“And you’re also testifying? Is that ethical, Bremmer?”
“I’m not testifying. She released me from the subpoena yesterday. I just had to sign a stipulation.”
“To what?”
“That said that to the best of my knowledge the book I wrote contained true and accurate information. The source of that information was almost wholly from police sources and police and other public records.”
“Speaking of sources, who told you about the note for yesterday’s story?”
“Harry, I can’t reveal that. Look at how many times I’ve kept you confidential as a source. You know I can never reveal sources.”
“Yeah, I know that. I also know somebody is setting me up.”
Bosch stepped onto the escalator and went down.
10
Administrative Vice is located on the third floor of the Central Division station in downtown. Bosch got there in ten minutes and found Ray Mora behind his desk in the squad room, with the telephone held to his ear. Open on his desk was a magazine with color photographs of a couple engaged in sex. The girl in the photos looked very young. Mora was glancing at the photos and turning the pages while listening to the caller. He nodded to Bosch and pointed to a seat in front of his desk.
“Well, that was all I was checking,” Mora said into the phone. “Just trying to put a line in the water. Ask around and let me know what you come up with.”
Then there was more listening. Bosch looked at the vice cop. He was about Harry’s size, with deep bronze skin and brown eyes. His straight brown hair was trimmed short and he had no facial hair. Like most vice cops, he affected a casual appearance. Blue jeans and black polo shirt, open at the neck. If Bosch could see under the desk he knew he’d find cowboy boots. Bosch could see a gold medallion hanging high on his chest. Imprinted on it was a dove, its wings open, the symbol of the Holy Spirit.
“You think you can get me the shoot location?”
Silence. Mora finished with the magazine, wrote something on the front cover and picked up another and began paging through it.
Bosch noticed the Adult Film Performers Guild calendar taped to the side of a vertical file on his desk. There was a photo of a porn star named Delta Bush lounging nude above the days of the week. She had become well known in recent years because she was linked romantically in the gossip tabs to a mainline movie star. On the desk below the calendar was a religious statue Bosch identified as the Infant of Prague.
He knew this because one of his foster mothers had given him a similar statue when he was a boy and was being sent back to McClaren. He hadn’t been what the fosters had in mind. Giving him the statue and saying good-bye, the woman had explained to him that the infant was known as the Little King, the saint who took special care to hear the prayers of children. Bosch wondered if Mora knew that story, or if the statue was there as some kind of joke.
“All I’m saying is try,” Mora said into the phone. “Get me the shoot. Then you’ll be in line for the snitch fund… Yeah, yeah. Later.”
He hung up.
“Hey, Harry, whereyat?”
“Edgar’s been here, huh?”
“Just left a little while ago. He talk to you?”
“No.”
Mora noticed Bosch looking at the spread on the page he had the magazine open to. It was two women kneeling in front of a man. He put a yellow Post-it on the page and closed it.
“Lord, I gotta look through all this shit. Got a tip that this publisher is using underage models. You know how I check?”
Bosch shook his head.
“It’s not the face or the tits. It’s ankles, Harry.”
“Ankles.”
“Yeah, ankles. Something about them. They are just smoother on younger chicks. I can usually tell, over or under eighteen, by the ankles. Then, of course, I go out and confirm with birth certificates, DLs, etc. It’s crazy but it works.”
“Good for you. What did you tell Edgar?”
The phone rang. Mora picked up, said his name and listened a few moments.
“I can’t talk now. I have to get back to you. Whereyat?”
He hung up after making a note.
“Sorry. I gave Edgar the ID. Maggie Cum Loudly. I had prints, photos, the whole thing. I got some stills of her in action, if you want to see.”
He pushed his chair back toward a file cabinet but Bosch told him never mind with the stills.
“Whatever. Anyway, Edgar has it all. Took prints to the coroner’s I think, to confirm the ID. Chick’s name was Rebecca Kaminski. Becky Kaminski. Be twenty-three if she were alive today. Formerly of Chicago before she came on out to sin city for fame and fortune. What a waste, huh? She was a fine young piece, God bless her.”
Bosch felt uncomfortable with Mora. But this was not new. When they had worked the task force together, Harry had never had the feeling that the killings meant much to the vice detective. Didn’t make much of a dent. Mora was just putting in his time, lending his help where it was needed. He definitely was good in his area of expertise, but it didn’t seem to matter to him whether the Dollmaker was stopped or not.
Mora had a strange way of mingling gutter talk and Jesus talk. At first Bosch had thought he was simply playing the born-again line that was popular in the department a few years earlier, but he was never sure. He once saw Mora cross himself and say a silent prayer at one of the Dollmaker murder scenes. Because of the uneasiness Bosch felt, he had had little contact with Mora since the Norman Church shooting and the breakup of the task force. Mora went back to Ad-Vice and Bosch was shipped to Hollywood. Occasionally the two would see each other in the courthouse or at the Seven or the Red Wind. But even at the bars, they were usually with different groups and sat apart, taking turns sending beers back and forth.
“Harry, she was definitely among the living until at least two years ago. That flick you came across,
“I don’t either.”
Church had a rock-solid alibi for the Kaminski killing; he was dead. With that added to the apparent alibi Wieczorek’s video-tape provided Church for the eleventh killing, Bosch’s sense of paranoia was turning to panic. For four years there had been no doubt for him about what he had done.
“So how’s the trial going, anyway?” Mora asked.
“Don’t ask. Can I use your phone?”
Bosch dialed Edgar’s pager number and then punched in Mora’s phone number. After he hung up to wait for the call back, he didn’t know what else to say.
“The trial’s a trial. You still supposed to testify?”
“I guess. I’m on for tomorrow. I don’t know what she wants from me. I wasn’t even there the night you took that bastard down.”
“Well, you were on the task force with me. That’s good enough to drag you into it.”
“Well, we’ll-”
The phone rang and Mora picked it up. He then passed it to Bosch.
“Whereyat, Harry?”
