The Drop

Manson.

“I changed my mind about the coffee,” Bosch said.

“Harry,” Chu blurted out. “I was just—”

“Telling Emily here about our case.”

Bosch looked directly at Gomez-Gonzmart.

“Isn’t that right, Emily?” he said. “Or can I call you GoGo?”

“Look, Harry, it’s not what you think,” Chu said.

“Really? It’s not? Because it looks to me like you’re laying out our case for the Times right here on their home court.”

He quickly reached out and grabbed the notebook off the table.

“Hey!” Gomez-Gonzmart cried. “That’s mine.”

Bosch read the notes on the exposed page. The notes were in some sort of shorthand but he saw repeated notations about McQ and the phrase watch match = key. It was enough to confirm his suspicions. He handed her the notebook.

“I’m going,” she said as she snatched the notebook out of his hands.

“Not quite yet,” Bosch said. “Because you two are going to sit here and work out a new arrangement.”

“You don’t tell me what to do!” she snapped.

She pushed back her chair so hard it fell over as she stood up.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Bosch said. “But I do have your boyfriend’s future and career in my hands here. So if any of that means anything to you, then you’ll sit down and hear me out.”

He waited and watched her. She pulled her purse strap over her shoulder, ready to walk off.

“Emily?” Chu said.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “I have a story to write.”

She walked away, leaving Chu’s face drained of blood. He stared into the distance until Bosch snapped him out of it.

“Chu, what the fuck did you think you were doing?”

“I thought . . .”

“Whatever it was, you got burned. You fucked up and you better start thinking of a way to back her off. What exactly did you just tell her?”

“I . . . I told her we brought McQuillen in and that we were going to try to turn him in the room. I told her it wouldn’t matter if he confessed or not if the watch matched the wound.”

Bosch was so angry, he had to hold back from swinging at Chu and smacking the back of his head.

“When did you start talking to her?”

“The day we got the case. I knew her from before. She did a story a few years ago and we had a few dates. I always liked her.”

“So she calls up this week and starts leading you by the dick right into my case.”

Chu turned and looked at him for the first time.

“Yeah, you got it, Harry. Your case. Not our case. Your case.”

“But why, David? Why would you do this?”

“You did this. And don’t start calling me David. I’m surprised you even know my first name.”

“What? I did this? Are you—”

“Yeah, you. You cut me out, Harry. You wouldn’t tell me shit and you cut me out, made me chase down the other case while you ran this one. And this wasn’t the first time. More like every time. You don’t do that to a partner. If you had treated me right, I never would have done it!”

Bosch composed himself and calmed his voice. He sensed they had drawn the attention of people sitting at nearby tables. Newspaper people.

“We’re not partners anymore,” Bosch said. “We finish out these two cases and then you put in for a transfer. I don’t care where you go but you’re out of OU. If you don’t do it, I’ll make it known what you did, how you sold out your own partner and your case for a piece of tail. Then you’ll be a pariah and nobody and no unit outside of IAD will take you. You’ll be outside looking in.”

Bosch stood up and walked away. He heard Chu call his name weakly but he didn’t turn back around.

28

McQuillen was waiting with his arms folded on the table when Bosch reentered interview room 1. He checked his watch—apparently not realizing its importance to the coming conversation—and then looked up at Bosch.

“Thirty-five minutes,” he said. “I thought you’d go over an hour easy.”

Bosch sat down across from him, putting a thin green file on the table.

“Sorry,” he said. “I had to bring a few people up-to-date on things.”

“No problem. I called the job. They’ve got me covered for the whole night if necessary.”

“Good. So I guess you know why you’re here. I was hoping we could have a conversation about Sunday night. I think that to protect you and to make this formal, I should let you know your rights. You’ve come here voluntarily but it’s my practice to always let people know where they stand.”

“Are you saying I’m a murder suspect?”

Bosch drummed his fingers on the file.

“That’s a hard one to say. I need some answers from you and then I will make a conclusion about that.”

Bosch opened the file and took out the top sheet. It was a rights waiver containing a printout of McQuillen’s constitutional protections, among them the right to have an attorney present during questioning. Bosch read it out loud and then asked McQuillen to sign it. He handed him a pen and the ex-cop-turned-cab-dispatcher signed without hesitation.

“Now,” Bosch said, “are you still willing to cooperate and talk to me about Sunday evening?”

“To a point.”

“What point is that?”

“I don’t know yet, but I know how this is done. It’s been a while but some things don’t change. You’re here to talk me into a jail cell. I’m only here because you have some wrong ideas and if I can help you without snagging my nuts on a rusty nail, then I will. That’s the point.”

Bosch leaned back.

“Do you remember me?” he asked. “Remember my name?”

McQuillen nodded.

“Of course. I remember everybody on the task force.”

“Including Irvin Irving.”

“Of course. Man at the top always gets the most attention.”

“Well, I was the man at the bottom, so I didn’t have a lot of say. But for what it’s worth, I thought you got screwed. They needed to sacrifice somebody and it was you.”

McQuillen clasped his hands together on the table.

“All these years later, that doesn’t mean a thing to me, Bosch. So don’t bother trying the sympathy angle.”

Bosch nodded and leaned forward. McQuillen wanted to play it hard. He was either smart enough or stupid enough to think he could go one-on-one without calling for a lawyer. Bosch decided to give him just want he wanted.

“Okay, so let’s skip the foreplay, McQuillen. Why’d you throw George Irving off the hotel balcony?”

A small smile played on McQuillen’s face.

“Before we have this conversation I want some assurances.”

“What assurances?”

“No charges on the weapon. No charges on any of the small stuff I tell you about.”

Bosch shook his head.

“You said you know how it works. Then you know I can’t make deals like that. That’s the DA. I can tell them you’ve been cooperative. I can even ask them to give you a break. But I can’t make deals and I think you know