“That was nothing, Harry. But I am here to warn you.”
“About what?”
“It’s starting. With Irving. This next month is going to be allout war and there are going to be casualties. Just be ready.”
“It’s me, Kiz. Be specific. What’s Irving doing? Am I already a casualty?”
“No you’re not, but for starters he’s gone to the police commission and he wants them to review the whole Chilton Hardy case. From bust to bus. And they’ll do it. Most of them have their seats because of his patronage. They’ll do what he says.”
Bosch thought of his relationship with Hannah Stone and what Irving could do with it. And jumping the Hardy warrant. If Irving could get to that, he’d be holding press conferences every day till the election.
“Fine, let them come,” he said. “I’m clean on it.”
“I hope so, Harry. But I’m not as worried about your part in the investigation as I am about the twenty years before that. When Hardy was running below the radar and there was
Now Bosch understood why she was there and had come in person. This was how high jingo worked. And this was what Irving had told him would happen.
Bosch knew that the more the Open-Unsolved squad documented the crimes and victims of Chilton Hardy, the greater the public outrage would be over his seeming freedom to act with impunity for more than twenty years. The guy was never concerned enough about the police even to move out of the area.
“So what do you want, Kiz? You want us to stop at Lily Price? Is that it? Tie it all up in one case and go for the death penalty? After all, we can only kill him once, right? Never mind the other victims, like Mandy Phillips with her photo hanging in Hardy’s fucking dungeon. I guess she’s one of the casualties you’re talking about.”
“No, Harry, I don’t want you to stop. We can’t stop. First of all, the story’s gone international. And we want justice for
“Then what are you telling me, Kiz? What do you want?”
She paused, looking for a way to avoid saying it out loud.
But there was no way. Bosch waited.
“Just slow things down a bit,” she finally said.
Bosch nodded. He understood.
“The election. We slow things down until the election and hope Irving gets dumped. That’s what you want?”
He knew that once she said it, their relationship would never be the same.
“Yes, it’s what I want,” she said. “It’s what we all want for the good of the department.”
Those five words . . . “the good of the department.” They never added up to anything but high jingo. Bosch nodded and then turned and looked off at the view. He didn’t want to look at Kiz Rider anymore.
“Come on, Harry,” Rider said. “We have Irving on the ground. Don’t give him what he needs to get back up and hurt us, to continue to damage the department.”
He leaned over the wood railing and looked directly down into the brush below the deck.
“It’s funny,” he said. “I think in all of this, Irvin Irving turns out to be the one who had things right, who was probably even telling the truth.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It didn’t make sense to me: why would he press the case if he knew it could come back to his own complicity in a pay-for-play scam?”
“Harry, there’s no need to go there. The case is closed.”
“The answer was that he pressed the case because he wasn’t complicit. He was clean.”
He reached into his soiled suit coat and pulled out the folded photocopy of the phone message Irving had given him. He had been carrying it with him since then. Without looking at Rider, he handed it to her and waited as she unfolded the page and scanned it.
“What’s this?” she said.
“It’s Irving’s proof of innocence.”
“It’s a piece of paper, Harry. This could have been slapped together at any time. It’s not proof of anything.”
“Except you and I and the chief, we all know it’s real. It’s true.”
“Speak for yourself. This is worthless.”
She refolded it and handed it back. Bosch put it back in his pocket.
“You used me, Kiz. To get to Irving. You used his son’s death. You used the things I found out. All to get a bullshit story in the newspaper you hoped would knock him to the mat.”
She didn’t respond for a long time and when she did, it was just the company line. Not an acknowledgment of anything.
“Thirty days, Harry. Irving is a thorn in the department’s side. If we can get rid of him, we can build a bigger and better department. And that makes it a safer and better city.”
Bosch stood up straight and cast his eyes back out at the view. The reds were turning purple. It was getting dark.
“Sure, why not?” he said. “But if you have to become him to get rid of him, what’s the difference?”
Rider banged her palms lightly on the railing, a signal that she had said enough and was finished with this conversation.
“I’m going to go, Harry. I have to get back.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks for the water.”
“Yeah.”
He heard her steps on the wood planking as she moved toward the sliding door.
“So was what you said to me the other day bullshit, Kiz?” he asked, his back still turned to her. “Was that just part of the play?”
The steps stopped, but she didn’t say anything.
“When I called you and told you about Hardy. You talked about the noble work we do. You said, ‘This is why we do this.’ Was that just a line, Kiz?”
It was a while before she spoke. Bosch knew she was looking at him and waiting for him to turn and look at her. But he couldn’t do it.
“No,” she finally said. “It wasn’t just a line. It was the truth. And someday you may appreciate that I do what I need to do so that you can do what you need to do.”
She waited for his response but he said nothing.
He heard the door slide open and then close. She was gone. Bosch looked out at the fading light and waited a moment before speaking.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This story was in part suggested by Robert McDonald. For that the author is very grateful.
Many others contributed to this work and they are also gratefully acknowledged. They include Asya Muchnick, Bill Massey, Michael Pietsch, Pamela Marshall, Dennis Wojciechowski, Jay Stein, Rick Jackson, Tim Marcia, John Houghton, Terrill Lee Lankford, Jane Davis, Heather Rizzo and Linda Connelly. Many thanks to all.
ALSO BY MICHAEL CONNELLY
Fiction
