Vol I Part 102 (2/2)

”There is no guarantee that he is going to do something. Locke said he thinks the follower has a lot of control. He doesn't think he is out there hunting every night. He thinks he controls the urge and lives pretty normally, then strikes at irregular intervals.”

”There is no guarantee that we'll even be watching the right man, Detective Bosch, but I want to watch him anyway. I am sitting here hoping we are dreadfully wrong about Detective Mora. But the things you have said here are convincing in a circ.u.mstantial way. Nothing near being usable in court. So we watch him and hope if it's him we'll see the sign before he hurts anybody else. My -”

”I agree, sir,” Rollenberger said.

”Don't interrupt me, Lieutenant. My forte is neither detective work nor psychoa.n.a.lysis, but something tells me that whoever the follower is, he's feeling the pressure. Sure, he brought it on himself with that note. And he may think this is a cat-and-mouse game he can master. Nevertheless, he is feeling the pressure. And one thing I know, just from being a cop, when the pressure is on these people, the edge-dwellers I call them, then they react. Sometimes they crack, sometimes they act out. So what I am saying is, knowing what I know about this case, I want Mora covered if he even walks outside to get the mail.”

They sat there in silence. Even Rollenberger, who seemed cowed by his misstep in interrupting Irving.

”Okay, then, we have our a.s.signments. Sheehan, Opelt, surveillance. Bosch, you are freelancing until you get done with the trial. Edgar, you have the survivor and when you have the time do some checking on Mora. Nothing that will get back to him.”

”He's divorced,” Bosch offered. ”Got divorced right before the Dollmaker task force was put together.”

”All right, there's your start. Go to court, pull his divorce. Who knows, we might get lucky. Maybe his wife dropped him because he liked making her up like a doll. Things have been hard enough on this case, we could use a break like that.”

Irving looked around the table at each man's face.

”The potential for embarra.s.sment to the department on this case is huge. But I don't want anybody holding back. Let the stones fall where they will. ... Okay, then, everybody has their a.s.signments. Go to it. Everyone is excused with the exception of Detective Bosch.”

As the others filed out of the room, Bosch thought Rollenberger's face showed his disappointment at not getting a chance for a private a.s.s-kissing conference with Irving.

After the door closed, Irving was quiet for a few moments as he composed what he wanted to say. Throughout most of Bosch's career as a detective, Irving had been a nemesis of sorts, always trying to control him and bring him into the fold. Bosch had always resisted. Nothing personal, it just wasn't Bosch's gig.

But now Bosch sensed a softening in Irving. In the way he had treated Bosch during the meeting, in the way he testified earlier in the week. He could have hung Bosch out to dry but didn't. Yet, it wasn't something Bosch could or would acknowledge. So he sat there silently and waited.

”Good work on this, Detective. Especially with the trial and everything going on.”

Bosch nodded but knew that wasn't what this was about.

”Uh, that's why I held you here. The trial. I wanted to - let's see, how do I say this ...I wanted to tell you, and excuse the language, but I don't give a flying f.u.c.k what that jury decides or how much money they give those people. That jury has no idea what it's like to be out there on the edge. To have to make the decisions that may cost or save lives. You can't take a week to accurately examine and judge the decision you had to make in a second.”

Bosch was trying to think of something to say and the silence seemed to drag on too long.

”Anyway,” Irving finally said, ”I guess it's taken me four years to come to that conclusion. But better late than never.”

”Hey, I could use you for closing arguments tomorrow.”

Irving's face cringed, the muscular jaws flexing as if he had just taken a mouthful of cold sauerkraut.

”Don't get me started on that, either. I mean, what is this city doing? The city attorney's office is nothing but a school. A law school for trial lawyers. And the taxpayers pay the tuition. We get these greenhorn, uh, uh, preppies, who don't know the first thing about trial law. They learn from the mistakes they make in court when it counts - for us. And when they finally get good and know what the h.e.l.l they're doing, they quit and then they're the lawyers suing us!”

Bosch had never seen Irving so animated. It was as if he had taken off the starched public persona he always wore like a uniform. Harry was entranced.

”Sorry about that,” Irving said. ”I get carried away. Anyway, good luck with this jury but don't let it worry you.”

Bosch said nothing.

”You know, Bosch, it only takes a half-hour meeting with Lieutenant Rollenberger in the room for me to want to take a good look at myself and this department and where it's headed. He's not the LAPD I joined or you joined. He's a good manager, yes, and so am I, at least I think so. But we can't forget we're cops...”

Bosch didn't know what to say, or if he should say anything. It seemed that Irving was almost rambling now. As if there was something he wanted to say, but was looking for anything else to say instead.

”Hans Rollenberger. What a name, huh? I can guess, the detectives in his crew must call him 'Hans Off,' am I right?”

”Sometimes.”

”Yes, well, I guess that's expected. He - uh, you know, Harry, I've got thirty-eight years in the department.”

Bosch just nodded. This was getting weird. Irving had never even called him by his first name before.

”And, uh, I worked Hollywood patrol for a lot of years right out of the academy.... That question Money Chandler asked me about your mother. That really came out of the blue and I'm sorry about that, Harry, sorry for your loss.”

”It was a long time ago.” Bosch waited a beat. Irving was looking down at his hands, which were clasped on the table. ”If that's it, I think I'll -”

”Yes, that's basically it, but, you know, what I wanted to tell you is that I was there that day.”

”What day?”

”That day that your mother - I was the RO.”

”The reporting officer?”

”Yes, I was the one that found her. I was walking a foot beat on the Boulevard and I ducked into that alley off of Gower. I usually hit it once a day and, uh, I found her.... When Chandler showed me those reports I recognized the case right away. She didn't know my badge number - it was there on the report - or she would've known I was the one who found her. Chandler would've had some kind of a field day with that, I guess...”

This was hard for Bosch to sit through. Now he was glad Irving wasn't looking at him. He knew, or thought he knew, what it was that Irving wasn't saying. If he had worked the Boulevard foot beat, then he had known Bosch's mother before she was dead.

Irving glanced up at him and then looked away, toward the corner of the room. His eyes fell on the ficus plant.

”Somebody put a cigarette b.u.t.t in my pot,” he said. ”That yours, Harry?”

20

Bosch was lighting a cigarette as he used his shoulder to push through one of the gla.s.s doors at the entrance to Parker Center. Irving had jolted him with his small-world story. Bosch had always figured he'd run into somebody in the department who knew her or knew the case. Never did Irving fit into that scenario.

As he walked through the south lot to the Caprice he noticed Jerry Edgar standing at the corner of Los Angeles and First waiting for the cross light. Bosch looked at his watch and saw it was 5:10, quitting time. He thought Edgar was probably walking up to the Code Seven or the Red Wind for a draft before fighting the freeway. He thought that wasn't a bad idea. Sheehan and Opelt were probably already sitting on stools at one of the bars.

By the time Bosch got to the corner, Edgar had a block-and-a-half lead on him and was walking up First toward the Seven. Bosch picked up the pace. For the first time in a long time, he felt the actual mental craving for alcohol. For just a while he wanted to forget Church and Mora and Chandler and his own secrets and what Irving had told him in the conference room.

But then Edgar walked right on by the billy club that served as the door handle at the Seven without even giving it a glance. He crossed Spring and walked alongside the Times Times building toward Broadway. Then it's the Red Wind, Bosch thought. building toward Broadway. Then it's the Red Wind, Bosch thought.

The Wind was okay as far as a watering hole went. They had Weinhard's by the bottle instead of on draft, so the place lost points there. Another minus was that the yuppies from the Times Times newsroom favored the place and it often was more crowded with reporters than cops. The big plus, however, was that on Thursdays and Fridays they had a quartet come in and play sets from six to ten. They were mostly retired club men who weren't too tight, but it was as good a way as any to miss the rush hour. newsroom favored the place and it often was more crowded with reporters than cops. The big plus, however, was that on Thursdays and Fridays they had a quartet come in and play sets from six to ten. They were mostly retired club men who weren't too tight, but it was as good a way as any to miss the rush hour.

He watched Edgar cross Broadway and stay on First instead of taking a left to go down to the Wind. Bosch slowed his pace a bit so Edgar could renew his block-and-a-half lead. He lit another cigarette and felt uneasy about the prospect of following the other detective but did it anyway. There was a bad feeling beginning to nag at him.

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