“The man who called himself Robert Light was assigned to kitchen duty at the jail because he claimed and also demonstrated that he had restaurant experience. This morning he traded jobs with one of the others in the kitchen and was pushing the wagon that was carrying food trays to the custodies on high power. According to two guards who witnessed it, when Stoddard went to the slide window on his cell door to accept the food tray, Robert Light reached through the bars and grabbed him. He then stabbed him repeatedly with a shiv made from a sharpened spoon. He got two punctures into the neck before the guards subdued him. But the guards were too late. Stoddard’s carotid artery was slashed and he bled out in his cell before they could get help to him.”
Pratt stopped there but Bosch and Rider asked no questions.
“Coincidentally,” Pratt began again, “Robert Light’s fingerprints were finally entered into the database at about the same time that he was killing Stoddard. The computer kicked out a bogie-a custody who gave a false name. The real name, as I am sure you have already guessed, was Robert Verloren.”
Bosch looked across at Rider but couldn’t hold her eyes for long. He looked down at his desk. He felt as though he had been punched. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands. He felt that it was in some way his fault. Robert Verloren had been his responsibility in the investigation. He should have found him.
“How’s that for closure?” Pratt said.
Bosch dropped his hands and stood up. He looked at Pratt.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“Verloren? They still have him there. Van Nuys homicide is handling it.”
“I’m going up there.”
“What are you going to do?” Rider asked.
“I don’t know. Whatever I can.”
He walked out of the alcove, leaving Rider and Pratt behind. Out in the hallway he punched the elevator button and waited. The heaviness in his chest wasn’t going away. He knew it was the feeling of guilt, the feeling that he had not been ready for this case and that his mistakes had been so costly.
“It’s not your fault, Harry. He did what he had waited seventeen years to do.”
Bosch turned. Rider had come up behind him.
“I should have found him first.”
“He didn’t want to be found. He had a plan.”
The elevator door opened. It was empty.
“Whatever you’re doing,” Rider said, “I’m going with you.”
He nodded. Being with her would make it easier. He motioned her into the elevator and then followed. On the way down he felt a resolve rise inside him. A resolve to carry on the mission. A resolve never to forget Robert and Muriel and Rebecca Verloren along the way. And a promise always to speak for the dead.
Acknowledgments
THE AUTHOR would like to gratefully acknowledge those who helped with the research and writing of this novel. They include Michael Pietsch, Asya Muchnick, Jane Wood and Peggy Leith Anderson as well as Jane Davis, Linda Connelly, Terrill Lee Lankford, Mary Capps, Judy Couwels, John Houghton, Jerry Hooten and Ken Delavigne. Very special thanks go to detectives Tim Marcia, Rick Jackson and David Lambkin of the Los Angeles Police Department, as well as Sergeant Bob McDonald and Police Chief William Bratton.
About the Author
MICHAEL CONNELLY is a former journalist and the author of the bestselling series of Harry Bosch novels, along with the bestselling novels
