The Drop hb-17

by Michael Connelly

  After paying the tab and checking out some of the police memorabilia hanging on the café wall, he walked through the old gymnasium, the place where he had received his badge on a rainy day more than thirty years before, and into the video room. There was a library here that contained all the training videos used by the department for as long as there had been video. He told the civilian custodian what he was looking for and waited while the man searched for the old tape.

  Rider arrived a few minutes later and right on time.

  “Okay, Harry, I’m here. As much as I hate daylong budget meetings, I really need to get back as soon as I can. What are we doing here?”

  “We’re going to look at a training tape, Kiz.”

  “And what does it have to do with Irving’s son?”

  “Maybe everything.”

  The custodian brought Bosch the tape. He and Rider went over to a viewing cubicle. Bosch put the video in the machine and started the playback.

  “This is one of the old training tapes for the controlled bar hold,” he said. “More commonly known in the world as the LAPD choke hold.”

  “The infamous choke hold,” she said. “It’s been banned since before I even got here.”

  “Technically, the bar hold is banned. The controlled carotid hold is still approved in use of deadly force situations. But good luck with that.”

  “So like I said, what are we doing here, Harry?”

  Bosch gestured toward the screen.

  “They used to use these tapes to teach what to do. Now they’re used to teach what not to do. This is the bar hold.”

  At one time the controlled bar hold was standard in the LAPD’s use-of-force progression but it had been outlawed after so many deaths were attributed to it.

  The video showed the hold being applied by an instructor on an academy recruit volunteer. From behind the recruit, the instructor brought his left arm across the front of his volunteer’s neck. He then cinched the vise closed by gripping the recruit’s shoulder. The recruit struggled but within seconds passed out. The instructor gently lowered him to the ground and started patting his cheeks. The volunteer woke immediately and seemed puzzled by what had just happened. He was ushered off camera and another volunteer took his place. This time the instructor moved more slowly and explained the steps of the hold. He then offered tips on how to deal with struggling subjects. The second tip was what Bosch was waiting for.

  “There,” he said.

  He backed the tape up and played the section again. The instructor called the move the hand creep. The left arm was locked across the volunteer’s neck, the hand up at his right shoulder. To guard against the arm being pulled away by the struggling volunteer, the instructor gripped his hands together like hooks at the top of the shoulder and extended his right forearm down the volunteer’s back. Then little by little he tightened the vise on the volunteer’s neck. The second volunteer passed out.

  “I can’t believe they actually choked these guys out like that,” Rider said.

  “They probably didn’t have a choice when it came to volunteering,” Bosch said. “It’s like the Tasers now.”

  Every officer who carried a Taser had to be trained in the use of the device and this included being Tased himself.

  “So what are you showing me here, Harry?”

  “Back when they outlawed the hold, I was put on the task force investigating all the deaths. It was an assignment. I didn’t volunteer.”

  “And what’s it got to do with George Irving?”

  “It basically came down to the fact that people were using the hold too often and for too long. The carotid is supposed to open up immediately after you stop the pressure. But sometimes the pressure was held too long and people died. And sometimes the pressure cracked the hyoid bone, crushing the windpipe. Again people died. The bar hold was banned and the carotid hold was relegated to use in deadly force situations only. And deadly force is a whole separate set of criteria. The bottom line was, you could no longer choke somebody out in a basic street scuffle. Okay?”

  “Got it.”

  “My part was the autopsies. I was coordinator of that. Gathering all the cases going back twenty years and then looking for similarities. There was an anomaly in some of the cases. It didn’t really mean anything but it was there. We found a wound pattern on the shoulder. Showed up in maybe a third of the cases. A repeating crescent-moon pattern on the shoulder blade of the victim.”

  “What was it?”

  Bosch gestured to the video screen. The training tape was frozen on the hand creep move.

  “It was the hand creep. A lot of cops wore military watches with the big chrono bezels. During the choke hold, if they made that move and walked the wrist lock up the shoulder, the watch bezel cut the skin or left a bruise. It didn’t really have to do with anything other than to help prove there had been a struggle. But I remembered it today.”

  “At the autopsy?”

  From his inside pocket he pulled out an autopsy photo of George Irving’s shoulder.

  “That’s Irving’s shoulder.”

  “Could this have happened in the fall?”

  “He hit the ground face-first. There shouldn’t be an injury like that on his back. The ME confirmed it was antemortem.”

  Rider’s eyes darkened as she studied the photo.

  “So we have a homicide?”

  “It’s looking that way. He was choked out and then dropped from the balcony.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “No, nothing’s for sure. But it’s the direction I’m now taking it.”

  She nodded in acceptance.

  “And you think a cop or a former cop did it?”

  Bosch shook his head.

  “No, I don’t think that. It’s true that cops of a certain age were trained to use the hold. But they’re not the only ones. Military, mixed martial-arts fighters. Any kid who watches YouTube can learn how it’s done. There’s one thing that’s sort of a coincidence, though.”

  “Coincidence? You always said there was no such thing as coincidence.”

  Bosch shrugged.

  “What’s the coincidence, Harry?”

  “The choke hold task force I was on back then? Deputy Chief Irvin Irving was in command. We worked it out of Central Division. It was the first time Irving and I directly crossed paths.”

  “Well, as coincidences go, that’s kind of weak.”

  “Probably so. But it means Irving will recognize the significance of the crescent marks on his son’s back if he is told about them or shown a photo. And I don’t want the councilman to know about this yet.”

  Rider looked at him sharply.

  “Harry, he’s all over the chief about this. He’s all over me. He’s already called three times today about the autopsy. And you want to withhold this from him?”

  “I don’t want it out there in the open. I want whoever did this to think they’re in the clear. That way they won’t see me coming.”

  “Harry, I don’t know about this.”

  “Look, who knows what Irving will do with it if he knows? He might end up talking about it with the wrong person or having a press conference and then it gets out and we’ve lost our edge on it.”

  “But you are going to have to go to him with it to conduct your homicide investigation. He’ll know then.”

  “Eventually he’ll have to know. But for now we tell him the jury is still out. We’re waiting on the tox results from autopsy. Even with a high-jingo rush, that will take two weeks. Meantime, we are simply leaving no stone unturned, conducting a thorough investigation into all the possibilities. He doesn’t need to know about this, Kiz. Not right now.”

  Bosch held up the photo. Rider rubbed her mouth as she considered his request.

  “I don’t think you should even tell the chief,” Bosch added.

  “I’m not going there,” she responded immediately. “The day I start withholding from him is the day I don’t deserve the job.”

&nb
sp; Bosch shrugged.

  “Suit yourself. Just keep it from leaving the building.”

  She nodded, having come to a decision.

  “I’ll give you forty-eight hours and then we reevaluate. Thursday morning I want to know where you are on this and we decide again then.”

  It was what Bosch was hoping to get. Just a head start.

  “Fine. Thursday.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you till Thursday. I want to be kept up-to-date. If something else breaks, you call me.”

  “Got it.”

  “Where do you go from here on it?”

  “We’re working on a warrant for Irving’s office. He had an office manager who probably knew a lot of the secrets. And the enemies. We need to sit down with her but I want to do that in the office so she can show us through the files and whatever else is there.”

  Rider nodded in approval.

  “Good. Where’s your partner?”

  “He’s writing up the warrant. We’re making sure we’re clean, every step of the way.”

  “That’s smart. Does he know about the choke hold?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. But he’ll know by the end of the day.”

  “I appreciate that, Harry. I have to get back to my budget meeting and figuring out how to do more with less.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  “And you be careful. This could lead to some dark places.”

  Bosch ejected the tape.

  “Don’t I know it,” he said.

  16

  Because George Irving had maintained his legal practice and license with the California bar, getting a search warrant allowing the investigators access to his office and files took most of Tuesday afternoon and evening. The legal document was finally signed and issued by superior court judge Stephen Fluharty after a special master was appointed to review any documents that were viewed or seized by the police. The special master was an attorney himself and as such was not governed by the need for speed that homicide investigators working an active case were accustomed to. He set the time of the search for a leisurely 10 A.M. start on Wednesday.

  Irving and Associates was housed in a two-room office on Spring Street across from the Los Angeles Times parking garage. That put George Irving just two blocks from City Hall. It also put his office even closer to the Police Administration Building. Bosch and Chu walked over Wednesday morning, arriving to find no police officer on the door and someone inside.

  They entered and found a woman in her seventies in the front room, boxing files. She identified herself as Dana Rosen, George Irving’s office manager. Bosch had called her the evening before to make sure she would be on hand for the office search.

  “Was there a police officer on the door when you arrived?” Bosch asked.

  Rosen looked confused.

  “No, there was no one.”

  “Well, we weren’t supposed to start until the special master got here. Mr. Hadlow. He’s got to look at everything before we put it in boxes.”

  “Oh, dear. These are my own files. Does that mean I can’t take them?”

  “No, it means we just have to wait. Let’s put all of that down and step back outside. Mr. Hadlow should be here any minute.”

  They moved out to the sidewalk and Bosch pulled the door closed. He asked Rosen to lock it with her key. He then pulled his phone and called Kiz Rider. He didn’t bother with a greeting.

  “I thought you put a uniform on the door at Irving’s office.”

  “I did.”

  “Nobody’s here”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  Bosch closed his phone and appraised Dana Rosen. She was not what he had expected. She was a small and attractive woman but because of her age he dismissed her as a possible mistress of George Irving. Bosch had read that totally wrong with the widow. Dana Rosen could have been Irving’s mother.

  “How long did you work for George Irving?” Bosch asked.

  “Oh, a long time. I was with him at the City Attorney’s Office. Then when he left he offered me a job and I—”

  She stopped when Bosch’s phone began to buzz. It was Rider.

  “The watch commander at Central Division took it upon himself to redeploy the unit on the post at day watch roll call today. He thought that you had already been through the place.”

  Bosch knew that meant the office was unguarded for nearly three hours, plenty of time for someone to get in ahead of them and remove files. His suspicions and anger rose in equal increments.

  “Who is this guy?” he asked. “Is he connected to the councilman?”

  Irvin Irving had been out of the department for years but still had connections to many officers he mentored or rewarded with promotions during his years in command staff.

  “It’s a she,” Rider said. “Captain Grace Reddecker. As far as I can tell, it was a simple mistake. She’s not political—in that way.”

  Meaning of course Reddecker was politically connected in the department—she would have to be to score a division command—but she didn’t play politics on a larger scale.

  “She’s not one of Irving’s disciples?”

  “No. Her rise came after he was gone.”

  Bosch saw a man in a suit approaching them. He guessed it was the special master.

  “I have to go,” he said to Rider. “I’ll deal with this later. I hope it’s like you said, just a mistake.”

  “I think there’s nothing else to it, Harry.”

  Bosch disconnected as the man on the sidewalk joined them. He was tall with reddish-brown hair and a golfer’s tan.

  “Richard Hadlow?” Bosch asked.

  “That would be me.”

  Bosch made introductions and Rosen unlocked the office so they could enter. Hadlow was from one of the silk-stocking firms on Bunker Hill. The evening before, Judge Fluharty had enlisted him as a special master on a pro bono basis. No pay meant no delay. Hadlow had been leisurely about scheduling the search but now that they were there, he would be interested in getting it done quickly so he could get back to his paying clients. And that was fine with Bosch.

  They moved into the offices and set a plan in motion. Hadlow would go to work on the office files, making sure there was no privileged content before turning them over to Chu for review. Meantime, Bosch would continue his discussion with Dana Rosen to determine what was important and timely in terms of Irving’s work.

  Files and documentation were always valuable in an investigation but Bosch was smart enough to know that the most valuable thing in the office was Rosen. She could tell them the inside story.

  While Hadlow and Chu went to work in the rear office, Bosch pulled the seat from the reception desk into position in front of a couch in the front room and asked Rosen to have a seat. He then locked the front door and the formal interview began.

  “Is it Mrs. Rosen?” he asked.

  “No, never been married. You can just call me Dana, anyway.”

  “Well, Dana, why don’t we continue our conversation from the sidewalk. You were telling me that you had been with Mr. Irving since the City Attorney’s Office?”

  “Yes, I was his secretary there before coming with him when he started Irving and Associates. So if you include that, it has been sixteen years.”

  “And when he left the City Attorney’s Office you came with him right away?”

  She nodded.

  “We left the same day. It was a good deal. I was vested with the city so I got a pension when I retired, and then I came here. It was thirty hours a week. Nice and easy.”

  “How involved were you in Mr. Irving’s work?”

  “Not too much. He wasn’t here too much. I sort of just kept the files organized and everything neat and orderly. Answered the phone and took messages. He never took meetings here. Almost never.”

  “Did he have a lot of clients?”

  “He had a select few, actually. He charged a lot and people expected results. He wo
rked hard for them.”

  Bosch had his notebook out but so far had not jotted down a note.

  “Who was he concentrating on lately?”

  For the first time Rosen was not quick with her response. She had a confused look on her face.

  “Am I to assume because of all these questions that George didn’t kill himself?”

  “All I can tell you is that we are not assuming anything. It’s an open investigation and we haven’t made a finding in regard to his death. Until we do, we are trying to conduct a thorough investigation of all possibilities. Now, can you answer the question? Who was Mr. Irving concentrating his time on most recently?”

  “Well, he had two clients that he was working with intensively. One was Western Block and Concrete and the other was Tolson Towing. But both those went to council vote last week. George got what he wanted in both cases and was now just coming up for air.”

  Bosch wrote the names down.

  “What did his work for those companies involve?” he asked.

  “Western was bidding on the contract for the new parking garage at Parker Center. They got it. And Tolson was reapplying as OPG designee for Hollywood and Wilshire Divisions.”

  The Official Police Garage designation would mean Tolson would continue to handle all towing called for by the LAPD in those two police divisions. A lucrative deal, just as he assumed the concrete pour on a parking garage would be. Bosch had heard or read that the new city garage would be six levels and was designed to service the overflow from all municipal buildings in the civic center.

  “So these were his main clients as of late?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “And they would have been happy with the results they got.”

  “Absolutely. Western wasn’t even the low bidder and Tolson had strong competition this time. Plus a two-inch-thick complaint file to overcome. George had his work cut out for him but he came through.”

  “And how did it work with his father being on the council? Wasn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  Rosen nodded emphatically.

  “Of course it was. That was why the councilman abstained from voting whenever one of George’s clients had business before the council.”

  This seemed odd to Bosch. Having a father on the council seemed to give George Irving the inside edge. But if his father excused himself from voting on such matters, the edge disappeared.