All we can prove is that the blood is his. So if you ask me, it’s going to come down to a confession. We’re going to put him in the room, hit him with the DNA and see if he cops to it. That’s it. So all I’m saying is, we put together a few props for the interview. We go to the armory and borrow a Colt forty-five and we pull that out of the box when we’re in the room with him. We convince him we have the chain and he cops or he doesn’t.”
“I don’t like tricks.”
“Tricks are part of the trade. There’s nothing illegal about that. The courts have even said so.”
“I think we’re going to need more than the DNA to turn him anyway.”
“Me too. I was thinking we -”
Bosch stopped and waited while the waitress put down two steaming plates. Bosch had ordered shrimp fried rice. Rider ordered pork chops. Without a word he lifted his plate and pushed half of its contents onto her plate. He then used a fork to take three of her six pork chops. He almost smiled while he did this. He was back on the job with her less than a day and they had already dropped back into the easy rhythm of their prior partnership. He was happy.
“Hey, what’s Jerry Edgar up to?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a while. We never really got over that thing.”
Bosch nodded. When Bosch had worked at Hollywood Division with Rider the homicide table had been divided into teams of three. Jerry Edgar had been the third partner. Then Bosch retired and soon after Rider was promoted downtown. It left Edgar still in Hollywood, feeling isolated and passed over. And now that Bosch and Rider were working again and assigned to RHD, there had been only silence from Edgar.
“What were you going to say, Harry, when the food came?”
“Just that you’re right. We’ll need more. One thing I was thinking was that I heard that since Nine-Eleven and the Patriot Act it’s easier for us to get a wiretap.”
She ate a piece of shrimp before responding.
“Yes, that’s true. It’s one of the things I was monitoring for the chief. Our request filings have gone up about three thousand percent. The approvals are way up, too. The word’s sort of gotten around that this is a tool we can use now. How is it going to work here?”
“I was thinking we put a tap on Mackey and then we plant a story in the paper. You know, it says we’re working the case again, mention the gun, maybe mention the DNA-you know, something new. Not that we have a match but that we
Rider thought about this while eating a pork chop with her fingers. She seemed uneasy about something and it couldn’t be the food.
“What?” Bosch asked.
“Who would he call?”
“I don’t know. Whoever he did it with or did it for.”
Rider nodded thoughtfully while chewing.
“I don’t know, Harry. You’re back on the job less than a day after three years in the fun and sun and already you are reading things into a case I don’t see. I guess you are still the teacher.”
“You’re just rusty from sitting up there behind a big desk on six.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Sort of. I think I’ve waited so long for this that I’m sort of on full alert, I guess.”
“Just tell me how you see this, Harry. You don’t have to make up excuses for your instincts.”
“I actually don’t see it yet and that’s part of the problem. Roland Mackey’s name is nowhere in that book and that’s a problem starting out the door. We know he was in the vicinity but we have nothing connecting him to the victim.”
“What are you talking about? We have the gun with his DNA in it.”
“The blood connects him to the gun, not the girl. You read the book. We can’t prove his DNA was deposited at the time of the killing. That single report could blow this whole case out of the water. It’s a big hole, Kiz. So big a jury could drive through it. All Mackey has to do at trial is get up there on the stand and say, ‘Yeah, I stole the gun during a burglary on Winnetka. I then went up into the hills and shot it a few times, and I was making like Mel Gibson and the next thing I knew the damn thing bit me, took a chunk right out of my hand. I never saw that happen to Mel before. So I got so mad I threw that damn gun into the bushes and went home to get some Band- Aids.’ The SID report-our
Rider didn’t smile during the story at all. He could tell she was seeing his point.
“That’s all he has to say, Kiz, and he’s got reasonable doubt and we can’t prove otherwise. We’ve got no prints at the scene, we’ve got no hair, no fiber, we’ve got nothing. But added to this we do have his profile. And if you looked at his sheet before we were on this and knew about the DNA you would have never pegged this guy as a killer. Maybe spur-of-the-moment or heat of passion. But not something like this, something planned, and certainly not at age eighteen.”
Rider shook her head in an almost wistful manner.
“A few hours ago this was given to us as a welcome-aboard present. It was supposed to be a slam dunk…”
“The DNA made everybody jump to a conclusion. It’s what’s wrong with the world. People think technology is an easy ride. They’re watching too much TV.”
“Is that your weird way of saying you don’t think he did this?”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking yet.”
“So we put a tail on him, tap his phone, spook him somehow and then see who he calls and how he acts.”
Bosch nodded.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” he said.
“We’d need to clear it with Abel first.”
“We follow the rules. Just like the chief told me today.”
“Holy smoke-the new Harry Bosch.”
“You’re looking at him.”
“Before we go for the tap we have to finish the due diligence. We have to make sure Roland Mackey was not known to any of the players. If that turns out to be the case then I say we go see Pratt about the tap.”
“Sounds right to me. What else did you get on the read?”
He wanted to see if she picked up on the undercurrent of race before suggesting it.
“Just what was there,” Rider responded. “Was there something I missed?”
“I don’t know-nothing obvious.”
“Then what?”
“I was thinking about the girl being biracial. Even in ’eighty-eight there would have been people that didn’t like the idea of that. Then you add in the burglary the gun came from. The vic was Jewish. He said he was being harassed. That’s why he bought the gun.”
Rider nodded thoughtfully while she finished a mouthful of rice.
“It’s something to look for,” she said. “But I don’t see enough there to hang a lantern on at the moment.”
“There was nothing in the book…”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Bosch always thought Chinese Friends had the softest and sweetest shrimp he had ever tasted in fried rice. The pork chops, as thin as the plastic plates they ate off of, were also perfect. And Kiz was right, they were best eaten by hand.
“What about Green and Garcia?” Rider finally asked.
“What about them?”
“How would you grade them on this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a C if I was being charitable. They made mistakes, slowed things down. After that they seemed to cover the bases. You?”
“Same thing. They wrote a good murder book but it’s got CYA written all through it. Like they knew they were never going to break it but wanted the book to look like they turned over every stone.”
Bosch nodded and looked down at his pad on the empty chair to the side. He looked at the list of people to interview.
“We’ve got to talk to the parents and Garcia and Green. We need to get a photo of Mackey, too. From when he
