“Now,” she said, “Chief Irving, would knowing about Detective Bosch’s mother have caused you to take a closer look at this shooting?”
After a long moment of silence, he said, “I can’t say.”
“He shot a man suspected of doing almost the exact same thing that had happened to his mother — his mother’s slaying being unsolved. Are you saying you don’t know if that would have been germane to your investigation?”
“I, yes …I don’t know at this time.”
Bosch wanted to put his head down on the table. He had noticed that even Belk had stopped scribbling notes and was just watching the interchange between Irving and Chandler. Bosch tried to shake off the anger he felt and concentrate on how Chandler had obtained the information. He realized she had probably gotten the P-file in a discovery motion. But the details of the crime and his mother’s background would not be in it. She had most likely procured the due diligence report from the archives warehouse on a Freedom of Information petition.
He realized he had missed several questions to Irving. He began watching and listening again. He wished he had a lawyer like Money Chandler.
“Chief, did you or any IAD detectives go to the scene of the shooting?”
“No, we did not.”
“So your information about what happened came from members of the shooting team, who in turn got their information from the shooter, Detective Bosch, correct?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“You have no personal knowledge of the evidentiary layout: the toupee under the pillow, the cosmetics beneath the sink in the bathroom?”
“Correct. I was not there.”
“Do you believe all of that was there as I just stated?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“It was all there in the reports — reports from several different officers.”
“But all originating with the information from Detective Bosch, correct?”
“To a degree. There were investigators swarming that place. Bosch didn’t tell them what to write.”
“Before, as you say, they swarmed the place, how long was Bosch there alone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that piece of information on any report that you know of?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Isn’t it true, Chief, that you wanted to fire Bosch and refer this shooting to the district attorney’s office for the filing of criminal charges against him?”
“No, that is wrong. The DA looked at it and passed. It’s routine. They said it was within policy, too.”
Well, score one for me, Bosch thought. It was the first misstep he had seen her take with Irving.
“What happened to the woman who gave Bosch this tip? Her name was McQueen. I believe she was a prostitute.”
“She died about a year later. Hepatitis.”
“At the time of her death was she part of an ongoing investigation of Detective Bosch and this shooting?”
“Not that I am aware of and I was in charge of IAD at the time.”
“What about the two IAD detectives who investigated the shooting? Lewis and Clarke, I believe their names were. Didn’t they continue their investigation of Bosch long after the shooting had been determined officially to be within policy?”
Irving took a while to answer. He was probably leery of being led to slaughter again.
“If they conducted such an ongoing investigation it was without my knowledge or approval.”
“Where are those detectives now?”
“They are also dead. Both killed in the line of duty a couple years ago.”
“As the commander of IAD wasn’t it your practice to initiate covert investigations of problem officers that you had marked for dismissal? Wasn’t Detective Bosch one of those officers?”
“The answer to both questions is no. Unequivocally, no.”
“And what happened to Detective Bosch for his violation of procedures during the shooting of the unarmed Norman Church?”
“He was suspended for one deployment period and transferred within detective services to Hollywood Division.”
“In English, that means he was suspended for a month and demoted from the elite Robbery-Homicide squad to the Hollywood Division, correct?”
“You could say it that way.”
Chandler flipped a page up on her pad.
“Chief, if there were no cosmetics in the bathroom and no evidence that Norman Church was anything other than a lonely man who had taken a prostitute to his apartment, would Harry Bosch still be on the force? Would he have been prosecuted for killing this man?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“I’m asking, sir, did the alleged evidence tying Mr. Church to the killings that was allegedly found in his apartment save Detective Bosch? Did it not only save his job but save him from criminal prosecution?”
Belk stood up and objected, then walked to the lectern.
“She is asking him to speculate again, Your Honor. He can’t tell what would have happened given an elaborate set of circumstances that didn’t exist.”
Judge Keyes clasped his hands together in front of him and leaned back thinking. Then he abruptly leaned forward to the microphone.
“Ms. Chandler is laying the groundwork to make a case that the evidence in the apartment was fabricated. I’m not saying whether she has adequately done this or not, but since that is her mission I think the question is answerable. I’m going to allow it.”
After some thought, Irving finally said, “I can’t answer that. I don’t know what would have happened.”
11
Bosch was able to smoke two cigarettes during the ten-minute recess that followed the end of Irving’s testimony. On redirect Belk had asked only a few questions, trying to rebuild a fallen house with a hammer but no nails. The damage was done.
Chandler had so far used the day to skillfully plant the seeds of doubt about both Church and Bosch. The alibi for the eleventh killing opened the door to Church’s possible innocence. And now she had subscribed a motive to Bosch’s action: revenge for a murder more than thirty years old. By the end of the trial the seeds would be in full bloom.
He thought about what Chandler had said about his mother. Could she have been right? Bosch had never consciously considered it. It was always there — the idea of revenge — flickering in some part of his mind with the distant memories of his mother. But he had never taken it out and examined it. Why had he gone out there alone that night? Why hadn’t he called one of the others back in — Mora or any of the investigators in his command?
Bosch had always told himself and others it was because he doubted the whore’s story. But now, he knew, it was his own story he was beginning to doubt.
Bosch was so deep in these thoughts that he did not notice Chandler had come through the door until the flare of her lighter caught his eye. He turned and stared at her.
“I won’t stay long,” she said. “Just a half.”
“I don’t care.”
He was almost done with the second cigarette.
“Who’s next?”
“Locke.”
The USC psychologist. Bosch nodded, though he immediately saw this as a break from her good guy–bad guy pattern. Unless she counted Locke as a good guy.
“Well, you’re doing good,” Bosch said. “But I guess you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You may even win — you probably will win, but ultimately you’re wrong about me.”
“Am I? …Do you even know?”
“Yeah, I know. I know.”
“I have to go.”
She stubbed the cigarette out. It was less than half smoked. It would be a prize for Tommy Faraway.
• • •
Dr. John Locke was a gray-bearded, bald and bespectacled man who looked as though he could have used a pipe to complete the picture of university professor and researcher of sexual behavior. He
testified that he had offered his expertise to the Dollmaker task force after reading about the killings in the newspapers. He helped an LAPD psychiatrist draw up the first profiles of the suspect.
“Tell the jury about your expertise,” Chandler asked.
“Well, I am the director of the Psychohormonal Research Laboratory at USC. I am founder of that unit as well. I have conducted wide-ranging studies of sexual practice, paraphilia and psychosexual dynamics.”
“What is a paraphilia, doctor? In language we will all understand, please.”
“Well, in layman’s terms, paraphilia are what are commonly referred to by the general public as sexual perversions — sexual behavior generally considered unacceptable by society.”
“Such as strangling your sex partner?”
“Yes, that would be one of them, big time.”
There was a polite murmur of humor in the courtroom and Locke smiled. He seemed very at ease on the witness stand, Bosch thought.
“Have you written scholarly articles or books about these subjects you mentioned?”
“Yes, I have contributed numerous articles to research publications. I’ve written seven books on various subjects, sexual development of children, prepubescent paraphilia, studies of sadomasochism — the whole bondage thing, pornography, prostitution. My last book was on childhood development histories of deviant murderers.”
“So you’ve been around the block.”
“Only as a researcher.”
Locke smiled again and Bosch could see the jury warming to him. All twenty-four eyes were on the sex doctor.
“Your last book, the one on the murderers, what was it called?”
“Black Hearts: Cracking the Erotic Mold of Murder.”
Chandler took a moment to look at her notes.
“What do you mean by ‘erotic mold’?”
“Well, Ms. Chandler, if I could digress a moment, I think I should fill in some background.”
She nodded her go-ahead.
“There are generally two fields, or two schools of thought, when it comes to the study of sexual paraphilia. I am what you call a psychoanalyst, and psychoanalysts believe that the root of paraphilia in an individual comes from hostilities nurtured in childhood. In other words, sexual perversions — in fact, even normal erotic interests — are formed in early childhood and then manifest in expressions as the individual becomes an adult.
“On the other hand, behaviorists view paraphilia as learned behaviors. An example being, molestation in the home of a child may trigger similar behavior by him as an adult. The two schools, for lack of a better word, are not that divergent. They are actually quite closer than psychoanalysts and behaviorists usually like to admit.”
He nodded and folded his hands together, seeming to have forgotten the original question.
“You were going to tell us about erotic molds,” Chandler prompted.
“Oh yes, I’m sorry, I lost the train there. Uh, the erotic mold is the description I use to cover the whole shebang of psychosexual desires that go into an individual’s ideal erotic scene. You see, everybody has an ideal erotic scene. This could include the ideal physical attributes of a lover, the location, the type of sex act, the smell, taste, touch, music, whatever. Everything, all the ingredients that go into this individual achieving the ultimate erotic scene. A leading authority on this, out of Johns Hopkins University, calls it a ‘lovemap.’ It is sort of a guide to the ultimate scene.”
“Okay, now in your book, you applied it to sexual murderers.”
“Yes, with five subjects — all convicted of murder involving a sexual motivation or practice — I attempted to trace each man’s erotic mold. To crack it open and trace the parts back to development in childhood. These men had damaged molds, so to speak. I wanted to find where the damage took place.”
“How did you pick your subjects?”
Belk stood up and made an objection and moved to the lectern.
“Your Honor, as fascinating as all of this is, I don’t believe it is on point to this case. I will stipulate Dr. Locke’s expertise in this field. I don’t think we have to go through the history of five other murderers. We are here in trial on a case about a murderer who is not even mentioned in Dr. Locke’s book. I am familiar with the book. Norman Church is not in it.”
“Ms. Chandler?” Judge Keyes said.
“Your Honor, Mr. Belk is correct about the book. It’s about sadistic sex killers. Norman Church is not in it. But its significance to this case will be clear in the next set of questions. I think Mr. Belk realizes this and that is the reason for his objection.”
“Well, Mr. Belk, I think the time for an objection was probably about ten minutes ago. We are well into this line of questioning and I think we need to see it through now. Besides, you are correct about it being rather fascinating. Go on, Ms. Chandler. The objection is overruled.”
Belk dropped back into his chair and whispered to Bosch, “He’s gotta be banging her.” It was said just loud enough that Chandler might have heard him, but not the judge. If she did, she showed nothing.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” she said. “Dr. Locke, Mr. Belk and I were correct when we said that Norman Church was not one of the subjects of your study, were we not?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“When did the book come out?”
“Just last year.”
“That would be three years after the end of the Dollmaker case?”
“Yes.”
“Well, having been part of the Dollmaker task force and obviously becoming familiar with the crimes, why didn’t you include Norman Church in your study? It would seem to be an obvious choice.”
“It would seem that way but it wasn’t. First of all, Norman Church was dead. I wanted subjects that were alive and cooperative. But incarcerated, of course. I wanted people that I could interview.”
“But of the five subjects you wrote about, only four are alive. What about the fifth, a man named Alan Karps, who was executed in Texas before you even began your book? Why not Norman Church?”
“Because, Ms. Chandler, Karps had spent much of his adult life in institutions. There were voluminous public records on his treatment and psychiatric study. With Church there was nothing. He had never been in trouble before. He was an anomaly.”
Chandler looked down at her yellow pad and flipped a page, letting the point she just scored hang in the quiet courtroom like a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“But you did at least make preliminary inquiries about Church, didn’t you?”
Locke hesitated before answering.
“Yes, I made a very preliminary inquiry. It amounted to contacting his family and asking his wife if she would grant me an interview. She turned me down. Since the man himself was dead and there were no records about him — other than the actual details of the murders, which I was already familiar with — I didn’t pursue it. I went with Karps in Texas.”
Bosch watched Chandler cross several questions off on her legal pad and then flip several pages to a new set. He guessed that she was changing tack.
She said, “While you were working with the task force you drew up a psychological profile of the killer, correct?”
“Yes,” Locke said slowly. He adjusted himself in the chair, straightening up for what he knew was coming.
“What was that based on?”
“An analysis of the crime scenes and method of homicide filtered through what little we know about the deviant mind. I came up with common attributes that I thought might be part of our suspect’s makeup — no pun intended.”
No one in the courtroom laughed. Bosch looked around and saw that the spectator rows were becoming crowded. This must be the best show in the building, he thought. Maybe all of downtown.
“You were not very successful, were you? If Norman Church was the Doll-maker, that is.”
“No, not very successful. But that happens. It’s a lot of guesswork. Rather than a testimonial to my failure, it is more a te
stimonial to how little we know about people. This man’s behavior did not make so much as a blip on anybody’s radar screen — not counting, of course, the women he killed — until the night he was shot.”
“You speak as if it is a given that Norman Church was the killer, the Doll-maker. Do you know that to be true based on indisputable facts?”
“Well, I know it to be true because it is what the police told me.”
“If you take it backwards, doctor. If you start with what you know about Norman Church now and leave out what the police have told you about the supposed evidence, would you ever believe him capable of what he has been accused of?”
Belk was about to stand up to object but Bosch strongly put his hand on his arm and held him down. Belk turned and looked angrily at him but by then Locke was answering.
“I wouldn’t be able to count him in or out as a suspect. We don’t know enough about him. We don’t know enough about the human mind in general. All I know is, anybody is capable of anything. I could be a sexual killer. Even you, Ms. Chandler. We all have an erotic mold and for most of us, it is quite normal. For some it may be a bit unusual but still only playful. For the others, on the extreme, who find they can only reach erotic excitement and fulfillment through administering pain, even killing their partners, it is buried deep and dark.”
Chandler was looking down at her pad and writing when he finished. When she didn’t ask another question immediately, he continued unbidden.
“Unfortunately, the black heart is not worn on the sleeve. The victims who see it usually don’t live to talk about it.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Chandler said. “I have nothing further.”
Belk plowed in without any preliminary softball questions, a look of concentration on his wide florid face that Bosch had not seen previously.
“Doctor, these men with these so-called paraphilia, what do they look like?”
“Like anybody. There is no look that gives them away.”
“Yes, and are they always on the prowl? You know, looking to indulge their aberrant fantasies by acting them out?”
“No, actually, studies have shown that these people obviously know they have aberrant tastes and they work to keep them in check. Those brave enough to come forward with their problems often lead completely normal lives with the aid of chemical and psychological therapy. Those that don’t are periodically overcome by the compulsion to act out, and they may follow these urges and commit a crime.