through a landfill.
McCaleb moved over and she slid into the booth next to him.
“Nice place.”
“Harry,” McCaleb said, “I believe you know Jaye Winston.”
Bosch and Winston looked at each other.
“First thing,” Winston said, “I’m sorry about the thing with Kiz. I hope -”
“We do what we have to do,” Bosch said. “You want a drink? They don’t come to the table here.”
“I’d be shocked if they did. Maker’s Mark, rocks, if they have it.”
“Terry, you cool?”
“Cool.”
Bosch slid out to get the drink. Winston turned to look at McCaleb.
“How is it going?”
“Little pieces, here and there.”
“How’s he taking it?”
“Not bad, I guess, for a guy who’s been put into a pretty big box. How’d you do?”
She smiled in a way that McCaleb could tell meant she had come up with something.
“I got you the photo and a couple other… interesting… pieces.”
Bosch put Winston’s drink down in front of her and slid back into the booth.
“She laughed when I said Maker’s Mark,” he said. “That’s the house swill there.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.”
Winston moved her glass to the side and brought her briefcase up onto the table. She opened it, removed a file and then closed the briefcase and put it back on the floor next to the booth. McCaleb watched Bosch watching her. There was an expectant look on his face.
Winston opened the file and slid a five-by-eight photo of Rudy Tafero over to McCaleb.
“That’s from his bonding license. It’s eleven months old.”
She then referred to a page of typed notes.
“I went to county lockup and pulled everything on Storey. He was held there until they transferred him to Van Nuys jail for the trial. During his stay in county he had nineteen visits from Tafero. The first twelve visits coming during the first three weeks he was in there. During that same period, Fowkkes only visited him four times. A lawyer in Fowkkes’s office visited an additional four times and Storey’s executive assistant, a woman named Betilda Lockett, visited six times. That’s it. He was meeting with his investigator more often than his lawyers.”
“That’s when they planned it,” McCaleb said.
She nodded and then smiled in that same way again.
“What?” McCaleb asked.
“Just saving the best for last.”
She brought her briefcase back up and opened it.
“The jail keeps records of all property and possessions of inmates – things that were brought in with them, things approved and passed to them by visitors. There is a notation in Storey’s records that his assistant, Betilda Lockett, was allowed to give him a book during the second of her six visits. According to the property report, it was called The Art of Darkness. I went to the downtown library and checked it out.”
From her briefcase she took a large, heavy book with a blue cloth cover. She started opening it on the table. There was a yellow Post-it sticking out as a marker.
“It’s a study of artists who used darkness as a vital part of the visual medium, according to the introduction.”
She looked up and smiled as she got to the Post-it.
“It has a rather long chapter on Hieronymus Bosch. Complete with illustrations.”
McCaleb lifted his empty bottle and clicked against her glass, which she still hadn’t touched. He then leaned in, along with Bosch, to look at the pages.
“Beautiful,” he said.
Winston turned the pages. The book’s illustrations of Bosch’s work included all of the paintings from which pieces of the crime scene could be traced: The Stone Operation, The Seven Deadly Sins with the eye of God, The Last Judgment and The Garden of Earthly Delights.
“He planned the thing right there from his cell,” McCaleb marveled.
“Looks like it,” Winston said.
They both looked at Bosch, who was nodding his head almost imperceptibly.
“Now your turn, Harry,” McCaleb said.
Bosch looked perplexed.
“My turn at what?”
“At making good luck.”
McCaleb slid the picture of Tafero across the table and nodded toward the bartender. Bosch slid out and took the photo to the bar.
“We’re still just dancing around the edges,” Winston said as they both watched Bosch question the bartender about the photo. “We’ve got little pieces but that’s it.”
“I know,” McCaleb said. He couldn’t hear what was being said at the bar. The music was too loud, Van Morrison singing, “The wild night is coming.”
Bosch nodded to the bartender and came back to the booth.
“She recognizes him – drinks Kahlua and cream of all things. She can’t put him here with Gunn, though.”
McCaleb shrugged his shoulders in a no-big-deal gesture.
“It was worth the shot.”
“You know where this is going, don’t you?” Bosch said, his eyes shifting from McCaleb’s to Winston’s and then back. “You’re going to have to make a play. It’s going to be the only way. And it’s gotta be a damn good play because my ass is on the line.”
McCaleb nodded.
“We know,” he said.
“When? I’m running out of time.”
McCaleb looked at Winston. It was her call.
“Soon,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow. I haven’t gone into the office with this yet. I have to finesse my captain on it because last he knew, Terry here was banished and I was working with the bureau on you. I also have to get a DA involved because when we make the move we’ll have to move fast. If it all works out I say we take Tafero in tomorrow night and make the play to him.”
Bosch looked down at the table with a rueful smile. He slid an empty bottle back and forth between his hands.
“I met those guys today. The agents.”
“I heard. You didn’t exactly assure them of your innocence. They came back all hot and bothered.”
Bosch looked up.
“So what do you need from me on this?”
“We need you to sit tight,” Winston said. “We’ll let you know about tomorrow night.”
Bosch nodded.
“There is one thing,” McCaleb said. “The exhibits from the trial, do you have access to them?”
“During court, yeah. Otherwise they stay with the clerk. Why?”
“Because Storey obviously had existing knowledge of the painter Hieronymus Bosch. He had to have recognized your name during that interview and known what he could do with it. So I’m thinking that book his assistant brought him in jail had to be his own. He told her to bring it to him.”
Bosch nodded.
“The picture of the bookcase.”
McCaleb nodded.
“You got it.”
“I’ll let you know.” Bosch looked around the place. “Are we done here?”
“We’re done,” Winston said. “We’ll be in touch.”
