“We got nothin’. So far, at least.”
“Okay. Were they out on the fire escape yet?”
“They started there. Nothing.”
Bosch couldn’t say he was disappointed because he knew it was a long shot in the first place, especially on the fire escape, which had been exposed to the elements for nearly four days.
“Do you need me there?”
“No, I think we’re going to wrap soon. How was the funeral?”
“It was a funeral. Not much else to say.”
In order to bring Chu in and oversee the second forensic examination of the crime scene, Bosch had told him in general terms where the investigation was moving.
“Then, what’s next?”
Bosch climbed into his car and started the engine.
“I think it’s time we spoke to Mark McQuillen.”
“All right, when?”
Bosch had been thinking about that but wanted to consider the how, when and where questions further.
“We’ll work it out when you get back to the PAB.”
Bosch disconnected and dropped the phone into his coat pocket. He loosened his tie slightly as he drove out of the cemetery. Almost immediately his phone buzzed and he assumed Chu was calling back with another question. But instead it was Hannah Stone’s name on the ID screen.
“Hannah.”
“Hello, Harry. How are you?”
“I just left a funeral.”
“What? Whose?”
“Somebody I never met. It was work. How are things at the center?”
“They’re fine. I’m on a break.”
“Good.”
He waited. He knew she wasn’t calling just to pass the time.
“I was wondering if you’ve been thinking about last night.”
The reality was that Bosch had been consumed by the Irving case since he had confronted Robert Mason the night before.
“Of course,” he said. “That was pretty wonderful for me.”
“It was wonderful for me, too, but I didn’t mean that. I meant about what I told you. Before.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“About Shawn. My son.”
This felt jagged and awkward. He wasn’t sure what she wanted.
“Well . . . I don’t know, Hannah, what am I supposed to be thinking about?”
“Never mind, Harry. I need to go.”
“Wait, Hannah. Come on, you called me, remember? Don’t go and don’t get upset. Just tell me, what am I supposed to be thinking about with your son?”
Bosch felt something gripping his insides. He had to consider that for her the night before might have been some sort of means to a hopeful end that was about her son and not them. To Bosch, her son was lost. When Shawn was twenty years old he had drugged a girl and raped her—a sad and terrible story. He pleaded guilty and went to prison. That was five years ago and Hannah had dedicated her life since then to trying to understand where the impulse in him had come from. Was it genetic, was it nature, was it nurture? It was a form of prison in itself for Hannah, and Bosch had felt sympathy as she told him the ugly story.
But now he wasn’t sure what she wanted from him besides his sympathy. Was he supposed to say her son’s crime was not her fault? Or that her son wasn’t evil? Or was she hoping for some sort of concrete help in terms of her son’s incarceration? Bosch didn’t know because she hadn’t said.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want it to ruin anything, that’s all.”
That eased things for him a small bit.
“Then don’t let it, Hannah. Just let things happen. We’ve only known each other a few days. We like to be with each other but maybe we moved too quickly. Let’s just let things happen and don’t bring this other stuff into it. Not yet.”
“But I have to. He’s my son. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with what he did and to think about him up there?”
The grip inside tightened again and he understood that he had made a mistake with this woman. His loneliness and his own need for connection had led him down the wrong path. He had waited so long and now had chosen so wrong.
“Hannah,” he said. “I’m in the middle of stuff here. Can we talk about all of this later?”
“Whatever.”
It was said as an invective. She might as well have said Fuck you, Bosch. The message was the same. But he acted like he had not received it.
“Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I’m clear. Good-bye, Hannah.”
“Good-bye, Harry.”
Bosch disconnected and fought the urge to throw the phone out the car window. His thinking that Hannah Stone could be the one he brought into the life he shared with his daughter had been a fool’s dream. He had moved too quickly. He had dreamed too quickly.
He shoved the phone into his coat pocket and buried his thoughts about Hannah Stone and failed romance as deep as George Irving had just been put in the ground.
26
Bosch entered the empty cubicle and immediately saw the stack of large envelopes on Chu’s desk. He put his briefcase down on his own desk but then went over to Chu’s and spread the envelopes across his blotter. Chu had received the statements and other records from George Irving’s credit cards. Going back and checking all credit-card purchases was an important component of a thorough death investigation. Their findings would become part of the victim’s financial profile.
The bottom envelope was the thinnest and was from the crime lab. Bosch opened this one, wondering which case it was in regard to.
The envelope contained the report on the analysis of George Irving’s shirt. Forensic testing determined that the navy blue dress shirt contained blood and cellular material—skin—on the inside right shoulder panel. This was consistent with the crescent moon–shaped bruises and lacerations found on Irving’s shoulder during the autopsy.
Bosch sat down at Chu’s desk and studied the report and considered what it meant. He realized it could indicate at least two scenarios. One was that Irving was wearing the shirt when he was choked out and the injury to the skin on his shoulder occurred when the choker’s watch pushed the shirt against his skin. The second was that the shirt was put on after the wounds occurred and the blood and skin were transferred.
Two things led Bosch to discount the second scenario. The button found on the floor indicated there might have been a struggle while Irving was still wearing the shirt. And because Irving had plunged naked to his death, it seemed highly unlikely that the shirt was put on over the wound and then removed again.
Bosch zeroed in on the first scenario. It suggested that Irving was surprised from behind and locked into a choke hold. There was a struggle. The button was torn from the right sleeve and the choker moved into the shoulder creep maneuver to control the victim. The bruises and surface abrasions occurred despite the shirt.
Bosch thought about this for a few minutes and no matter which angle he took on it, it still led back to McQuillen. As he had said to Chu, it was time to bring McQuillen in.
Bosch moved over to his desk and started planning the takedown. He decided it would not be a felony arrest. He would seek McQuillen’s voluntary agreement to come downtown to the PAB and answer questions. If this effort was unsuccessful, then cuffs would come out and he would be arrested.
McQuillen was a former cop and this made him a dangerous arrest target. Almost all ex-cops owned guns and they all knew how to use them. Bosch would have Chu run a check on the ATF gun registry but he knew that such a check would not be conclusive. Cops picked up and seized guns on the street all the time. Not all of them were turned in to Property. An ATF backgrounding would only tell them what McQuillen legally owned.
Because of these concerns Bosch determined first and foremost that McQuillen would not be approached at home. That would put him too close to whatever known and unknown weapons he had. His car would also be a poor choice for the same reasons.
Bosch had already seen the inside of t
he B&W garage and dispatch office. This gave him a strategic edge. It would also be the least likely place for McQuillen to be armed. It would be one thing if he was driving a cab on the dark edges of Hollywood, but dispatching cabs there was not as dangerous.
The desk phone rang and the screen simply said LATIMES. Bosch was tempted to let it go to message but then thought better of it.
“Open-Unsolved.”
“Is Detective Bosch there?”
“Speaking.”
“Detective, this is Emily Gomez-Gonzmart across the street at the Los Angeles Times. I’m working on a story about the murder investigation of George Irving and I want to ask you a few questions.”
Bosch froze for a long moment. He had a sudden desire for a cigarette. He knew of the reporter. She was nicknamed “GoGo” because she relentlessly pursued the stories she was following.
“Detective?”
“Yes, sorry, I’m in the middle of something here. You called it a murder. What makes you think it is a murder investigation? It’s a death investigation, yes. But we have not called it a murder. We have not made that conclusion.”
Now she paused for a moment before answering.
“Well, my information is that it is a murder investigation and there is a suspect who will be arrested soon, if he has not already been taken into custody. This suspect is a former police officer with an ax to grind against both Councilman Irving and his son. That’s why I’m calling you, Detective. Can you confirm this and have you made an arrest in the case?”
Bosch was stunned by the depth of her information.
“Look, I am not confirming anything. There has been no arrest and I am not sure where you are getting your information, but it is not correct.”
Her voice changed now. It became more of a whisper and it carried an intimate who are you kidding? quality to it.
“Detective,” she said, “we both know that my information is correct. We are going with the story and I would like your comments for the record. You are, after all, the lead investigator. But if you can’t or won’t talk to me, then I’ll go without you and I will report just that, that you refused to comment.”
Bosch’s mind was scrambling. He knew how it worked. The story would be in the morning’s paper, but long before that, it would go out online through the newspaper’s website. And when it hit the digital universe it would be read by every assignment editor at every television and radio station in town. Within an hour of the post on the Times website, there would be a media frenzy. And whether named in the story or not, McQuillen would know Bosch was coming for him.
Bosch couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have the media rush him or dictate his moves in any way. He realized that he had to cut a deal here.
“Who is your source?” he asked, just to gain a little time to consider ways of handling this.
GoGo laughed, as Bosch knew she would.
“Detective, please. You know I can’t reveal my sources. If you want to become an unnamed source, then I would offer you the same absolute protection. I’d go to jail before revealing sources. But I would prefer to have you on the record.”
Bosch raised his head and looked out of the cubicle. The squad room was mostly deserted. Tim Marcia was at his desk near the lieutenant’s office. The L.T.’s door was closed as usual and it was impossible to know if she was holing up in there or out at a meeting.
“I wouldn’t mind going on the record,” he said. “But you know that with a case like this, with the political connections and whatnot, I can’t go on the record without permission. It could mean my job. You’ll have to hold back until I can get it.”
He hoped that by saying his job was on the line, he’d get some sympathy time. Nobody wants to cause somebody to lose their job. Not even a cold and calculating reporter.
“This sounds like a stall to me, Detective Bosch. With you or without you, I have the story and I am filing it today.”
“Okay, then how long can you give me? I’ll get back to you.”
There was a pause and Bosch thought he could hear her typing on a computer keyboard.
“My deadline is five. I need to hear from you before then.”
Bosch checked his watch. He had just gotten three hours from her. He believed that would give him enough time to take down McQuillen. Once he was in custody it didn’t matter what was on the Internet or how many reporters and producers called him or the media relations office.
“Give me your direct number,” he said. “I’ll get back to you before five.”
Bosch had no intention of calling her back but he wrote her name and number down in his notebook anyway.
As soon as he hung up he called Kiz Rider on his cell. She answered right away but sounded like she was in a car.
“Yes, Harry?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“The Times has the story. It came from either the chief or the councilman. Either way, I’m fucked if it gets out too soon.”
“Hold on, hold on. How do you know?”
“Because the reporter just called me and she knew we’re working it as a murder and that we have a suspect who’s an ex-cop. She’s been told everything.”
“Who’s the reporter?”
“Emily Gomez-Gonzmart. I’ve never talked to her before but I’ve heard of her. Supposedly they call her GoGo because she doesn’t give up on a story.”
“Well, she isn’t one of ours.”
Meaning GoGo wasn’t on the list of approved and trusted reporters the chief of police dealt with. This meant her source was Irvin Irving or someone on the city councilman’s staff.
“But you’re saying that she knew you had a suspect?” Rider said.
“That’s right. She knows everything but the name. She knew it was either about to go down or it already did.”
“Well, you know reporters often act like they know more than they do as a way of tricking you into confirming things.”
“She knew we had a suspect and he’s an ex-cop, Kiz. That wasn’t a bluff. I’m telling you, she knows it all. You people up there better get on the phone and jump on Irving’s shit for this. It’s his own son and he’s damaging the case for what? Is there a political advantage to putting this out now?”
“No, there isn’t. That’s why I’m not convinced it went through him. And the thing is, I was in the room when the chief got him on the phone and updated him. He held back on the suspect because he knew Irving would demand to know the name. So he left that out. He did tell him about the marks on the shoulder and the choke hold connection but he did not say that there was a named suspect. He said we were still working it.”
Bosch was quiet as he contemplated the meaning of all of this. It fell under the heading of high jingo and he knew there was no one to trust other than Kiz Rider.
“Harry, I’m in the car. What I suggest you do is go online and get into the Times website. Put in a search with the reporter’s name. See what comes up in previous stories. See if she has done stories involving Irving before. Maybe there’s a staffer she’s connected to and it’s obvious from previous stories.”
It was a good and savvy idea.
“Okay, I’ll do it but I don’t have a lot of time. This is forcing the issue with McQuillen. As soon as my partner gets in, we’re going to go grab him.”
“You sure you’re ready?”
“I don’t think we have a choice. This story hits the Internet at five o’clock. We need to grab him before that.”
“Let me know the moment it goes down.”
“You got it.”
Bosch disconnected and immediately called Chu, who should have already cleared the Chateau Marmont.
“Where are you?”
“Heading in. We got nothing, Harry.”
“Doesn’t matter. We grab McQuillen today.”
“Your call.”
“Yeah, my call and I’m making it. See you back here.”
He disconnected and put his phone down on the desk. He
drummed his fingers. He didn’t like this. His case actions were being dictated by outside influences. It never felt good. Sure, the plan was to get McQuillen and bring him in for questioning. But before, Bosch was setting the pace. Now it was being set for him and it made him feel like a tiger in a cage. Confined and angry, ready to put a paw out through the bars and take a swipe at the first thing that goes by.
He got up and went over to Tim Marcia’s desk.
“Is the L.T. in?”
“Yeah, she’s in there.”
“Can I go in? I need to give her an update.”
“She’s all yours—if you can get her to open up.”
Bosch knocked on the agoraphobic lieutenant’s door. After a pause, he heard Duvall give the okay and he went in. She was at her desk, working on the computer. She glanced up to see who it was but then finished typing something as she spoke.
“What’s up, Harry?”
“What’s up is that I’m going to be bringing in a body today on the Irving case.”
This made her look up.
“The plan is to get him to come in voluntarily. But if that doesn’t work, we’ll hook him up.”
“Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”
It was not said as a sincere thanks. Bosch had not updated her in twenty-four hours and a lot had happened in that time. He pulled out the chair in front of her desk and sat down. He gave her the short version, taking ten minutes to lead her up to the phone call from the reporter.
“My bad for not keeping you updated,” he said. “Things have just been breaking quickly. The chief’s office is up to speed—I just spoke to his adjutant today at the funeral—and they’ll let the councilman know.”
“Well, I guess I should be glad you kept me in the dark.
Now I won’t be a suspect in the leak to the Times. Any idea about that?”
“I’m assuming it was Irving or someone in his camp.”
“But what does he get out of this? He’s not going to end up looking good here.”
It was the first time Bosch had considered this. The lieutenant was right. Why would Irving leak a story that was ultimately going to taint him with, at minimum, the whiff of corruption? That didn’t make sense.
“Good question,” Bosch said. “But I don’t have an answer. All I know is that it got across the street somehow.”
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