DETECTIVE-TWO CAROL Starkey spilled the fourth packet of sugar into her coffee. She sipped, but the coffee still tasted sour. Starkey was using the large black Hollywood Homicide mug Charlie Griggs had given her as a welcome-aboard gift three weeks earlier. She liked the mug. A big 187 was stenciled on the side, which was the LAPD code for a homicide, along with the legend OUR DAY BEGINS WHEN YOUR DAY ENDS. Starkey added a fifth sugar. Ever since she gave up the booze her body craved enormous amounts of sugar, so she fed the craving. She sipped. It still tasted like crap.

Clare Olney, who was another hard-core coffee hound, looked on with concern.

You'd better watch it, Carol. You'll give yourself diabetes.

Starkey shrugged.

Only live once.

Clare filled his own mug, black, without sugar or milk. He was a round man with a shiny bald dome and pudgy fingers. His mug was small, white, and showed the stick-figure image of a father and little girl. The legend on its side read WORLD'S GREATEST DAD in happy pink letters.

You like working Homicide, Carol? You fitting in okay?

Yeah. It's good.

After only three weeks, Starkey wasn't sure if she liked it or not. Starkey had moved around a lot during her career. Before coming to Homicide, she had worked on the Juvenile Section, the Criminal Conspiracy Section, and the Bomb Squad. The Bomb Squad was her love, but, of course, they would not allow her back.

Clare had more coffee, noodling at her over the top of his cup as he worked up to ask. They all asked, sooner or later.

It's gotta be so different than working the bombs. I can't imagine doing what you used to do.

It's no big deal, Clare. Riding a patrol car is more dangerous.

Clare gave a phony little laugh. Clare was a nice man, but she could spot the phony laugh a thousand clicks out. They laughed because they were uncomfortable.

Well, you can say it's no big deal, but I wouldn't have the guts to walk up to a bomb like that, just walk right up and try to de-arm it. I'd run the other way.

When Starkey was a bomb technician, she had walked up to plenty of bombs. She had de-armed over a hundred explosive devices of one kind or another, always in complete control of the situation and the device. That was what she most loved about being a bomb tech. It was just her and the bomb. She had been in complete control of how she approached the device and when it exploded. Only one bomb had been beyond her control.

She said, You want to ask me something, Clare?

He immediately looked uncomfortable.

No, I was just

It's okay. I don't mind talking about it.

She did mind, but she always pretended she didn't.

Clare edged away.

I wasn't going to