Read Online Fire Damage (A Jessie Flynn Investigation, Book 1) by Kate Medina - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Medina
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The strip light above continued to flicker, coating their faces white-grey-white and grey again, when the frail afternoon light was left to cope on its own for a fraction of a second. Callan glanced up at it, his brow furrowing in irritation. He looked back to Starkey.
‘Answer the question, Starkey.’
Starkey’s eyes snapped back from the window to rest on Jessie’s.
‘Do you know what frightens people, Dr Flynn?’
‘I’d say that real fear is different for everyone. We all have our secret demons. Isn’t real fear about tapping into that person’s individual demons?’ Jessie said. ‘Pressing their buttons.’
Starkey grinned. He seemed to like her answer.
‘So what was Andy Jackson’s demon?’ she asked.
‘You’re asking the wrong questions, Doctor.’
‘Am I?’
‘He was too stupid to have demons. He was a follower, plain and simple.’
‘Is that how you got him into the desert? Because he liked to follow?’
‘This isn’t about me,’ Starkey replied.
She could feel Callan shifting uncomfortably beside her, sense his impatience at this play of words.
‘So what is it about? Drugs? Terrorism? Warlords and tribal loyalties? Where do your loyalties lie, Starkey?’
Starkey crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Do you know what Afghanistan’s nickname is, Dr Flynn? The Graveyard of Empires.’ He smirked. ‘Have you ever been there? To the Graveyard?’
‘Twice,’ she said. ‘Both with PsyOps.’
He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘You needn’t be. It’s my job.’
‘So you know what a complete shit show it is out there then, ever since we demobbed to keep the politicians’ ratings up, keep Joe Public happy. But we’re still there, aren’t we – some of us suckers?’ He laughed, a bitter sound. ‘PsyOps? We’re fucking amateurs compared to them. We think we’re playing them, but we’re the ones being played.’
He started singing, softly, under his breath,
‘I’m a puppet just a puppet on a string.’
Jessie could sense that Callan was getting frustrated. His hands were clenched into fists on the tabletop, his legs jiggering underneath it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tense set of his jaw. It would be easier for him if Starkey refused to talk at all. At least he could then assemble evidence from other avenues, without having the water muddied like this. But it wasn’t so strange to Jessie. She had seen it a number of times – both before joining the Army and after. Patients who loved the wordplay, saw it as a game. Didn’t want to be tied down, or couldn’t be. Their heads a jumble of disassociated ideas, memories drifting loose, thoughts they couldn’t straighten into anything intelligible. Which was Starkey?
Callan stood suddenly, strode over to the light switch. Flicked it off, waited a couple of beats, flicked it on again. The strip light above them continued to flicker.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he snapped, returning to the table.
‘Is that what you and Jackson were working on?’ Jessie asked. ‘PsyOps?’
Starkey smirked. ‘I thought you were PsyOps.’
‘But you were working on something with Jackson?’
‘There’s a lot of intelligence to be gathered in Afghanistan. Some things I worked on with Jackson, other things not.’ A muscle in his jaw twitched. In anguish? With stress? ‘Fucking amateurs, and that’s how we get burnt,’ he muttered.
‘Burnt.’ Her mind flitted to Major Nicholas Scott, his skin like melted treacle. Scott was attacked in Afghanistan. A long shot, she realized. ‘Did you work with Major Scott?’
‘We only overlapped for a few days,’ Starkey said.
She felt Callan shift beside her, tilt forward in the chair.
‘I heard he was a good guy, though, Scott,’ Starkey said. ‘Committed to the cause.’
‘And he got burnt.’
Starkey’s fingers were tapping out a frantic tune on the tabletop. ‘Maybe he was too committed, did too much for the cause.’ He found her
‘Answer the question, Starkey.’
Starkey’s eyes snapped back from the window to rest on Jessie’s.
‘Do you know what frightens people, Dr Flynn?’
‘I’d say that real fear is different for everyone. We all have our secret demons. Isn’t real fear about tapping into that person’s individual demons?’ Jessie said. ‘Pressing their buttons.’
Starkey grinned. He seemed to like her answer.
‘So what was Andy Jackson’s demon?’ she asked.
‘You’re asking the wrong questions, Doctor.’
‘Am I?’
‘He was too stupid to have demons. He was a follower, plain and simple.’
‘Is that how you got him into the desert? Because he liked to follow?’
‘This isn’t about me,’ Starkey replied.
She could feel Callan shifting uncomfortably beside her, sense his impatience at this play of words.
‘So what is it about? Drugs? Terrorism? Warlords and tribal loyalties? Where do your loyalties lie, Starkey?’
Starkey crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Do you know what Afghanistan’s nickname is, Dr Flynn? The Graveyard of Empires.’ He smirked. ‘Have you ever been there? To the Graveyard?’
‘Twice,’ she said. ‘Both with PsyOps.’
He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘You needn’t be. It’s my job.’
‘So you know what a complete shit show it is out there then, ever since we demobbed to keep the politicians’ ratings up, keep Joe Public happy. But we’re still there, aren’t we – some of us suckers?’ He laughed, a bitter sound. ‘PsyOps? We’re fucking amateurs compared to them. We think we’re playing them, but we’re the ones being played.’
He started singing, softly, under his breath,
‘I’m a puppet just a puppet on a string.’
Jessie could sense that Callan was getting frustrated. His hands were clenched into fists on the tabletop, his legs jiggering underneath it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tense set of his jaw. It would be easier for him if Starkey refused to talk at all. At least he could then assemble evidence from other avenues, without having the water muddied like this. But it wasn’t so strange to Jessie. She had seen it a number of times – both before joining the Army and after. Patients who loved the wordplay, saw it as a game. Didn’t want to be tied down, or couldn’t be. Their heads a jumble of disassociated ideas, memories drifting loose, thoughts they couldn’t straighten into anything intelligible. Which was Starkey?
Callan stood suddenly, strode over to the light switch. Flicked it off, waited a couple of beats, flicked it on again. The strip light above them continued to flicker.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he snapped, returning to the table.
‘Is that what you and Jackson were working on?’ Jessie asked. ‘PsyOps?’
Starkey smirked. ‘I thought you were PsyOps.’
‘But you were working on something with Jackson?’
‘There’s a lot of intelligence to be gathered in Afghanistan. Some things I worked on with Jackson, other things not.’ A muscle in his jaw twitched. In anguish? With stress? ‘Fucking amateurs, and that’s how we get burnt,’ he muttered.
‘Burnt.’ Her mind flitted to Major Nicholas Scott, his skin like melted treacle. Scott was attacked in Afghanistan. A long shot, she realized. ‘Did you work with Major Scott?’
‘We only overlapped for a few days,’ Starkey said.
She felt Callan shift beside her, tilt forward in the chair.
‘I heard he was a good guy, though, Scott,’ Starkey said. ‘Committed to the cause.’
‘And he got burnt.’
Starkey’s fingers were tapping out a frantic tune on the tabletop. ‘Maybe he was too committed, did too much for the cause.’ He found her
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