Suicide Run: Three Harry Bosch Stories (12 page)

“Harry,” the lieutenant said. “Hang back a second.”

Bosch looked at Chu and raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know what this was about. The lieutenant came around from behind her desk and closed the door after Chu and Marcia had left. She stayed standing and businesslike.

“I just wanted you to know that your application for an extension on your DROP came through. They gave you four years retroactive.”

Bosch looked at her, doing the math. He nodded. He had asked for the maximum—five years nonretroactive—but he’d take what they gave. It wouldn’t keep him much past high school but it was better than nothing.

“Well, I’m glad,” Duvall said. “It gives you thirty-nine more months with us.”

Her tone indicated that she had read disappointment in his face.

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m glad. I was just thinking about where that would put me with my daughter. It’s good. I’m happy.”

“Good, then.”

That was her way of saying the meeting was over. Bosch thanked her and left the office. As he stepped back into the squad room, he looked across the vast expanse of desks and dividers and file cabinets. He knew it was home and that he would get to stay—for now.

Two

The Open-Unsolved Unit shared access to the two fifth-floor conference rooms with all other units in the Robbery-Homicide Division. Usually detectives had to reserve time in one of the rooms, signing on the clipboard hooked on the door. But this early on a Monday, they both were open and Bosch, Chu, Shuler and Dolan commandeered the smaller of the two rooms without making a reservation.

They brought with them the murder book and the small archival evidence box from the 1989 case.

“Okay,” Bosch said, when everyone was seated. “So you are cool with us running with this case? If you’re not, we can go back to the lieutenant and say you really want to work it.”

“No, it’s okay,” Shuler said. “We both are involved in the trial, so it’s better this way. It’s our first case in the unit and we want to see it through to that guilty verdict.”

Bosch nodded as he casually opened the murder book.

“You want to give us the rundown on this one, then?”

Shuler gave Dolan a nod and she began to summarize the 1989 case as Bosch flipped through the pages of the binder.

“We have a nineteen-year-old victim named Lilly Price. She was snatched off the street while walking home from the beach in Venice on a Sunday afternoon. At the time, they narrowed the grab point down to the vicinity of Speedway and Voyage. Price lived on Voyage with three roommates. One was with her on the beach and two were in the apartment. She disappeared between those two points. She said she was going back to use the bathroom and she never made it.”

“She left her towel and a Walkman on the beach,” Shuler said. “Sunscreen. So it was clear she was intending to come back. She never did.”

“Her body was found the next morning on the rocks down at the cut,” Dolan said. “She was naked and had been raped and strangled. Her clothes were never found. The ligature was removed.”

Bosch flipped through several plastic pages containing faded Polaroid shots of the crime scene. Looking at the victim, he couldn’t help but think of his own daughter, who at fifteen had a full life in front of her. There had been a time when looking at photos like this fueled him, gave him the fire he needed to be relentless. But since Maddie had come to live with him, it was increasingly more difficult for him to look at victims.

It didn’t stop him from building the fire, however.

“Where did the DNA come from?” he asked. “Semen?”

“No, the killer used a condom or didn’t ejaculate,” Dolan said. “No semen.”

“It came from a small smear of blood,” Shuler said. “It was found on her neck, right below the right ear. She had no wounds in that area. It was assumed that it had come from the killer, that he had been cut or maybe was already bleeding. It was just a drop. A smear, really. She was strangled with a ligature. If she was strangled from behind then his hand could have been against her neck there. If there was a cut on his hand…”

“Transfer deposit,” Chu said.

“Exactly.”

Bosch found the Polaroid that showed the victim’s neck and the smear of blood. The photo was washed out by time and he could barely see the blood. A ruler had been placed on the girl’s neck so that the blood smear could be measured in the photo. It was less than an inch long.

“So this blood was collected and stored,” he said, a statement meant to draw further explanation.

“Yes,” Shuler said. “Because it was a smear it was swabbed. Back then, they typed it. O-positive. The swab was stored in a tube and we found it still in Property when we pulled the case. The blood had turned to powder.”

He tapped the top of the archive box with a pen.

Bosch’s phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Normally, he would let the call go to message, but his daughter was home sick from school and alone. He needed to make sure she wasn’t calling. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. It wasn’t his daughter. It was a former partner, Kizmin Rider, now a lieutenant assigned to the OCP—Office of the Chief of Police. He decided he would return her call after the meeting. They had lunch together about once a month and he assumed she was free today, or calling because she’d heard about him getting approved for another four years on the DROP. He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

“Did you open the tube?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Shuler said.

“Okay, so four months ago you sent the tube containing the swab and what was left of the blood out to the regional lab, right?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Shuler said.

Bosch flipped through the murder book to the autopsy report. He was acting like he was more interested in what he was seeing than what he was saying.

“And at that time, did you submit anything else to the lab?”

“From the Price case?” Dolan asked. “No, that was the only biological evidence they came up with back at the time.”

Bosch nodded, hoping she would keep talking.

“But back then it didn’t lead to anything,” she said. “They never came up with a suspect. Who’d they come up with on the cold hit?”

“We’ll get to that in a second,” Bosch said. “What I meant was, did you submit to the lab from any other cases you were working? Or was this all you had going?”

“No, that was it,” Shuler said, his eyes squinting in suspicion. “What’s going on here, Harry?”

Bosch reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out the hit sheet. He slid it across the table to Shuler.

“The hit comes back to a sexual predator who would look real good for this except for one thing.”

Shuler unfolded the sheet and he and Dolan leaned together to read it, just as Bosch and Chu had earlier.

“What’s that?” Dolan said, not picking up on the significance of the birth date yet. “This guy looks perfect.”

“He’s perfect now,” Bosch said. “But back then he was only eight years old.”

“You’re kidding,” Dolan said.

“What the fuck?” Shuler added.

Dolan pulled the sheet away from her partner as if to see it clearer and to double-check the birth date. Shuler leaned back and looked at Bosch with those suspicious eyes.

“So you think we fucked up and mixed up cases,” he said.

“Nope,” Bosch said. “The lieutenant asked us to check out the possibility but I don’t see any fuckup on this end.”

“So it happened at the lab,” Shuler said. “Do you realize that if they screwed things up at regional, every defense lawyer in the county is going to be able to raise doubt about DNA matches that come out of there?”

“Yeah, I kind of figure that,” Bosch said. “Which is why you should keep this under your hats until we know what happened. There are other possibilities.”

Dolan held up the hit sheet.

“Yeah, what if there is no fuckup anywhere in the line? What if it’s really this kid’s blood on that dead girl?”

“An eight-year-old boy snatches a nineteen-year-old girl off the street, rapes and strangles her and dumps the body four blocks away?” Chu asked. “Never happened.”

“Well, maybe he was there,” Dolan said. “Maybe this was how he got his start as a predator. You see his record. This guy fits—except for his age.”

Bosch nodded.

“Maybe,” he said. “Like I said, there are other possibilities. No reason to panic yet.”

His phone started to vibrate again. He pulled it and saw it was Kiz Rider again. Two calls in five minutes, he decided he’d better take it. This wasn’t about lunch.

“I have to step out for a second.”

He got up and answered the call as he stepped out of the conference room into the hallway.

“Kiz?”

“Harry, I’ve been trying to get to you with a heads-up.”

“I’m in a meeting. What heads-up?”

“You are about to get a forthwith from the OCP.”

“You want me to come up to ten?”

In the new PAB, the chief’s suite of offices was on the tenth floor, complete with a private courtyard balcony that looked out across the civic center.

“No, Sunset Strip. You’re going to be told to go to a scene and take over a case. And you’re not going to like it.”

“Look, Lieutenant, I just got a case this morning. I don’t need another one.”

He thought that using her formal title would communicate his wariness. Forthwiths and assignments out of the OCP always carried high jingo—political overtones. It was sometimes hard to navigate your way through it.

“He’s not going to give you a choice here, Harry.”

He being the chief of police.

“What’s the case?”

“A jumper at the Chateau Marmont.”

“Who was it?”

“Harry, I think you should wait for the chief to call you. I just wanted to—”

“Who was it, Kiz? If you know anything about me, I think you know I can keep a secret until it’s no longer a secret.”

She paused before answering.

“From what I understand there is not a lot that is recognizable—he came down seven floors onto concrete. But the initial ID is George Thomas Irving. Age forty-six of eight—”

“Irving as in Irvin Irving? As in Councilman Irvin Irving?”

“Scourge of the LAPD in general and one Detective Harry Bosch in particular. Yes, one and the same. It’s his son, and Councilman Irving has insisted to the chief that you take over the investigation. The chief said no problem.”

Bosch paused with his mouth open for a moment before responding.

“Why does Irving want me? He’s spent most of his careers in police and politics trying to end mine.”

“This I don’t know, Harry. I only know that he wants you.”

“When did this come in?”

“The call came in at about five forty-five this morning. My understanding is that it is unclear when it actually happened.”

Bosch checked his watch. The case was more than three hours old. That was quite late to be coming into a death investigation. He’d be starting out at a disadvantage.

“What’s to investigate?” he asked. “You said it was a jumper.”

“Hollywood originally responded and were going to wrap it up as a suicide. The councilman arrived and is not ready to sign off on that. That’s why he wants you.”

“And does the chief understand that I have a history with Irving that—”

“Yes, he does. He also understands that he needs every vote he can get on the council if we ever want to get overtime flowing to the department again.”

Bosch saw his boss, Lieutenant Duvall, enter the hallway from the Open-Unsolved Unit’s door. She made a
There you are!
gesture and started toward him.

“Looks like I’m about to get the official word,” Bosch said into the phone. “Thanks for the heads-up, Kiz. Doesn’t make any sense to me, but thanks. If you hear anything else, let me know.”

“Harry, you be careful with this. Irving’s old but he’s still got teeth.”

“I know that.”

Bosch closed his phone just as Duvall got to him, holding out a piece of paper.

“Sorry, Harry, change of plans. You and Chu need to go to this address and take a live case.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bosch looked at the address. It was the Chateau Marmont.

“Orders from the chief’s office. You and Chu are to proceed code three and take over a case. That’s all I know. That and that the chief himself is there waiting.”

“What about the case you just gave us?”

“Move it to the back burner for now. I want you on it, but just get to it when you can.”

She pointed to the piece of paper in his hand.

“That’s the priority.”

“You sure about this, Lieutenant?”

“Of course I’m sure. The chief called me directly and he’s going to call you. So grab Chu and get going.”

Three

As expected, Chu was full of questions while they were driving out of downtown on the 101 Freeway. They had been partnered for nearly two years and by now Bosch was more than used to the manifestation of Chu’s insecurities in a nonstop verbal outpouring of questions, comments and observations. He usually spoke about one thing while his real concern was something else. Sometimes Bosch took it easy on him and told him what he wanted to know. Sometimes he let things play out till they became excruciating to his young partner.

“Harry, what the hell is going on? We got one case this morning and now they say we have another?”

“The LAPD is a paramilitary organization, Chu. That means when someone of higher rank tells you to do something, you do it. The order came down from the chief and we’re following it. That’s what’s going on. We’ll eventually get back to the cold hit. But for now we have a live one and it’s the priority.”

“Sounds like bullshit politics.”

“High jingo.”

“What’s that?”

“The confluence of police and politics. We are investigating the death of Councilman Irvin Irving’s son. You know about Irving, right?”

“Yeah, he was a deputy chief when I came on. Then he quit and ran for the council.”

“Well, he didn’t voluntarily quit. He was forced out and ran for the council so he could seek his revenge on the department. Pure and simple, he lives for one thing—putting the boot to the LAPD. You should also know that back in the day, he had a particular dislike for me. We had a few collisions, you could say.”