Michael Connelly (100 page)

Button again.

“That’s a good point, Mr. Button. First off, the community can be assured that this investigation will reach its fruition no matter where it leads. The chips will fall where they may. If a police officer is responsible then he or she will be brought to justice. I guarantee it. Secondly, the department is being aided in this investigation by Inspector General Carla Entrenkin, who as you all know is a civilian observer who reports directly to the Police Commission, the city council and mayor.”

The chief raised his hand to cut off another question from Button.

“I’m not finished, Mr. Button. As I said, lastly I would like at this time to introduce Assistant Special Agent in Charge Gilbert Spencer from the Los Angeles field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I have discussed this crime and this investigation with Mr. Spencer at length and he has agreed to bring the bureau in to help us. Beginning tomorrow, FBI agents will be working side by side with LAPD detectives in a group effort to bring this investigation to a swift and successful conclusion.”

Bosch tried to show no response as he listened to the chief announce the FBI involvement. He was not shocked by it. He realized it was a good move by the chief and might buy some time in the community. It might even get the case solved, though that was probably a secondary condition in the chief’s decision making. He was primarily trying to put out fires before they started. The bureau was a pretty good hose with which to do that. But Bosch was annoyed that he had been left out of the loop and was finding out about the bureau’s entry into his case at the same time as Harvey Button and everybody else. He glanced over at Irving, who picked it up on his radar and looked back. They traded glares until Irving looked away to the podium as Spencer took a position behind the microphones.

“I don’t have much to say yet,” the bureau man said. “We will be assigning a team to the investigation. These agents will work with the LAPD detectives and it is our belief that together we will break this case quickly.”

“Will you be investigating the officers in the Black Warrior case?” a reporter called out.

“We will be taking a look at everything but we are not going to be sharing our investigative strategy at this time. From this point, all media inquiries and releases will be handled through the LAPD. The bureau will —”

“Under what authority is the FBI entering the case?” Button asked.

“Under civil rights codes the bureau has the authority to open an investigation to determine if an individual’s rights have been violated under color of law.”

“The color of law?”

“By an officer of the law. I am going to turn this over to . . .”

Spencer stepped back from the podium without finishing. He clearly didn’t enjoy being in the glare of the media’s headlights. The police chief stepped back into place and introduced Irving, who then moved behind the podium and began reading a press release which contained more details of the crime and the investigation. It was still just the basics, nothing anybody could do much with. The statement also mentioned Bosch by name as the detective in charge of the investigation. It also explained why potential conflict of interest with the RHD and scheduling problems with Central Division detectives required a team from Hollywood Division to run the case. Irving then said he could field a few questions, reminding the reporters once again that he would not compromise the investigation by revealing vital information.

“Can you talk more about the focus of the investigation?” a reporter called out ahead of the others.

“The focus is wide-ranging,” Irving said. “We are looking at everything from police officers who might have held a grudge against Howard Elias to the possibility of the killings being part of a robbery. We —”

“A follow-up,” another reporter barked, knowing that you had to get your question in before the subject finished the last one or you’d never be heard in the ensuing cacophony. “Was there anything at the crime scene to indicate a robbery?”

“We are not going to discuss details of the crime scene.”

“My information is that there was no watch or wallet on the body.”

Bosch looked at the reporter. He was not a TV man. Bosch could tell that by his rumpled suit. And it did not appear that he was from the
Times
because Keisha Russell was already in the room. Bosch didn’t know who he was but he had obviously been leaked the information on the watch and wallet.

Irving paused as if deciding on how much to reveal.

“Your information is correct but incomplete. Mr. Elias apparently left his watch and wallet in his desk when he left his office last night. The property was found there today. Of course, that does not preclude attempted robbery as a motive for this crime but it is too early in the investigation and we know too little to make such an assumption at this time.”

Keisha Russell, ever the cool one, had not joined the shouting for attention. She sat calmly with her hand raised, waiting for the others to run out of things to ask and for Irving to call on her. After Irving fielded a few more repetitive questions from the TV people he finally called on her.

“You said Mr. Elias’s property was found in his office today. Have you searched his office and, if so, what if anything is being done to safeguard the attorney-client privilege that Mr. Elias shared with his clients, all of whom are suing the agency that conducted the search of the office.”

“Good question,” Irving replied. “We have not conducted a full search of the victim’s office for the very reason you just mentioned. That is where Inspector General Entrenkin comes into play. She is reviewing files in the victim’s office and will turn them over to investigators after she has vetted them for any sort of sensitive information that could possibly fall under attorney-client privilege. This review process was ordered earlier today by the judge who issued search warrants for Howard Elias’s office. My understanding is that the watch and wallet were found in or on the victim’s desk, very much as if he had simply forgotten them last night when he left work. Now I think that will wrap things up here. We have an investigation to focus on. When there are any further updates we will —”

“One last one,” Russell called out. “Why has the department gone to twelve and twelves?”

Irving was about to answer but then looked back at the chief of police, who nodded and stepped back to the podium.

“We want to be ready for any eventuality,” he said. “Going to twelve-hour shifts puts more officers on the street at any given time. We believe the citizens of this city will remain calm and give us time to conduct our investigation, but as a safety precaution I have instituted a readiness plan that includes all officers working twelve hours on and twelve hours off until further notice.”

“Is this the civil disorder response plan that was drawn up after the last riots?” Russell asked. “When the department was caught flat-footed because it had no plan?”

“It is the plan drawn in nineteen ninety-two, yes.”

He was about to step away from the podium when Russell tossed another curveball.

“Then you are expecting violence.”

It was said as a statement, not a question. The chief returned to the microphones.

“No, Miss, uh, Russell, I am not expecting that. As I said, this is merely precautionary. I am expecting the citizens of this community to act in a calm and responsible manner. Hopefully, the media will act in the same way.”

He waited for one more response from Russell but this time got none. O’Rourke moved forward and leaned in front of the chief to get to the microphones.

“Okay, that’s it. There will be copies of Chief Irving’s statement down in media relations in about fifteen minutes.”

As the reporters slowly filed out of the room Bosch kept his eyes on the man who had asked the question about the wallet and watch. He was curious to know who he was and what news outlet he worked for. At the logjam at the door the confluence of people brought the man side by side with Button and they started talking. Bosch thought this was odd because he had never seen a print reporter give a TV reporter the time of day.

“Detective?”

Bosch turned. The chief of police was standing to his side with his hand out. Bosch instinctively shook it. He had spent nearly twenty-five years in the department to the chief’s thirty, yet they had never crossed paths close enough to speak to each other, let alone shake hands.

“Chief.”

“Good to meet you. I want you to know how much we are counting on you and your team. If you need anything don’t hesitate to contact my office or to go through Deputy Chief Irving. Anything.”

“Well, at the moment I think we’re okay. I appreciate the heads-up on the bureau, though.”

The chief hesitated but only for a moment, apparently discarding Bosch’s gripe as unimportant.

“That couldn’t be helped. I wasn’t sure the bureau was going to become involved until shortly before we started the press conference.”

The chief turned and looked for the FBI man. Spencer was talking with Irving. The chief signaled them over and introduced Bosch to Spencer. Bosch thought he caught a glimmer of disdain on Spencer’s face. Bosch did not have a positive record over the years in his dealings with the FBI. He had never dealt directly with Spencer but if he was assistant special agent in charge of the L.A. field office, then he had probably heard of Bosch.

“How are we going to work this, gentlemen?” the chief asked.

“I’ll have my people assembled and here at eight tomorrow morning, if you like,” Spencer said.

“Excellent. Chief Irving?”

“Yes, that will be fine. We will be working out of the conference room next to my office. I’ll have our team there at eight. We can go over what we’ve got and take it from there.”

Everybody nodded except Bosch. He knew he had no say in the matter.

They broke up and headed toward the door the chief had come through. Bosch found himself next to O’Rourke. He asked him if he knew who the reporter was who asked about the watch and wallet.

“Tom Chainey.”

It almost rang a bell with Bosch but not quite.

“He’s a reporter?”

“Not really. He was with the
Times
a lot of years ago but now he’s TV. He’s Harvey Button’s producer. He’s not pretty enough to go on camera. So they pay him a ton of money to get scoops for Harvey and to tell him what to say and ask. To make him look good. Harvey’s got the face and that voice. Chainey’s got the brains. Why do you ask? Is there something I can do for you?”

“No. I was just wondering.”

“You mean the question about the wallet and the watch? Well, like I said, Chainey’s been around. He’s got sources. More than most.”

They moved through the doorway and Bosch turned left to head back to Irving’s conference room. He wanted to leave the building but didn’t want to wait for an elevator with all of the reporters.

Irving was waiting for him in the conference room. He was sitting in the same spot he had taken before.

“Sorry about the bureau deal,” he said. “I did not know about it until right before. It was the chief’s idea.”

“So I heard. It’s probably the smart play.”

He was quiet for a moment, waiting for Irving to make the next move.

“So what I want you to do is have your team finish up the interviews they are involved in now, then everybody gets a good night’s sleep, because tomorrow it all starts again.”

Bosch had to stop himself from shaking his head no.

“You mean just shelve everything until the bureau shows up? Chief, this is a homicide—a double homicide. We can’t just shut it down and start over tomorrow.”

“I am not talking about shutting anything down. I said finish up what you have going at the moment. Tomorrow we will retrench and regroup and create a new battle plan. I want your people fresh and ready to run.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

But Bosch had no intention of waiting for the bureau. His intention was to continue the investigation, drive it forward and then follow where it led. It didn’t matter what Irving said.

“Can I get a key to this room?” Bosch asked. “We should get the first batch of files from Entrenkin in a little while. We need a secure place for them.”

Irving shifted his weight and reached into his pocket. He removed a key that was unattached to a ring and slid it across the table. Bosch picked it up and started working it onto his own key ring.

“So how many people have a copy of this?” he said. “Just so I know.”

“You don’t have to worry, Detective. No one will be going into this room who is not a member of the team or does not have my permission.”

Bosch nodded even though Irving had not answered his question.

15

As Bosch stepped through the glass doors of Parker Center he saw the beginning of the manufacturing and packaging of a media event. Spread out across the front plaza were a half dozen television crews and reporters ready to transmit stand-up reports as lead-in on the footage from the press conference. Out at the curb was the microwave forest—a line of TV trucks with their microwave transmitters raised high and ready. It was a Saturday, normally the slowest news day of the week. But the murder of Howard Elias was big. The guaranteed lead story and then some. A Saturday morning assignment editor’s dream come true. The local stations were going to go live at noon. And then it would begin. The news of Elias’s murder would blow through the city like the hottest Santa Ana wind, setting nerves on edge and possibly turning silent frustrations into loud and malevolent actions. The department—and the city, for that matter—was relying on how these young and beautiful people interpreted and delivered the information they had been given. The hope was that their reports would not fan the already smoldering tensions in the community. The hope was that they would show restraint and integrity and common sense, that they would simply report the known facts without any speculation or editorial twisting of the knife. But Bosch knew those hopes had about as much chance as Elias had when he stepped onto Angels Flight little more than twelve hours before.

Bosch took an immediate left and headed to the employee parking lot, careful not to walk into view of any of the cameras. He didn’t want to be on the news unless absolutely necessary.

He successfully avoided detection and got to his car. Ten minutes later he parked illegally in front of the Bradbury, pulling in behind yet another TV truck. He looked around as he got out but didn’t see the news crew. He guessed that they had walked over to the Angels Flight terminus to tape footage for the story.

After taking the old elevator up to the top floor Bosch pulled back the gate and stepped out onto the landing only to be met by Harvey Button, his producer and a cameraman. There was an uneasy silence as he tried to move around them. Then the producer spoke.

“Uh, Detective Bosch? I’m Tom Chainey from Channel Four.”

“Good for you.”

“I was wondering if we could talk for a few moments about the —”

“No, we can’t talk. Have a nice day.”

Bosch managed to get around them and started toward Elias’s office. Chainey spoke to his back.

“You sure? We’re picking up a lot of information and it would probably do us both a lot of good if we could get it confirmed. We don’t want to cause you any problems. It would be better if we could work as a team. You know.”

Bosch stopped and looked back at him.

“No, I don’t know,” he said. “If you want to put unconfirmed information on the air, that’s your choice. But I’m not confirming anything. And I already have a team.”

He turned without waiting for a reply and headed toward the door with Howard Elias’s name on it. He heard nothing else from Chainey or Button.

When he walked into the office he found Janis Langwiser sitting behind the secretary’s desk, looking through a file. Next to the desk there were three cardboard boxes full of files that weren’t there before. Langwiser looked up.

“Detective Bosch.”

“Hey. These boxes for me?”

She nodded.

“The first batch. And, hey, that wasn’t very nice what you did before.”

“What?”

“Telling me my car was being towed. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Bosch had completely forgotten.

“Uh, no, not really,” he said. “You were in a tow-away zone. They would’ve gotten you.”

He smiled when he knew she knew it was a bullshit cover-up. His face started turning red.

“Look, I had to talk to Inspector Entrenkin alone. I’m sorry.”

Before she could say anything, Carla Entrenkin looked in from the room next door. She, too, was holding a file in her hand. Bosch pointed to the three boxes on the floor.

“Looks like you’re making some progress.”

“I hope so. Can I talk to you for a moment in here?”

“Sure. But first, did Channel Four come in here and try to talk to you two?”

“They did,” Langwiser said. “And Channel Nine was here before them.”

“Did you talk to them?”

Langwiser’s eyes darted momentarily toward Entrenkin and then down at the floor. She said nothing.

“I gave a brief statement,” Entrenkin said. “Something innocuous, just explaining my role. Can we talk in here?”

She stepped back from the doorway and Bosch entered the file room. There was another cardboard box on the desk that was half full of files. Entrenkin closed the door after Bosch entered. She then threw the file she was holding onto the clerk’s desk, folded her arms and put a stern expression on her face.

“What is it?” Bosch asked.

“Tom Chainey just told me that it was announced at the press conference that How—uh, Mr. Elias had left his wallet and watch in his office, in his desk. And I thought that when you people were asked to leave this morning it was clear that —”

“I’m sorry. I forgot.”

Bosch put his briefcase down on the desk and opened it. He lifted out the evidence bags containing the wallet and watch.

“I had already bagged them and put them in my case before you came in this morning. I forgot about it and left with them. You want me to put it all back where I found it?”

“No. I just wanted an explanation. And I’m not sure I believe the one you just offered.”

There was a long silence while they stared at each other.

“Was that all you wanted to talk to me about?” Bosch finally asked.

She turned back to the desk and the file she had been looking through.

“I thought our relationship would be better than this.”

“Look,” Bosch said as he closed the briefcase. “You’ve got your secrets. You’ve got to give me mine. The bottom line is Howard Elias wasn’t robbed. So we move on from there. Okay?”

“If you are telling me that there were people involved in this investigation who were attempting to tamper with evidence, then —”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

He saw anger flare in her eyes.

“They shouldn’t be a part of this department. You know that.”

“That’s another battle for another day. I’ve got more import —”

“You know there are some people who might think there is nothing more important than a police department in which there is no question about the integrity of its members.”

“Sounds like you’re giving a press conference, Inspector. I’m going to take those files now. I’ll be back for the next batch later.”

He started to turn back to the front room.

“I just thought you were different, that’s all,” she said.

He turned back to her.

“You don’t know if I’m different because you don’t know the first thing about me. I’ll talk to you later.”

“There’s something else missing.”

Bosch stopped and looked back at her.

“What?”

“Howard Elias was a consummate note taker. He kept a spiral notebook on his desk or with him all the time. His last notebook is missing. You know where that is?”

Bosch came back to the desk and reopened his briefcase. He took the notebook out and tossed it down.

“You won’t believe me but I had already put that in my briefcase when you came in and kicked us out.”

“Matter of fact, I do believe you. Did you read it?”

“Parts of it. Also before you showed up.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“I’ll look through it and if it is okay you will have it back later today. Thank you for returning it.”

“You’re welcome.”

By the time Bosch got to Philippe’s the Original, the others were already there and eating. They had one of the long tables in the back room and were by themselves. He decided to take care of business before waiting in one of the lines at the counter to order.

“How’d it go?” Rider asked as he stepped over the bench and sat next to her.

“Well, I think I definitely was a little too pale for Irving’s liking.”

“Well, fuck him,” Edgar said. “I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“Me either,” Rider said.

“What are you talking about?” Chastain asked.

“Race relations,” Rider said. “Typical you can’t figure that out.”

“Hey, I —”

“Never mind,” Bosch interjected. “Let’s talk about the case, okay? You first, Chastain. Did you finish the apartment building?”

“Yeah, we finished. Nothing.”

“Except we found out about the woman,” Fuentes said.

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“What woman?”

“The other victim. Catalina Perez. Hold a second.”

Chastain reached down to the bench next to him and came up with a legal tablet. He flipped to the second page and looked at the notes.

“Apartment nine-oh-nine. Perez was the cleaning woman. Came every Friday night. So that’s where she was coming from.”

“But she was going up,” Bosch said. “She didn’t work till eleven?”

“No, this is the deal. She works six to ten-thirty, then takes Angels Flight down to the bus stop, catches the bus and goes home. Only on the way down she must’ve looked in her purse and noticed her notebook, where she keeps her schedule and phone numbers, is missing. She took it out in the apartment last night because her employer, a Mr. D. H. Reilly, changed his phone number and gave her the new one. Only she left the notebook on his kitchen table. She had to go back for it so she’d know her schedule. This lady . . .”

He reached to the bench again and pulled up the notebook. It was in a plastic evidence bag.

“. . . I mean, I looked at the schedule. She worked her tail off. She’s got gigs every day and a lot of nights. This Reilly guy said Friday nights was the only regular night he could get her for. She did a good job . . .”

“So she was going back up to get her book when she got popped,” Edgar said.

“Looks that way.”

“The old I-O-I-A,” Rider said in a singsong way that was not mirthful in any way.

“What’s that?” Chastain asked.

“Nothing.”

They were all silent for a long moment. Bosch was thinking about how leaving that notebook behind had cost Catalina Perez her life. He knew that what Rider had said referred to the inequities of it all—the phrase she began using after a year on the homicide squad to sum up the bad breaks, coincidences and twists of fate that often left people dead.

“Okay, good,” Bosch finally said. “We now know what everybody was doing on that train. The rest of the building was clean?”

“Nobody heard a thing, nobody saw a thing,” Chastain said.

“You get everybody?”

“No response at four apartments. But they were all on the other side, away from Angels Flight.”

“All right, let those go for now. Kiz, you talk to the wife and son again?”

Rider was chewing her last bite of French dip sandwich and held her finger up until she swallowed.

“Yeah, separately and together. Nothing pulled my trigger. They’re both pretty much convinced a cop did it. I didn’t —”

“Of course they are,” Chastain interjected.

“Let her talk,” Bosch said.

“I didn’t pick up any feel that they knew much about his cases or possible threats. He didn’t even keep a home office. I touched on Elias’s fidelity and Millie said she believed he was faithful. She said it like that. She ‘believed.’ Something about it sounds wrong. I think if there was no doubt, she would say he ‘was’ faithful, not that she ‘believed’ he was faithful, know what I mean?”

“So you think she knew?”

“Maybe. But I also think that if she knew then she was the type that would put up with it. There was a lot of social standing in being Howard Elias’s wife. Lot of wives in that position make choices. They look the other way on some things to keep the image intact, to keep the life they have intact.”

“What about the son?”

“I think he believed his father was a god. He’s hurting.”

Bosch nodded. He respected Rider’s interviewing skills. He had seen her in action and knew she was empathic. He also knew he had used her in a way not so dissimilar to the way Irving had wanted to use her during the press conference. He had sent her to do the follow-up interviews because he knew she would be good at it. But also because she was black.

“You ask them the A question?”

“Yeah. They were both at home last night. Neither went out. They’re each other’s alibi.”

“Great,” Chastain said.

“Okay, Kiz,” Bosch said. “Anybody else got something they want to bring up?”

Bosch leaned forward on the table so he could look down his side and see every face. No one said anything. He noticed everybody had finished eating their sandwiches.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about the press conference, but the chief called in the cavalry. Tomorrow morning the bureau enters the case. We have a meet at eight in Irving’s conference room.”

“Shit,” Chastain said.

“What the hell are they going to do that we can’t?” Edgar asked.

“Probably nothing,” Bosch said. “But his announcing it at the press conference will probably go a long way toward keeping the peace. At least, for now. Anyway, let’s worry about that tomorrow when we see how things shake out. We still have the rest of today. Irving gave me an unofficial cease and desist until the agents show up but that’s bullshit. I say we keep working.”