that gun is hard to figure, though I’ve seen even dumber moves in my time. But if there is a frame and we didn’t do it, who did? Why would Joey Marks frame his own guy when that guy’s just going to roll over and put the finger back on Joey? Doesn’t make sense. At least, from Joey’s point of view. But then I started thinking, What if you were Joey’s righthand man, say his lawyer, and you wanted to be the big shot, the one who makes the calls? See what I’m talking about here? This’d be a nice little way of getting rid of your nearest competitor and Joey at the same time. How would that play, Counselor?”
“If you ever repeat that bullshit story to anyone, you will be very, very sorry.”
Bosch took a step toward him so that their faces were only a foot apart.
“If you ever threaten me again, you will be very, very sorry. If anything ever happens to Eleanor Wish again, I will hold you personally responsible, asshole, and sorry is not the right word for how you will be then.”
Torrino stepped back, loser in the staring contest. Without another word he walked away from Bosch and toward the courthouse doors. As he opened the heavy glass door, he looked back at Bosch, then disappeared inside.
When Bosch got back to the third floor, he met Edgar as he was coming quickly out of the courtroom, followed by Weiss and Lipson. Bosch looked at the hallway clock. It was five after nine.
“Harry, whereya been, smokin’ a whole pack?” Edgar asked.
“What happened?”
“It’s over. He waived. We’ve got to bring the car around and get over to the release desk. We’ll have him in fifteen minutes.”
“Detectives?” Weiss said. “I want to know every detail of how my client will be moved and what security measures you’re taking.”
Bosch put his arm on Weiss’s shoulders and leaned into him in a confidential manner. They had stopped at the bank of elevators.
“The very first security measure we are taking is that we aren’t telling anyone how or when we’re getting back to L.A. That includes you, Mr. Weiss. All you need to know is that he’ll be in L.A. Municipal Court for arraignment tomorrow morning.”
“Wait a minute. You can’t-”
“Yes, we can, Mr. Weiss,” Edgar said as an elevator opened. “Your client waived his opposition to extradition and in fifteen minutes he’ll be in our custody. And we’re not going to divulge any information about security, here or there or on the way there. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
They left him there and loaded onto the elevator. As the doors closed, Weiss shouted something about them not being allowed to talk to his client until his Los Angeles counsel had met with him.
A half hour later the Strip was in the rearview mirror and they were driving into the open desert.
“Say good-bye, Lucky,” Bosch said. “You won’t be back.”
When Goshen didn’t say anything, Bosch checked him in the mirror. The big man was sitting sullenly in the back with his arms cuffed to a heavy chain that went around his waist. He returned Bosch’s stare and for a brief moment Bosch thought he saw the same look he had let loose for a moment in his bedroom before he managed to drag it back inside like a naughty child.
“Just drive,” he said after he had recovered his demeanor. “We’re not having a conversation here.”
Bosch looked back at the road ahead and smiled.
“Maybe not now, but we will. We’ll be talking.”
PART V
AS BOSCH AND Edgar were leaving the Men’s Central Jail in downtown Los Angeles, Bosch’s pager sounded and he checked the number. He didn’t recognize it but the 485 exchange told him the person paging him was in Parker Center. He took the phone out of his briefcase and returned the call. Lieutenant Billets answered.
“Detective, where are you?”
Her use of his rank instead of his name told him she probably wasn’t alone. The fact that she was calling from Parker Center rather than the bureau in Hollywood told him that something had gone wrong.
“At Men’s Central. What’s up?”
“Do you have Luke Goshen with you?”
“No, we just dropped him off. Why, what is it?”
“Give me the booking number.”
Bosch hesitated a moment but then held the phone under his chin while he reopened his briefcase and got the number from the booking receipt. He gave Billets the number and once again asked what was going on. She once again ignored the question.
“Detective,” she said, “I want you to come over to Parker right away. The sixth-floor conference room.”
The sixth floor was administration level. It was also where the Internal Affairs offices were. Bosch hesitated again before finally answering.
“Sure, Grace. You want Jerry, too?”
“Tell Detective Edgar to go back to Hollywood Division. I’ll contact him there.”
“We’ve only got the one car.”
“Then tell him to take a cab and put it on his expense account. Hurry it up, Detective. We are waiting for you here.”
“We? Who’s waiting?”
She hung up then and Bosch just stared at the phone for a moment.
“What is it?” Edgar asked.
“I don’t know.”
Bosch stepped off the elevator into the deserted sixth-floor hallway and proceeded toward the conference room he knew was behind the last door before the entrance to the police chief’s office at the end of the hall. The yellowed linoleum had been recently polished. As he walked toward his destiny with his head down, he saw his own dark reflection moving just in front of his steps.
The door to the conference room was open and as Bosch stepped in all eyes in the room were on him. He looked back at Lieutenant Billets and Captain LeValley from the Hollywood Division and the recognizable faces of Deputy Chief Irvin Irving and an IAD squint named Chastain. But the four remaining men gathered in chairs around the long conference table were strangers to Bosch. Nevertheless, he guessed from their conservative gray suits that they were feds.
“Detective Bosch, have a seat,” Irving said.
Irving stood up, ramrod straight in a tight uniform. The dome of his shaven head shone under the ceiling fluorescents. He motioned to the empty seat at the head of the table. Bosch pulled the chair out and sat down slowly as his mind raced. He knew that this kind of showing of brass and feds was too big to have been caused by his affair with Eleanor Wish. There was something else going on and it involved only him. Otherwise, Billets would have told him to bring Edgar along.
“Who died?” Bosch asked.
Irving ignored the question. When Bosch’s eyes traveled across the table to his left and up to Billets’s face, the lieutenant glanced away.
“Detective, we need to ask you some questions pertaining to your investigation of the Aliso case,” Irving said.
“What are the charges?” Bosch responded.
“There are no charges,” Irving replied calmly. “We need to clear some things up.”
“Who are these people?”
Irving introduced the four strangers. Bosch had been right, they were feds: John Samuels, an assistant U.S. Attorney assigned to the organized crime strike force, and three FBI agents from three different field offices. They were John O’Grady from L.A., Dan Ekeblad from Las Vegas and Wendell Werris from Chicago.
Nobody offered to shake Bosch’s hand, nobody even nodded. They just stared at Bosch with looks that transmitted their contempt for him. Since they were feds, their dislike of the LAPD was standard issue. Bosch still
