“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.”
“Yeah, we don’t want the shark to drown, do we?” Chastain said.
“That’s right, Chastain. Now, I know nobody’s had much sleep. My thinking is that some of us keep working and knock off early, some of us go home, take a nap and come back in fresh tonight. Any problem with that?”
Again no one said anything.
“All right, this is how we break it up. I’ve got three boxes of files from Elias’s office in my trunk. I want you IAD guys to take them and go back to Irving’s conference room. You take the files, pull out names of cops and anybody else to be checked out. I want a chart made up. When we get legit alibis we scratch the names off the chart and move on. I want this ready by the time the bureau arrives tomorrow. When you have it done, then you guys can knock off for the night.”
“And what are you going to be doing?” Chastain asked.
“We’re going to run down Elias’s secretary and his clerk. Then after that, I’m going home to take a nap. Hopefully. Then tonight we’re going to talk to Harris and chase down that Internet thing. I want to know what that’s all about before the bureau comes in.”
“You better be careful with Harris.”
“We will. That’s one reason we’re waiting until tonight. We play it right and the media doesn’t even find out we talked to the guy.”
Chastain nodded.
“What about these files y
ou’re giving us, they old or new?”
“They’re old ones. Entrenkin started on the closed cases.”
“When are we going to see the Black Warrior file? That’s the one. The rest of this is bullshit.”
“Hopefully, I’ll be picking that up later today. But the rest isn’t bullshit. We have to look at every damn file in that office. Because the one we skip is likely to be the one some lawyer shoves up our ass in trial. You understand that? Don’t skip anything.”
“I got it.”
“Besides, what do you care so much about the Black Warrior file for? You cleared those guys on it, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So what are you going to find in the file other than what you already know? You think you missed something, Chastain?”
“No, but . . .”
“But what?”
“It’s the case of the moment. I think there’s gotta be something there.”
“Well, we’ll see. All in good time. For now stick to the old files and don’t skip anything.”
“I told you, we won’t. It’s just a pain in the ass to know you’re wasting time.”
“Welcome to homicide.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Bosch reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown bag. It contained several copies of the key Irving had given him that he had had made in Chinatown on his way to the restaurant. He turned the bag over on the center of the table and keys clattered onto the table.
“Everybody take a key. They’ll open the door to Irving’s conference room. Once the files are in there I want the room locked at all times.”
Everybody reached to the center of the table and took a key except Bosch. He had already put the original on his key ring. He stood up and looked at Chastain.
“Let’s go get those files out of my car.”
16
The interviews with the secretary and the clerk were so uneventful that Bosch wished the detectives could have spent the time in their beds sleeping. Tyla Quimby, the secretary, had been out with the flu and holed up in her home in the Crenshaw district for the last week. She had no knowledge of Howard Elias’s activities during the days before his death. Aside from exposing Bosch, Edgar and Rider to the flu, she gave the detectives very little. She explained that Elias kept his case strategies and other aspects of his work largely to himself. Her role was primarily opening mail, answering phones, handling walk-in visitors and clients, and paying the office expenses through a small operating account Elias put money into each month. As far as the phone traffic went, she said Elias had a direct private phone line in his office that over the years had become widely known among friends and associates as well as some reporters and even enemies. So she was of little use in helping them determine whether Elias had been specifically threatened in the weeks before his murder. The investigators thanked her and left her home, hoping they would not fall victim to her illness.