screw-on silencer.
“A twenty-two?” Fontenot asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Bosch said. “Go get Felton and Iverson, would you?”
“Right away.”
Bosch followed Fontenot out of the bathroom. He was holding the bag containing the gun the way a fisherman holds a fish by its tail. When he stepped into the bedroom he couldn’t help but smile at Goshen, whose eyes noticeably widened.
“That ain’t mine,” Goshen immediately protested. “That’s a plant, you fuck! I don’t be-Get me my goddamned lawyer, you son of a bitch!”
Bosch let the words go by but studied the look. He saw something flash in Goshen’s eyes. It was there for only a second and then he covered up. It wasn’t fear. He didn’t think that was something Goshen would let slip into his eyes. Bosch believed he had seen something else. But what? He looked at Goshen and waited a moment for the look to return. Was it confusion? Disappointment? Goshen’s eyes showed nothing now. But Bosch believed he knew the look. What he had seen had been surprise.
Iverson, Baxter and Felton then filed into the room. They saw the gun and Iverson yelped in triumph.
“Sayonara, bay-bee!”
His glee showed on his face. Bosch explained how and where he had found the weapon.
“These fuckhead gangsters,” Iverson said, looking at Goshen. “Think the cops never saw The Godfather? Who’d you put it there for, Goshen? Michael Corleone?”
“I said get me my fucking lawyer!” Goshen yelled.
“You’ll get your lawyer,” Iverson said. “Now get up, you piece of shit. You gotta get dressed for the ride in.”
Bosch held him at gunpoint while Iverson took one of the cuffs off. Then they both pointed guns at him while he got dressed in black jeans, boots and T-shirt-the shirt manufactured for a much smaller man.
“You guys are always tough in numbers,” Goshen said as he went about putting the clothes on. “You ever come up against me alone, then it’s going to be wet ass time.”
“Come on, Goshen, we don’t have all day,” Iverson said.
When he was done, they cuffed him and stuffed him into the back of Iverson’s car. Iverson locked the gun in the trunk, then they went back inside the house. In a short meeting inside the front hallway it was decided that Baxter and two of the other detectives would stay behind to finish the search of the house.
“What about the women?” Bosch asked.
“The uniforms will watch them until these boys are done,” Iverson said.
“Yeah, but as soon as they leave they’ll be on the phone. We’ll have Goshen’s lawyer down our throat before we even get started.”
“I’ll take care of that. Goshen’s got one car here, right? Where’s the keys?”
“Kitchen counter,” one of the other detectives said.
“Okay,” Iverson said. “We’re out of here.”
Bosch followed him through the kitchen, watching him pocket the keys that were on the counter, and then out into the carport by the Corvette. There was a little workroom here with tools hanging on a peg board. Iverson selected a shovel and then stepped out of the carport and around to the back yard.
Bosch followed and watched as Iverson found the spot where the telephone line came in from a pole at the street and connected to the house. He swung the shovel up and with one strike disconnected the line.
“Amazing how strong the wind can get out here in the open desert,” he said.
He looked around behind the house.
“Those girls have no car and no phone,” he said. “Nearest house is a half mile, city’s about five. My guess is they’ll stay put a while. That’ll give us time. All we need.”
Iverson took a baseball swing with the shovel and launched it out over the property wall and into the scrub brush. He started walking toward the front of the house and his car.
“What do you think?” Bosch asked.
“I think the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Goshen’s ours, Harry. Yours.”
“No. I mean about the gun.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know…It seems too easy.”
“Nobody said criminals gotta be smart. Goshen’s not smart. He’s just been lucky. But not anymore.”
Bosch nodded but he still didn’t like it. It wasn’t really a question of being smart or not. Criminals followed routines, instincts. This didn’t make sense.
“I saw something in his eyes when he saw the gun. Like he was just as surprised to see it as we were.”
“Maybe. Maybe he’s just a good actor. And maybe it’s not even the right gun. You’ll have to take it back with you to run tests. Find out if it’s the gun, Harry, then worry about if it’s too easy.”
Bosch nodded. He took out a cigarette and lit it.
“I don’t know. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Look, Harry, you want to make a case or not?”
“I want a case.”
“Then let’s take him in and put him in a room, see what he has to say.”
They were at the car. Bosch realized he had left the photo of Layla inside. He told Iverson to start the car and he’d be right back. When he came back with the photo and got in, he checked Goshen in the back and saw a trickle of blood running down from the corner of his mouth. Bosch looked at Iverson, who was smiling.
“I don’t know, he must’ve bumped his face getting in. Either that or he did it on purpose to make it look like I did it.”
Goshen said nothing and Bosch just turned around. Iverson pulled the car out onto the road and they headed back toward the city. The temperature was climbing rapidly and Bosch could already feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back. The air conditioner labored to overcome the heat that had built up in the car while they were inside the house. The air was as dry as old bones. Bosch finally took out the Chap Stick and rolled it across his sore lips. He didn’t care what Iverson or Goshen thought about it.
They took Goshen up to the detective bureau in a back elevator in which Goshen audibly farted. Then Bosch and Iverson walked him down a hallway off the squad room and into an interview room barely larger than a rest- room stall. They handcuffed him to a steel ring bolted to the center of the table and locked him in. Then they left him there. As Iverson closed the door, Goshen called after him that he wanted to make his phone call.
Bosch noticed that the squad room was almost deserted as they walked back toward Felton’s office.
“Somebody die?” Bosch asked. “Where is everybody?”
“They’re out picking up the others.”
“What others?”
“The captain wanted to bring in your pal, Gussie, throw a scare at him. They’re bringing in the girl, too.”
“Layla? They found her?”
“No, not her. The one you had us run last night. The one that played with your victim at the Mirage. Turns out she’s got a jacket.”
Bosch reached over and yanked Iverson’s arm to stop him.
“Eleanor Wish? You’re bringing in Eleanor Wish?”
He didn’t wait for Iverson’s reply. He broke away from the man and charged into Felton’s office. The captain was on the phone and Bosch paced anxiously in front of the desk waiting for him to hang up. Felton pointed at the door but Bosch shook his head. He could see Felton’s eyes start to smolder as he told whoever was on the other end of the line he had to go.
“I can’t talk right now,” he said. “You don’t have to worry, it’s under control. I’ll talk to you.”
He hung up and looked at Bosch.
“What is it now?”
“Call your people. Tell them to leave Eleanor Wish alone.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She had nothing to do with this. I checked her out last night.”
Felton leaned forward and clasped his hands together as he thought.
