their parents after it happened. Luis Rodriguez's mother and I corresponded until she died. That was six years ago. Teddy Fields's family sends me Christmas cards. When I mustered out, I went to see the Johnsons and Ted's family. Everyone was upset, sure, but no one blamed me. It was mostly just sad.”
    Starkey watched me as if she was convinced there had to be more, but she couldn't imagine what. I stared back at her, and once more thought she looked familiar.
    I said, “Have we met? You looked familiar last night and now you look familiar again, but I can't place you.”
    Starkey glanced away. She took a foil packet from her jacket and swallowed a white tablet with the coffee.
    “Can I smoke in here?”
    “You can smoke on the deck. You sure we haven't met?”
    “Positive.”
    “You look like someone.”
    Starkey studied the deck longingly, then sighed.
    “Okay, Cole, here's how you know me: Recent current events for a thousand. The answer is: Ka-boom .”
    I didn't know what she meant. Starkey spread her hands like I was stupid.
    “Don't you watch Jeopardy ? Bombs. Bombers. The Bomb Squad lost a tech in Silver Lake a couple of months ago.”
    “That was you ?”
    “I gotta have a smoke. This is killing me.”
    Starkey pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket and broke for the deck. I followed her.
    Carol Starkey had bagged a serial cop-killer who murdered bomb technicians. Mr. Red had been headline news in L.A., but most of the stories were about Starkey. Three years before Mr. Red, Starkey herself had been a bomb tech. She had been trying to de-arm a bomb in a trailer park when an earthquake triggered the initiator. Both Starkey and her partner had been killed, but Starkey was resuscitated at the scene. She had literally risen from the dead, which had yoked her with lurid nicknames like the Angel of Death and Demolition Angel.
    Maybe she read what I was thinking. She shook her head as she fired up the cigarette, scowling at me.
    “Don't even dream about asking, Cole. Don't ask if I saw white lights or pearly gates. I get that out the ass.”
    “I don't care about that, and I wasn't going to ask. All I care about is finding Ben.”
    “Good. That's all I care about, too. The bomb squad stuff, that's