The Harry Bosch Novels Vol Ii Part 85

"See if they'll pull a search on Veronica for you. She had a brief flash of fame a while back. Her fifteen minutes. Maybe there were some stories about her, stories that would have names of people we could talk to."

"What about talking to her again?" Edgar asked.

"I don't think we should do it yet. I want to have something to talk to her about."

"What about neighbors?"

"You can do that. Maybe she'll look out the window and see you, give her something to think about. If you go up there, see if you can take another look at the gate log. Talk to Nash. I'm sure you can turn him without needing another search warrant. I'd like to take a look at the whole year, know who has been going in to see her, especially while Tony was out of town. We have Tony's credit records and can construct his travel history. You'll be able to know when she was in that house alone."

Bosch raised his fork. He hadn't had a bite of food yet, but his mind was too full of the case and what needed to be done.

"The other thing is we need as much of the case file as we can get. All we've got is the copy of the murder book. I'm going down to Parker Center for my little chat with the IAD. I'll swing by USC and get a copy of the autopsy. The feds already have it. I'll also go talk to Donovan in SID and see if he came up with anything we pulled out of the car. Also, he's got the shoe prints. I'll get copies, hopefully before the feds come in and take everything. Anything else I'm missing?"

The other two shook their heads.

"You want to see what we get and then put our heads together after work?"

They nodded.

"Cat and Fiddle, about six?"

They nodded again. They were too busy eating to talk. Bosch took his first bite of food, which was already getting cold. He joined them in their silence, thinking about the case.

"It's in the details," he said after a few moments.

"What?" Rider asked.

"The case. When you get one like this, the answer is always in the details. You watch, when we break it, the answer will have been sitting in the files, in the book. It always happens."

The interview with Chastain at Internal Affairs began as Bosch expected it would. He sat with Zane, his defense rep, at a gray government table in one of the IAD interview rooms. An old Sony ca.s.sette player was turned on and everything said in the room was recorded. In police parlance, Chastain was locking up Bosch's story. Getting his words and explanation in as much detail as possible down on tape. Chastain really wouldn't begin his investigation until after Bosch's story was locked in. He would then hunt for flaws in it. All he had to do was catch Bosch in a single lie and he could take him to a Board of Rights hearing. Depending on the size and import of the lie, he could seek a penalty ranging from suspension to dismissal.

In a dull and laborious drone, Chastain read prepared questions from a legal pad and Bosch slowly and carefully answered them with as few words as possible. It was a game. Bosch had played it before. In the fifteen minutes they had before reporting to IAD, Zane had counseled Bosch on how it would go and how they should proceed. Like a good criminal defense lawyer, he never directly asked Harry if he had planted the gun. Zane didn't really care. He simply looked at IAD as the enemy, as a group of bad cops with the sole purpose of going after good cops. Zane was part of the old school who thought all cops were inherently good and though sometimes the job turned them bad, they should not be persecuted by their own.

Everything was routine for a half hour. But then Chastain threw an unexpected pitch at them.

"Detective Bosch, do you know a woman named Eleanor Wish?"

Zane reached out a hand in front of Bosch to stop him from answering.

"What is this s.h.i.t, Chastain?"

"Who have you been talking to, Chastain?" Bosch added.

"Wait a minute, Harry," Zane said. "Don't say anything. Where's this going, Chastain?"

"It's very clear from the orders from the chief. I'm investigating Bosch's conduct during this investigation. As far as who I have been talking to or where I get my information, you are not privy to that at this point in the process."

"This is supposed to be about a supposedly planted gun that we all know is bulls.h.i.t. That's what we are here to answer."

"Do you wish to read the order from the chief again? It's quite clear."

Zane looked at him a moment.

"Give us five minutes so we can talk about this. Why don't you go get the points of your teeth filed?"

Chastain stood up and reached over and turned the tape recorder off. As he stepped to the door, he looked back at them with a smile.

"This time I got you both. You won't get out from under this one, Bosch. And Zane, well, I guess you can't win them all, can you?"

"You ought to know that better than me, you sanctimonious a.s.shole. Get out of here and leave us alone."

After Chastain was gone, Zane bent over the tape recorder to make sure it was off. He then got up and checked the thermostat on the wall to make sure it wasn't a secret listening device. After he was satisfied their conversation was private, he sat back down and asked Bosch about Eleanor Wish. Bosch told him about his encounters with Eleanor over the past few days but left out mention of the abduction and her subsequent confession.

"One of those cops over there in Metro must've told him you shacked up with her," Zane said. "That's all he's got. He's going for an a.s.sociating beef. If you admit it here, then he's got you. But if that's all he gets, then it's a slap on the wrist at best. As long as he gets nothing else. But if you lie about it and say you weren't with her when you were, and he can prove you were, then you've got a problem. So my advice is that you tell him, yeah, you know her and you've been with her. f.u.c.k it, it's nothing. Tell him it's over, and if that's all he's got, then he's a chickens.h.i.t a.s.shole."

"I don't know if it is or it isn't."

"What?"

"Over."

"Well, don't tell him nothin' about that unless he asks for it. Then use your best judgment. Ready?"

Bosch nodded and Zane opened the door. Chastain was sitting outside at a desk.

"Where ya been, Chastain?" Zane complained. "We're waiting in here."

Chastain didn't answer. He came in, turned the recorder back on and continued the Q-and-A.

"Yes, I know Eleanor Wish," Bosch said. "Yes, I've spent time with her over the last few days."

"How much time?"

"I don't know exactly. A couple of nights."

"While you were conducting the investigation?"

"Not while while I was conducting it. At night, when I was done for the day. We all don't work around the clock like you, Chastain." I was conducting it. At night, when I was done for the day. We all don't work around the clock like you, Chastain."

Bosch smiled at him without humor.

"Was she a witness in this case?" Chastain asked with a tone that denoted that he was shocked that Bosch would cross that line.

"Initially, I thought she might be a witness. After I located her and talked to her, I learned pretty quickly that she was not an evidentiary witness of any kind."

"But you did initially encounter her while you were in your capacity as an investigator on this case."

"That's correct."

Chastain consulted his pad for a long moment before asking the next question.

"Is this woman, that's the convicted felon Eleanor Wish I am still talking about, is she living in your home at this time?"

Bosch felt the bile rising in his throat. The personal invasion and Chastain's tone were getting to him. He struggled to remain calm.

"I don't know the answer to that," he said.

"You don't know know if someone is if someone is living living in your house or not?" in your house or not?"

"Look, Chastain, she was there last night, okay? Is that what you want to hear? She was there. But whether she'll be there tonight I don't know. She's got her own place in Vegas. She may have gone back today, I don't know. I didn't check. You want me to call and ask her if she is officially living living in my home at this time, I will." in my home at this time, I will."

"I don't think that's necessary. I think I have everything I need for the time being."

He then went directly into the standard IAD end-of-interview spiel.

"Detective Bosch, you will be informed of the results of the ongoing investigation into your conduct. If departmental charges are filed, you will be informed of the scheduling of a Board of Rights hearing in which three captains will hear evidence. You will be allowed to choose one of those captains, I will select a second and the third will be chosen at random. Any questions?"

"Just one. How can you call yourself a cop when all you do is sit up here and conduct these bulls.h.i.t investigations into bulls.h.i.t?"

Zane reached over and put a hand on Bosch's forearm to quiet him.

"No, that's okay," Chastain said, waving off Zane's effort to calm things. "I don't mind answering. In fact, I get that question a lot, Bosch. Funny, but it always seems I get it from the cops I happen to be investigating. Anyway, the answer is that I take pride in what I do because I represent the public, and if there is no one to police the police then there is no one to keep the abuse of their wide powers in check. I serve a valuable purpose in this society, Detective Bosch. I'm proud of what I do. Can you say the same?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Bosch said. "I'm sure that sounds great on tape for whoever listens to it. I get the feeling you probably sit alone at night and listen to it yourself. Over and over again. After a while, you believe it. But let me ask you this, Chastain. Who polices the police who police the police?"

Bosch stood up and Zane followed. The interview was over.

After leaving IAD and thanking Zane for his help, Bosch went down to the SID lab on the third floor to see Art Donovan. The criminologist had just come back from a crime scene and was sorting through evidence bags and checking the material against an evidence list. He looked up as Bosch was approaching.

"How'd you get in here, Harry?"

"I know the combination."

Most detectives who worked RHD knew the door-lock combo. Bosch hadn't worked RHD in five years and they still hadn't changed it.

"See," Donovan said. "That's how the trouble starts."

"What trouble?"

"You coming in here while I'm handling evidence. Next thing you know some wisea.s.s defense lawyer says it got tainted and I look like an a.s.shole on national TV."

"You're paranoid, Artie. Besides, we're not due for another trial of the century for at least a few years."

"Funny. What do you want, Harry?"

"You're the second guy who said I was funny today. What happened with my shoe prints and all the rest of the stuff?"

"The Aliso case?"

"No, the Lindbergh case. What do you think?"

"Well, I heard that Aliso wasn't yours anymore. I'm supposed to have everything ready for the FBI to pick up."

"When is that?"

Donovan looked up from what he was doing for the first time.

"They just said they'd send somebody by five."

"Then it's still my case until they show up. What about the shoe prints you pulled?"

"There's nothing about them. I sent copies to the bureau's crime lab in D.C. to see if they could ID the make and model."

"And?"

"And nothing. I haven't heard back. Bosch, every department in the country sends s.h.i.t to them. You know that. And last I heard, they don't drop everything they're doing when a package from the LAPD comes in. It will probably be next week sometime before I hear back. If I'm lucky."

"s.h.i.t."

"It's too late to call the East Coast now, anyway. Maybe Monday. I didn't know they suddenly became so important to you. Communication, Harry, that's the secret. You ought to try it sometime."

"Never mind that, do you still have a set of copies?"

"Yup."

"Can I get a set?"

"Sure can, but you're going to have to wait about twenty minutes or so till I'm done with this."

"Come on, Artie, it's probably just sitting in a file cabinet or something. It'll take you thirty seconds."

"Would you leave me alone?" Donovan said with exasperation. "I'm serious, Harry. Yes, it's sitting in a file and it would only take me half a minute to get it for you. But if I leave what I'm doing here, I could get crucified when I testify in this this case. I can see it now, some shyster all righteous and angry and saying, 'You are telling this jury that while in the middle of handling evidence from this case you got up and handled evidence from case. I can see it now, some shyster all righteous and angry and saying, 'You are telling this jury that while in the middle of handling evidence from this case you got up and handled evidence from another? another?' And you don't have to be F. Lee Bailey anymore to make it sound good to a jury. Now leave me alone. Come back in a half hour."

"Fine, Artie, I'll leave you alone."

"And buzz me when you come back. Don't just come in. We gotta get that combination changed."

The last line he said more to himself than to Bosch.

Bosch left the way he had come in and took the elevator down to go outside and have a smoke. He had to walk out to the curb and light up because it was now against departmental rules to stand outside the front door of Parker Center and smoke. So many cops working there were addicted to cigarettes that there had often been a crowd outside the building's main doors and a permanent haze of blue smoke had begun to hang over the entrance. The chief thought this was unsightly and inst.i.tuted the rule that if you left the building to smoke, you had to leave the property as well. Now the front sidewalk along Los Angeles Street often looked like the scene of a labor action, with cops, some even in uniform, pacing back and forth in front of the building. The only thing missing from the scene was picket signs. The word was that the police chief had consulted with the city attorney to see if he could outlaw smoking on the sidewalk as well, but he was told that the sidewalk was beyond the bounds of his control.

As Bosch was lighting a second cigarette off the first, he saw the huge figure of FBI agent Roy Lindell waltzing leisurely out of the gla.s.s doors of the police headquarters. When he got to the sidewalk, he turned right and headed toward the federal courthouse. He was coming directly toward Bosch. Lindell didn't see Bosch until he was a few feet away. It startled him.

"What is this? Are you waiting for me?"

"No, I'm having a cigarette, Lindell. What are you doing?"

"None of your business."