Read Online Fire Damage (A Jessie Flynn Investigation, Book 1) by Kate Medina - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kate Medina
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gaze across the table
. ‘Just a puppet on a string.’
‘Do you have nightmares, Sergeant Starkey?’
‘Nightmares. My life’s turned into a nightmare.’
He leaned forward, stretching his hands across the table towards her, palms upwards, fingers cupped slightly as if he was holding them out to God. She resisted the urge to lean back, put distance between them. She could sense Callan next to her, muscles taut, tuned to make a move if Starkey did.
‘You know what really frightens me, Dr Flynn?’ Starkey’s voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘Injustice.’
‘Are you the subject of an injustice?’
‘Why don’t you ask Captain Stiff-as-a-fucking-board Redcap here, Doctor? Because I sure as hell don’t know what he’s thinking.’
Anger rippled across Callan’s shoulders. ‘Stop playing games and tell me the truth. Why did Andy Jackson die?’
‘The truth will set you free, Captain Callan.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Callan slammed both hands flat on the tabletop, making the voice recorder rattle.
Starkey grinned. ‘Temper temper.’
Shoving his chair back, Callan strode to the door. ‘What the fuck is wrong with the lights.’ He slammed his hand on the switch a couple of times, flicking the lights on and off. On again. Off. The frail afternoon light seeping through the window coated their faces in sepia, the colour of old photographs.
Jessie remained where she was at the table. Her gaze sought out Starkey’s; she looked him straight in the eye. She thought that his gaze might flicker, wander. It didn’t. The eyes that met hers were intelligent, astute.
‘If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,’ she said quietly. ‘John 8:32.’
Starkey raised his hands, clapped them together, a slow, deliberate handclap.
‘Very good, Dr Flynn. I didn’t have you down as the religious type.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Though I’d like to see you in a nun’s habit.’
Jessie stared back, unflinching. ‘Convent education does wonders for religious knowledge. Sadly, we wore drab grey uniforms, calf-length, but you can dream, Starkey. So what is the truth?’
Callan was leaning against the wall by the door. ‘This evaluation is terminated, Sergeant Starkey.’
Jessie glanced over at him. What the hell was he playing at? Something seemed to have ignited in his eyes: they shone, icy white, from the slits in his face. Icy white, but unfocused.
‘I have a few more questions, Callan.’
The muscles along his jaw bulged.
She turned back to Starkey.
Callan was suddenly beside the table. Grabbing Starkey by the collar, he hauled him off the chair, slammed him back against the wall and jammed his forearm into Starkey’s throat.
‘You’re a fucking little shit, Starkey, and if you have done something wrong, I will find out and I will hang you for it.’
Jessie jumped to her feet. ‘Let him go, Captain Callan.
Now
.’
He let go of Starkey, stepping back, raising his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture. He looked almost as shocked as Starkey. Starkey backed away, straightening out his uniform.
‘I could fucking hang you for
that
, Captain.’
Callan was shaking his head, but it didn’t look as if he was shaking it in denial of what Starkey had said. The movement was jerky, uncoordinated, as if he was trying to dislodge something from his brain.
‘Are you OK, Captain Callan?’ Jessie asked.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
A hand caught her arm. Turning, she found Starkey right behind her.
‘The answer to your question about the truth, Jessie, is – I don’t know.’ His voice was quiet, a caress in her ear. She could feel his breath, hot against her cheek. She yanked her arm away, suddenly aware that she and Starkey were alone in the room, that Callan had left. ‘I never found out. But if you could ask a dead man, say please – nicely, mind – he might tell you the
. ‘Just a puppet on a string.’
‘Do you have nightmares, Sergeant Starkey?’
‘Nightmares. My life’s turned into a nightmare.’
He leaned forward, stretching his hands across the table towards her, palms upwards, fingers cupped slightly as if he was holding them out to God. She resisted the urge to lean back, put distance between them. She could sense Callan next to her, muscles taut, tuned to make a move if Starkey did.
‘You know what really frightens me, Dr Flynn?’ Starkey’s voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘Injustice.’
‘Are you the subject of an injustice?’
‘Why don’t you ask Captain Stiff-as-a-fucking-board Redcap here, Doctor? Because I sure as hell don’t know what he’s thinking.’
Anger rippled across Callan’s shoulders. ‘Stop playing games and tell me the truth. Why did Andy Jackson die?’
‘The truth will set you free, Captain Callan.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Callan slammed both hands flat on the tabletop, making the voice recorder rattle.
Starkey grinned. ‘Temper temper.’
Shoving his chair back, Callan strode to the door. ‘What the fuck is wrong with the lights.’ He slammed his hand on the switch a couple of times, flicking the lights on and off. On again. Off. The frail afternoon light seeping through the window coated their faces in sepia, the colour of old photographs.
Jessie remained where she was at the table. Her gaze sought out Starkey’s; she looked him straight in the eye. She thought that his gaze might flicker, wander. It didn’t. The eyes that met hers were intelligent, astute.
‘If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,’ she said quietly. ‘John 8:32.’
Starkey raised his hands, clapped them together, a slow, deliberate handclap.
‘Very good, Dr Flynn. I didn’t have you down as the religious type.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Though I’d like to see you in a nun’s habit.’
Jessie stared back, unflinching. ‘Convent education does wonders for religious knowledge. Sadly, we wore drab grey uniforms, calf-length, but you can dream, Starkey. So what is the truth?’
Callan was leaning against the wall by the door. ‘This evaluation is terminated, Sergeant Starkey.’
Jessie glanced over at him. What the hell was he playing at? Something seemed to have ignited in his eyes: they shone, icy white, from the slits in his face. Icy white, but unfocused.
‘I have a few more questions, Callan.’
The muscles along his jaw bulged.
She turned back to Starkey.
Callan was suddenly beside the table. Grabbing Starkey by the collar, he hauled him off the chair, slammed him back against the wall and jammed his forearm into Starkey’s throat.
‘You’re a fucking little shit, Starkey, and if you have done something wrong, I will find out and I will hang you for it.’
Jessie jumped to her feet. ‘Let him go, Captain Callan.
Now
.’
He let go of Starkey, stepping back, raising his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture. He looked almost as shocked as Starkey. Starkey backed away, straightening out his uniform.
‘I could fucking hang you for
that
, Captain.’
Callan was shaking his head, but it didn’t look as if he was shaking it in denial of what Starkey had said. The movement was jerky, uncoordinated, as if he was trying to dislodge something from his brain.
‘Are you OK, Captain Callan?’ Jessie asked.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
A hand caught her arm. Turning, she found Starkey right behind her.
‘The answer to your question about the truth, Jessie, is – I don’t know.’ His voice was quiet, a caress in her ear. She could feel his breath, hot against her cheek. She yanked her arm away, suddenly aware that she and Starkey were alone in the room, that Callan had left. ‘I never found out. But if you could ask a dead man, say please – nicely, mind – he might tell you the
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