“Detective, thank you for not forgetting about our daughter. I’m going to hang up now so I can go downstairs and be with my wife.”
“I understand, sir. I am sure we will be talking soon. Good-bye.”
When Mrs. Price came back on the line, she had composed herself.
“On the cable news they said that the police were looking at pictures and videos of the victims. They’re not going to show those on TV, are they? They’re not going to show Lily, are they?”
Bosch closed his eyes and pressed the phone hard against his ear.
“No, ma’am, that won’t happen. The photos are evidence and they won’t be released. There may come a time when they will be used in the trial. But if that happens, the prosecutor assigned to the case will discuss it with you. Or I will. You will be kept informed about everything involved in the prosecution. I’m sure of that.”
“Okay, Detective. Thank you. I never thought this day would come, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know it’s been a long time.”
“Do you have children, Detective?”
“I have a daughter.”
“Keep her close.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will. I’ll get back to you soon.”
Bosch hung up the phone.
“How’d that go?”
Bosch swiveled in his seat. Chu had come back into the cubicle without his noticing.
“About how they all go,” he said. “Just two more victims . . .”
“Yeah. Where are they?”
“Dayton. What’s happening with the others?”
“Everybody’s about to head out. I think they’ve seen enough for one day. It’s truly horrible stuff.”
Bosch nodded. He checked the clock on the wall again. It had been a long day, almost twelve hours for him. Chu was talking about the other detective teams that were assigned to the investigation and had been sifting through videos of torture and murder for the past six hours.
“I was going to head out with them, Harry, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. I gotta go home, too.”
“I think we’re in good shape for tomorrow, don’t you?”
They had a 9 A.M. appointment at the District Attorney’s Office to present their case and seek murder charges against Hardy in the Lily Price case. Bosch turned sideways to his desk and put his hand on the thick pocket file that contained the reports they would give to the DA. The package.
“Yeah,” Bosch said. “I think we’re set.”
“Okay, then, I’m out of here. I’ll see you in the A.M. We meet here and walk over?”
“Yeah.”
Chu was a backpack guy. He swung his bag over his shoulder and headed out of the cubicle.
“Hey, David,” Bosch said. “Before you go . . .”
Chu turned back and leaned on one of the cubicle’s four-foot walls.
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to say you did good today. We did good as partners.”
Chu nodded.
“Thanks, Harry.”
“So never mind all that stuff from before, okay? We’ll just start from here.”
“I told you I’d make it up.”
“Yeah, so go home . . . and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya, Harry.”
Chu went off, a happy man. Bosch saw there had been a moment of expectancy in his face. Maybe a makeup beer or a bite of food would have solidified the partnership further, but Harry needed to get home. He needed to do exactly what Mrs. Price had told him to do.
The new PAB cost nearly half a billion dollars and had half a million square feet of space in its ten floors of limestone and glass, but it didn’t have a snack bar, and parking was available for only a privileged few of high rank. As a detective three Bosch barely made the grade, but taking advantage of parking in the PAB’s subterranean garage was a costly perk. A fee would’ve been deducted from his paycheck each month. He opted out because he could still park for free in the old “erector set,” the rusting steel parking structure located three blocks away and behind the old police headquarters, Parker Center.
He didn’t mind the three-block walk to and from work. It was right through the heart of the civic center and a good length for prepping for the day ahead or decompressing after it.
Bosch was on Main Street, crossing behind City Hall, when he noticed the black Town Car cruise quietly up in the bus lane and stop at the curb twenty feet in front of him.
Even as he saw the rear window glide down, he acted like he had not noticed and kept walking, his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him.
“Detective Bosch.”
Bosch turned to see Irvin Irving’s face framed in the open rear window of the Lincoln.
“I don’t think we have anything to say to each other, Councilman.”
He kept walking and soon enough the Town Car pulled forward and started moving next to him, matching his speed. Bosch might not have wanted to talk to Irving but Irving certainly wanted to talk to him.
“You think you’re bulletproof, Bosch?”
Bosch waved him off.
“You think this big case you just scored makes you bulletproof? You’re not bulletproof. Nobody is.”
Bosch had had enough. He suddenly veered toward the car. Irving pulled back from the window as Bosch put his hands on the sill and leaned in. The car came to a slow stop. Irving was alone in the backseat.
“I had nothing to do with that story in the paper yesterday, okay? I don’t think I’m bulletproof. I don’t think I’m anything. I was doing my job, that’s all.”
“You blew it, that’s what you did.”
“I didn’t blow anything. I told you I had nothing to do with it. You have a problem, go talk to the chief.”
“I’m not talking about a newspaper article. I don’t give a good goddamn about the
Bosch nodded and dropped down to his haunches, still holding on to the car’s windowsill.
“Actually, I got the case right and you and I both know it. Your son jumped, and more than anybody, you know why. The only mystery left is why you asked for me. You know my history. I don’t lie down on cases.”
“You fool. I wanted you for exactly that reason. Because I knew that if they got even the slimmest chance, they would turn this into a play on me, and I thought you would have enough integrity to stand up against it. I didn’t realize you had your nose so far up your former partner’s ass that you couldn’t see the setup she was running.”
Bosch laughed and shook his head as he stood up.
“You’re good, Councilman. The right outrage, judicious use of off-color language, the planting of seeds of distrust and paranoia. You might be able to convince somebody with all of that. But not me. Your son jumped and that’s all there is to it. I feel bad for you and his wife. But the one I feel most sorry for is his son. He didn’t deserve this.”
Bosch stared down at Irving and watched the old man attempt to modulate his rage.
“I have something here for you, Bosch.”
He turned away to reach across the seat and Bosch had a fleeting thought of Irving turning back and pointing a gun at him. He thought Irving’s ego and arrogance were such that he could actually bring himself to do it and believe he could get away with it.
But when Irving turned back, he proffered a piece of paper through the window.
“What is it?” Bosch asked.
“It’s the truth,” Irving said. “Take it.”
Bosch snapped the document out of his hand and looked at it. It was a photocopy of a phone message form
