wrote up an addendum, that was just his style, but whoever this wit is you got, they're full of shit.'
'You know Henry Korchmar?'
'Henry Korchmar?'
Bosch had no idea whom he was talking about. Then he realized Brockman meant old Henry of the Nod Squad. Bosch had never known his last name and so hearing it in this context had confused him.
'The old guy? He wasn't in the room. He's no witness. I told him to get out and he did. Whatever he told you, he probably backed Pounds because he was scared. But he wasn't there. You go ahead with it, Brockman. I'll be able to pull twelve people out of that squadroom who watched the whole thing through the glass. And they'll say Henry wasn't in there, they'll say Pounds was a liar and everybody knew it, and then where's your threat?'
Brockman said nothing into the silence so Bosch continued.
'See, you didn't do your work. My guess is that you know everybody who works in that squadroom thinks people like you are the bottom feeders of this department. They've got more respect for the people they put in jail.
And you know that, Brickman, so you were too intimidated to go to them. Instead, you rely on some old man's word and he probably didn't even know Pounds was dead when you talked to him.'
Bosch could tell by the way Brockman's eyes darted away that he had nailed him. Empowered with the victory, he stood up and headed toward the door.
'Where are you going?'
'To get some water.'
'Jerry, go with him.'
Bosch paused at the door and looked back.
'What, do you think I'm going to run, Brockman? You think that and you don't know the first thing about me. You think that and you haven't prepared for this interview. Why don't you come over to Hollywood one day and I'll teach you how to interview murder suspects. Free of charge.'
Bosch walked out, Toliver following. At the water fountain down the hall, he took a long drink of water and then wiped his mouth with his hand. He felt nervous, frayed. He didn't know how long it would be before Brockman could see through the front he was putting up.
As he walked back to the conference room, Toliver stayed a silent three paces behind him.
'You're still young,' Bosch said over his shoulder. 'There might be a chance for you, Toliver.'
Bosch stepped back into the conference room just as Brockman stepped through a door from the other side of the room. Bosch knew it was a direct entrance to Irving's office. He had once worked an investigation of a serial killer out of this room and under Irving's thumb.
Both men sat down across from each other again.
'Now, then,' Brockman started. 'I'm going to read you your rights, Detective Bosch.'
He took a small card from his wallet and proceeded to
read to Bosch the Miranda warning. Bosch knew for sure the phone line was going to a tape recorder. This was something they would want on tape.
'Now,' Brockman said when he was finished. 'Do you agree to waive those rights and talk to us about this situation?'
'It's a situation now, huh? I thought it was a murder. Yeah, I'll waive.'
'Jerry, go get a waiver, I don't have one here.' Jerry got up and left through the hallway door. Bosch could hear his feet moving quickly on the linoleum, then a door open. He was taking the stairs down to IAD on the fifth.
'Uh, let's start by -'
'Don't you want to wait until you have your witness back? Or is this being secretly recorded without my knowledge?'
This immediately flustered Brockman. 'Yes, Bosch it's being sec — it's being recorded. But not secretly. We told you before we started that we'd be taping.'
'Good cover-up, Lieutenant. That last line, that was a good one. I'll have to remember that one.' 'Now, let's start with -'
The door opened and Toliver came in with a sheet of paper. He handed it to Brockman, who studied it a moment, made sure it was the correct form and slid it across the table to Bosch. Harry grabbed it and quickly scribbled a signature on the appropriate line. He was familiar with the form. He slid it back and Brockman put it off to the side of the table without looking at it. So he didn't notice the signature Bosch had written was 'Fuck You.'
'All right, let's get this going. Bosch, give us your whereabouts over the last seventy-two hours.'
'You don't want to search me first, do you? How 'bout you, Jerry?'
Bosch stood up, opening his jacket so they could see he was not armed. He thought by taunting them like this they would do the exact opposite and not search him. Carrying Pounds's badge was a piece of evidence that would probably put him in the ground if they discovered it.
'Siddown, Bosch!' Brockman barked. 'We're not going to search you. We're trying to give you every benefit of the doubt but you make it damn hard.'
Bosch sat back down, relieved for the time being.
'Now, just give us your whereabouts. We don't have all day.'
Bosch thought about this. He was surprised by the window of time they wanted. Seventy-two hours. He wondered what had happened to Pounds and why they hadn't narrowed time of death to a shorter span.
'Seventy-two hours ago. Well, about seventy-two hours ago it was Friday afternoon and I was in Chinatown at the Fifty-One-Fifty building. Which reminds me, I'm due over there in ten minutes. So, boys, if you'll excuse me
He stood up.
'Siddown, Bosch. That's been taken care of. Sit down.'
Bosch sat down and said nothing. He realized, though, that he actually felt disappointed he would miss the session with Carmen Hinojos.
'Come on, Bosch, let's hear it. What happened after that?'
'I don't remember all the details. But I ate over at the Red Wind that night, also stopped at the Epicentre for a few drinks. Then I got to the airport about ten. I took a red-eye to Florida, to Tampa, spent the weekend there and got back about an hour and a half before I found you people illegally inside my home.'
'It's not illegal. We had a warrant.'
'I've been shown no warrant.'
'Never mind that, what do you mean you were in Florida?'
'I guess I mean I was in Florida. What do you think it means?'
'You can prove this?'
Bosch reached into his pocket, took out his airline folder with the ticket receipt and slid it across the table.
'For starters there's the ticket receipt. I think there's one in there for a rental car, too.'
Brockman quickly opened the ticket folder and started reading.
'What were you doing there?' he asked without looking up;
'Dr Hinojos, that's the company shrink, said I should try to get away. And I thought, how 'bout Florida? I'd never been there and all my life I've liked orange juice. I thought, what the hell? Florida.'
Brockman was flustered again. He wasn't expecting something like this. Bosch could tell. Most cops never realized how important the initial interview with a suspect or witness was to an investigation. It informed all other interviews and even court testimony that followed. You had to be prepared. Like lawyers, you had to know most of the answers before you asked the questions. The IAD relied so much on its presence as an intimidating factor that most of the detectives assigned to the division never really had to prepare for interviews. And when they hit a wall like this, they didn't know what to do.
'Okay, Bosch, uh, what did you do in Florida?'
'You ever heard that song Marvin Gaye sang? Before he got killed? It's called-'
'What are you talking about?'
'— 'Sexual Healing.' It says it's good for the soul.'
