Echo Park Part 13

Annoyance flared in Waits's eyes. It was as if he were putting up with her.

"No, you stupid c.u.n.t," he replied calmly. "I had been thinking about killing someone. You understand? All my life I had wanted to do it."

Rider shook off the insult without a flinch and kept moving.

"Why did you choose Daniel Fitzpatrick? Why did you choose that night?"

"Well, because I was watching TV and I saw the whole city coming apart. It was chaos out there and I knew the police couldn't do anything about it. It was a time when people were doing just what they wanted. I saw a guy on the tube talking about Hollywood Boulevard and how places were burning and I decided to go out to see it. I didn't want the TV showing it to me. I wanted to see it for myself."

"Did you drive there?"

"No, I could walk. Back then I lived on Fountain near LaBrea. I just walked up."

Rider had the Fitzpatrick file open in front of her. She glanced down at it for a moment while collecting her thoughts and formulating the next set of questions. That gave O'Shea the opportunity to jump in.

"Where did the lighter fluid come from?" he asked. "Did you take it with you from your apartment?"

Waits shifted his focus to O'Shea.

"I thought the d.y.k.e was asking the questions," he said.

"We're all asking the questions," O'Shea said. "And could you please keep the personal attacks out of your responses?"

"Not you, Mr. District Attorney. I don't want to talk to you. Only her. And them."

He pointed to Bosch and Olivas.

"Let me just back up a little bit before we get to the lighter fluid," Rider said, smoothly pushing O'Shea to the side. "You said you walked up to Hollywood Boulevard from Fountain. Where did you go and what did you see?"

Waits smiled and nodded at Rider.

"I got that right, didn't I?" he said. "I can always tell. I can always smell it on a woman, when she likes p.u.s.s.y."

"Mr. Swann," Rider said, "can you please tell your client that this is about him answering our questions, not the other way around?"

Swann put his hand on Waits's left forearm, which was bound to the arm of his chair.

"Ray," he said. "Don't play games. Just answer the questions. Remember, we want this. We brought it to them. It's our show."

Bosch saw a slow burn move across Waits's face as he turned and looked at his lawyer. But then it quickly disappeared and he looked back at Rider.

"I saw the city burning, that's what I saw."

He smiled after giving the answer.

"It was like a Hieronymus Bosch painting."

He turned to Bosch as he said this. It froze Bosch for a moment. How did he know?

Waits nodded toward Bosch's chest.

"It's on your ID card."

Bosch had forgotten that they'd had to clip their IDs on once they entered the DA's office. Rider moved in quickly with the next question.

"Okay, which way did you walk once you got to Hollywood Boulevard?"

"I took a right and headed east. The bigger fires were down that way."

"What was in your pockets?"

The question seemed to give him pause.

"I don't know. I don't remember. My keys, I guess. Cigarettes and a lighter, that was all."

"Did you have your wallet?"

"No, I didn't want to have ID with me. In case the police stopped me."

"Did you already have the lighter fluid with you?"

"That's right, I did. I thought I might join in the fun, help burn the city to the ground. Then I walked by that p.a.w.nshop and got a better idea."

"You saw Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

"Yeah, I saw him. He was standing inside his security fence holding a shotgun. He also was wearing a holster like he was Wyatt Earp or something."

"Describe the p.a.w.nshop."

Waits shrugged.

"A small place. It was called Irish p.a.w.n. It had this neon sign out front that flashed a green three-leaf clover and then the three b.a.l.l.s, you know, that are like the symbol for a p.a.w.nshop, I guess. Fitzpatrick was standing there, watching me when I pa.s.sed by."

"And you kept walking?"

"At first I did. I pa.s.sed by and then I thought about the challenge, you know? How could I get to him without getting shot by that big f.u.c.king bazooka he was holding."

"What did you do?"

"I took the can of EasyLight out of my jacket pocket and filled my mouth with it. Squirted it right in, like those flame breathers do on the Venice boardwalk. I then put the can away and got out a cigarette and my lighter. I don't smoke anymore. It's a terrible habit."

He looked at Bosch as he said this.

"Then what?" Rider asked.

"I went back to the a.s.shole's shop and walked into the alcove in front of the security fence. I acted like I was just looking for a blind to try to light my smoke. It was windy that night, you understand?"

"Yes."

"So he started yelling at me to get the f.u.c.k away. He came right up to the fence to yell at me. And I was counting on that."

He smiled, proud of how well his plan worked.

"The guy hit the stock of his shotty against the steel fence to get my attention. You see, he saw my hands, so he didn't realize the danger. And when he was about two feet away I got a flame on the lighter and looked him right in the eyes. I took the cigarette out of my mouth and spit all of that lighter fluid into his face. Of course, it hit the lighter on the way and I was a f.u.c.king flamethrower. He had a face full a' flames before he knew what hit him. He dropped the shotty pretty fast so he could try to slap at the flames. But his clothes went up and pretty soon he was one crispy critter. It was like being hit by napalm, man."

Waits tried to raise his left arm but couldn't. It was bound to the armrest at the wrist. He turned and raised his hand instead.

"Unfortunately, I burned my hand a little bit. Blisters, the whole thing. It really hurt, too. I can't imagine what that a.s.shole Wyatt Earp felt. Not a good way to go, if you ask me."

Bosch looked at the upraised hand. He saw a discoloration in the skin tone, but not a scar. The burn had not gone deep.

After a long measure of silence, Rider asked another question.

"Did you seek medical attention for your hand?"

"No, I didn't think that would be too smart, considering the situation. And from what I heard, the hospitals were overflowing. So I went on home and took care of it myself."

"When did you place the can of lighter fluid in front of the store?"

"Oh, that was when I was walking away. I just took it out, wiped it off and put it down."

"Did Mr. Fitzpatrick call out for help at any time?"

Waits paused as if to ponder the question.

"Well, that's hard to say. He was yelling something, but I am not sure it was for help. He just kind of sounded like an animal to me. I closed the door on my dog's tail once when I was kid. It sort of reminded me of that."

"What were you thinking as you were walking home?"

"I was thinking, Far-f.u.c.king-out! I finally did it! And I knew I was going to get away with it, too. I felt like I was pretty G.o.dd.a.m.n invincible, if you want to know the truth."

"How old were you?"

"I was ... I was twenty, man, and I f.u.c.kin' did it!"

"Did you ever think about the man you killed, who you burned to death?"

"No, not really. He was just there. There for the taking. Like the rest of them that came after. It was like they were there for me."

Rider spent another forty minutes questioning him, eliciting smaller details that nonetheless matched those contained in the investigative reports. Finally, at 11:15 she seemed to relax her posture and pull back from her place at the table. She turned to look at Bosch and then at O'Shea.

"I think I have enough for the moment," she said. "Maybe we could take a short break at this point."

She turned off the tape recorder, and the three investigators and O'Shea stepped out into the hallway to confer. Swann stayed in the interview room with his client.

"What do you think?" O'Shea said to Rider.

She nodded.

"I'm satisfied. I don't think there is any doubt that he did it. He solved the mystery of how he got to him. I don't think he's telling us everything but he knows enough of the details. He either did it or he was right there."

O'Shea looked at Bosch.

"Should we move on?"

Bosch thought about this for a moment. He was ready. As he had watched Rider interview Waits his anger and disgust had grown. The man in the interview room showed such a callous disregard for his victim that Bosch recognized it as the cla.s.sic profile of a psychopath. As before, he dreaded what he would next hear from the man but he was ready to hear it.

"Let's do it," he said.

They all moved back into the interview room and Swann immediately suggested that they break for lunch.

"My client is hungry."

"Gotta feed the dog," Waits added with a smile.

Bosch shook his head, taking charge of the room.

"Not yet," he said. "He'll eat when we all eat."

He took the seat directly across from Waits and turned the recorder back on. Rider and O'Shea took the wing positions and Olivas sat once again in the chair by the door. Bosch had taken the Gesto file back from Olivas but had it closed in front of him on the table.

"We're going to move on now to the Marie Gesto case," he said.

"Ah, sweet Marie," Waits said.

He looked at Bosch with a brightness in his eyes.

"Your attorney's proffer suggests that you know what happened to Marie Gesto when she disappeared in nineteen ninety-three. Is that true?"

Waits frowned and nodded.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," he said with mock sincerity.

"Do you know the current whereabouts of Marie Gesto or the location of her remains?"

"Yes, I do."

Here it was, the moment Bosch had waited on for thirteen years.

"She's dead, isn't she?"

Waits looked at him and nodded.

"Is that a yes?" Bosch asked for the tape.

"That is a yes. She's dead."

"Where is she?"