His phone chirped. It was Winston.
“It’s coming together, Terry. I’m a believer.”
“What did you get?”
“You first. You said you got some stuff.”
“No, you. What I got is minor. It sounds like you hooked something big.”
“Okay, listen to this. Harry Bosch’s mother was a prostitute. In Hollywood. She got murdered when he was a little kid. And whoever did it got away with it. How is that for psychological underpinnings, Mr. Profiler?”
McCaleb didn’t answer. The new information was stunning and provided many of the missing pieces in the working theory. He watched the hooker and her customer at the window of the motel office. The man passed cash through and received a key. They went in through a glass door.
“Gunn kills a prostitute and walks away,” Winston said when he didn’t respond. “Just like what happened with his mother.”
“How’d you find this out?” McCaleb finally asked.
“I made that call we talked about. To my friend, Kiz. I acted like I was interested in Bosch and asked her if she knew if he was, you know, over his divorce yet. She told me what she knew about him. The stuff about his mother apparently came out a few years ago in a civil trial when Bosch got sued for a wrongful death – the Dollmaker, you remember that one?”
“Yeah, the LAPD refused to call us in on that one. That was also a guy who killed prostitutes. Bosch killed him. He was unarmed.”
“There’s a psychology going on here. A goddamn pattern.”
“What happened to Bosch after his mother was killed?”
“Kiz didn’t really know. She called him an institutional man. It happened when he was ten or eleven. After that he grew up in youth halls and foster homes. He went into the service and then the department. The point is, this is the thing we were missing. The thing that turned a no-count case into something Bosch wouldn’t let go.”
McCaleb nodded to himself.
“And there’s more,” Winston said. “I went through all the accumulated files – extraneous things I didn’t put in the murder book. I looked at the autopsy on the woman Gunn killed six years ago. Her name was Frances Weldon, by the way. There was one thing in there that now seems significant in light of what we now know about Bosch. Examination of the uterus and hips showed that at some point she’d had a child.”
McCaleb shook his head.
“Bosch wouldn’t have known that. He pushed his lieutenant through a window and was on suspension by the time there was an autopsy.”
“True. But he could and probably did look at the case files after he came back. He would have known that Gunn did to some other kid what was done to him. You see, it is all fitting. Eight hours ago I thought you were grasping at straws. Now it looks to me like you’re dead on.”
It didn’t feel all that good to be dead on. But he understood Winston’s excitement. When cases fell together the excitement could sometimes obscure the reality of the crime.
“What happened to her kid?” he asked.
“No idea. She probably gave the child up after the birth. That doesn’t matter. What matters is what it meant to Bosch.”
She was right. But McCaleb didn’t like the loose end.
“Going back to your call to Bosch’s old partner. Is she going to call him and tell him you asked about him?”
“She already did.”
“This is tonight?”
“Yeah, this all just went down. That was that call, her getting back to me. He passed. He told her he was still holding out hope for his wife coming back.”
“Did she tell him it was you who was interested?”
“She wasn’t supposed to.”
“But she probably did. This might mean he knows we’re looking at him.”
“That’s impossible. How?”
“I was just up there tonight. I was in his house. Then the same night he gets this call about you. A guy like Harry Bosch, he doesn’t believe in coincidences, Jaye.”
“Well, when you were up there, how did you handle it?” Winston finally asked.
“Like we said. I wanted more info on Gunn but sidetracked into talking about Bosch. That’s why I was calling you. I got some interesting stuff. Nothing that compares to what you got but stuff that also fits. But if he got this call about you right after I was there… I don’t know.”
“Tell me about your stuff.”
“All little stuff. He’s got the photo of the estranged wife prominently displayed in the living room. I was there less than an hour and the guy downed three beers. So there’s the alcohol syndrome. Symptomatic of interior pressures. He also spoke of something he called ‘the big wheel.’ It’s part of his belief system. He doesn’t see the hand of God in things. He sees the Big Wheel. What goes around comes around. He said guys like Gunn don’t really get away. Something always catches up to them. The wheel. I used some specific phrases to see if I could draw a reaction or disagreement. I called the world outside his door the plague. He didn’t disagree. He said he could deal with the plague as long as he got his shots at the carriers. It’s all very subtle, Jaye, but it’s all there. He’s got a Bosch print on the wall in the hallway. The Garden of Earthly Delights. It’s got our owl in it.”
“So, he’s named after the guy. If my name was Picasso I’d have a Picasso print on the wall.”
“I acted like I’d never seen it before and asked him what it meant. All he said was that it was the big wheel turning. That’s what it meant to him.”
“Little pieces that fit.”
“There’s still work to be done.”
“Well, are you still on it? Or are you going back?”
“For the time being I’m on it. I’ll be staying over tonight. But I have a charter Saturday. I have to go back for that.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You got anything else?” he finally asked.
“Yeah, I almost forgot.”
“What?”
“The owl from Bird Barrier. It was paid for with a money order from the Postal Service. I got the number from Cameron Riddell and ran a trace on it. It was bought December twenty-second at the post office on Wilcox in Hollywood. It’s about four blocks from the police station where Bosch works.”
He shook his head.
“The laws of physics.”
“What do you mean?”
“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. When you look into the abyss the abyss looks into you. You know, all the cliches. They’re cliches because they’re true. You don’t go into the darkness without it going into you and taking its piece. Bosch may have gone in too many times. He’s lost his way.”
They were silent for a little while after that and then made plans to meet the following day. As he hung up he saw the hooker leaving the Skylark by herself and heading back up toward Nat’s. She was wearing a denim jacket which she pulled tight around her against the cool night air. She adjusted her wig as she walked toward the bar where she would seek another customer.
Watching her and thinking about Bosch, McCaleb was reminded of all he had and how lucky in life he had been. He was reminded that luck could be a fleeting thing. It had to be earned and then guarded with everything you had. He knew he was not doing that now. He was leaving things unguarded while he went into the dark.
Chapter 23
