The Drop

17

The world might have gone digital but Harry Bosch had not gone along with it. He had become proficient with a cell phone and a laptop computer. He listened to music on an iPod and every now and then read the newspaper on his daughter’s iPad. But when it came to a murder book he was still, and always would be, a plastic and paper man. He was a dinosaur. It didn’t matter that the department was moving to digital archiving and there was no space in the new PAB for shelves to hold the thick blue binders. Bosch was a man who kept traditions, especially when he believed those traditions helped catch killers.

To Bosch, a murder book was a key part of an investigation, as important as any piece of evidence. It was the anchor of the case, a compendium of every move made, interview taken, piece of evidence or potential evidence gathered. It was a physical component with weight and depth and substance. Sure, it could be reduced to a digital computer file and put on a thumb drive, but somehow that made it less real to him, more hidden, and this felt disrespectful to the dead.

Bosch needed to see his work product. He had to be constantly reminded of the burden he carried. He had to see the pages grow as the investigation proceeded. He knew without a doubt that it didn’t matter if he had thirty-nine months or thirty-nine years left on the job, he would not change the way he went after killers.

When they got back to the Open-Unsolved Unit Bosch went to the storage cabinets that ran along the back wall of the room. Each detective in OU had one cabinet. It was not much bigger than a half locker because the PAB was built for the digital world, not the stalwarts of the old ways. Bosch used his storage space primarily to hold old blue binders from solved murder cases past. Those cases had been pulled from archives and digitized in an effort to create space. The documents were scanned and shredded and the empty binders destined for the city dump. But Bosch had rescued a dozen and hidden them away in his storage locker so that he would never have to go without.

He now took one of the precious binders, its blue plastic faded by time, from the locker and went to the work cubicle he shared with Chu. His partner was removing Irving’s files from the box and stacking them on top of the file cabinet that adjoined their two desks.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Chu said when he saw the binder. “When are you going to change? When are you going to let me join the digital world?”

“In about thirty-nine months,” Bosch said. “After that you can put your murder files on the head of a pin, for all I’ll care. But until then, I’m—”

“—going to do it the way you’ve always done it. Right, yeah, I get it.”

“You know it.”

Bosch sat down at his desk and opened the binder. He then opened his laptop. He had already prepared several reports for inclusion in the book. He started sending them to the unit’s communal printer. He thought of reports due from Solomon and Glanville and scanned the cubicle for an interoffice envelope.

“You get anything from Hollywood?” he asked.

“Nope,” Chu said. “Check your e-mail.”

Of course. Bosch went online and found that he had two e-mails from Jerry Solomon at Hollywood Division. Each contained an attachment that he downloaded and sent to the printer. The first was a summary of the canvass of the hotel conducted by Solomon and Glanville. The second summarized the canvass of the nearby neighborhood.

Bosch went over to the printer and grabbed his pages out of the tray. On his way back he saw Lieutenant Duvall standing outside his cubicle. Chu was nowhere in sight. Bosch knew that Duvall wanted an update on the Irving case. In the past twenty-four hours she had left him two messages and an e-mail, all of which he had failed to return.

“Harry, have you gotten my messages?” she asked as he approached.

“I got them but every time I was going to call, somebody called me first and I got distracted. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

“Why don’t we go into my office so you won’t get any more of these distractions.”

It wasn’t spoken like a question. Bosch dropped the printouts on his desk and followed the lieutenant to her office. She told him to close the door.

“Is that a murder book you are putting together?” she asked before even sitting down.

“Yes.”

“Are you saying George Irving was a homicide?”

“It’s looking that way. But not for public consumption.”

Bosch spent the next twenty minutes giving her the shorthand. She agreed with the plan to keep the new focus of the investigation quiet until more evidence was turned up or it became a strategic advantage to have the information out in the world.

“Keep me posted, Harry. Start returning my calls and e-mails.”

“Right. Will do.”

“And start using the magnets so I know where my people are.”

The lieutenant had put a squad room attendance board up with magnets that could be moved to illustrate whether a detective was in or out of the office. It was greeted by most in the unit as a waste of time. The whip usually knew where everyone was, and the lieutenant would as well if she ever came out of her office or at least opened the blinds.

“Sure,” Bosch said.

Chu was back in the cubicle when Bosch returned.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“In with the lieutenant. Where were you?”

“Uh, I went across the street. I never got breakfast.”

Chu changed the subject, pointing to a document that was on his computer screen.

“Did you read Crate and Barrel’s report on the canvass?”

“Not yet.”

“They found a guy who saw somebody on the fire escape. The timing’s off but, man, what are the chances?”

Bosch turned back to his desk and found the printout of the report on the hillside canvass. It was essentially a list of consecutive addresses on Marmont Lane. After each address it said whether the door was answered and a resident interviewed. They used abbreviations Bosch had read in LAPD canvass reports for more than two decades. There were a lot of NBHs, meaning nobody home, and a lot of D-SATs, meaning the residents didn’t see a thing, but one entry was several sentences long.

Resident Earl Mitchell (WM, DOB 4/13/61) had insomnia and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. The residence’s rear windows face rear and side of Chateau Marmont head-on. Resident said he noticed a man descending the fire escape ladder. Resident went to telescope in living room and looked at the hotel. The man on the fire escape was no longer in view. Resident did not call PD. Resident stated that this sighting occurred at approximately 12:40 A.M., which was the time on the bedroom clock when he decided to get up to get water. To the best of his memory, resident believes the figure on the fire escape was between the fifth and sixth floor and descending when seen.

Bosch didn’t know whether it was Crate or Barrel who had written the report. Whoever it was, he had employed short sentences in a staccato fashion, but he was no Hemingway. He had simply employed the policeman’s KISS rule — Keep It Simple, Sherlock. The fewer words in a report meant the fewer chances and angles of attack from critics and lawyers.

Bosch pulled his phone and called Jerry Solomon. When Solomon answered, it sounded like he was in a car with the windows open.

“It’s Bosch. I’m looking at your canvass report here and have a couple questions.”

“Can it wait ten minutes? I’m in the car and I’m with people. Civilians.”

“Is your partner with you or can I just call him?”

“No, he’s here with me.”

“That’s nice. You guys go out for a late lunch?”

“Look, Bosch, we haven’t—”

“One of you call me as soon as you get back to the squad.”

Harry closed the phone and focused his attention on the second report. This one dealt with the questioning of hotel guests and was set up in the same fashion as the other, only with room numbers instead of addresses. Again there were lots of NBHs and D-SATs. They did, however, manage to interview the man who checked into the hotel right after Irving.

Thomas Rapport (WM, 7/21/56, NYC resident) arrived at the hotel from the airport at 9:40 pm. Remembers seeing George Irving at check in. They did not speak to each other and Rapport never saw Irving again. Rapport is a writer in town for script conferences at Archway Studios. Confirmed.

Another completely incomplete report. Bosch checked his watch. It had been twenty minutes since Solomon said he needed ten minutes. Harry opened his phone and called him back.

“I thought you were supposed to call me in ten minutes,” he said by way of a greeting.

“I thought you said you were calling me,” Solomon countered in a phony confused tone.

Bosch closed his eyes for a moment and let the frustration pass. It wasn’t worth getting into it with an old bull like Solomon.

“I have questions about the reports you sent me.”

“Ask away. You’re the boss.”

As the conversation continued, Bosch opened a drawer and took out a three-hole punch. He started punching holes in the reports he had printed and sliding them onto the prongs of the blue binder. There was something calming about putting the murder book together while dealing with Solomon.

“Okay, first of all, on this guy Mitchell who saw the man on the fire escape, did he give a good reason why the guy just disappeared? I mean, he sees him between the fifth and sixth floors and then when he goes to the telescope, the guy is gone. What happened to floors one through four?”

“That’s simple. He said by the time he swung the scope around and got it in focus, the guy was gone. He could’ve gone all the way down or he could’ve gone inside on one of the landings.”

Bosch almost asked him why that wasn’t in the report but he knew why, just as he knew that George Irving’s death would have been written off as a suicide with Crate and Barrel in charge.

“How do we know it wasn’t Irving?” Bosch asked.

It was a curve ball and it took Solomon a moment to respond.

“I guess we don’t. But what would Irving be doing out there on the ladder?”

“I don’t know. Was there any description? Clothes, hair, race?”

“He was too far away to be sure about any of that. He thought it was a white guy and his impression was that it might’ve been a maintenance man. You know, working for the hotel.”

“At midnight? What made him think that?”

“He said his pants and shirt matched color. You know, like a uniform.”

“What color?”

“Light gray.”

“Did you check at the hotel?”

“Check what at the hotel?”

That false tone of confusion was back in his voice.

“Come on, Solomon, drop the stupid act. Did you check if there was any reason for someone in the hotel or working in the hotel to be on that fire escape? Did you ask them what color uniform their maintenance men wear?”

“No, I didn’t, Bosch. There was no need to. The guy was going down the fire escape a good two to four hours before our guy took the high dive. They are unrelated matters. You sending us up that street was a complete waste of our time. That was what was stupid.”

Bosch knew that if he lost his temper with Solomon, the detective would be completely useless for the rest of the investigation. He wasn’t ready to lose him yet. Once again, he moved on.

“Okay, on the other report, your interview with this writer, Thomas Rapport. You have any more details on why he’s in L.A.?”

“I don’t know, he’s some kind of a big screenwriter. The studio put him up in one of those bungalows in the back where Belushi died. That’s two grand a night and he said he was in town for the whole week. He said he’s doing rewrites on a script.”

At least that answered one question before Bosch had to ask it. How long would they have local access to Rapport if they needed him?

“So did the studio pop for a limo? How’d he get to the hotel?”

“Uh. . no, he took a cab in from the airport. His plane landed early and the studio car wasn’t there yet, so he grabbed a cab. He said that’s why Irving got in front of him at the check-in. They arrived at the same time but Rapport had to wait for the cab driver to print out a receipt and it took forever. He was sort of pissed about that. He was on East Coast time and dead tired. He wanted to get into his bungalow.”

Bosch felt a brief stirring in his gut. It was a mixture of instinct and knowing that there was an order of things in the world. The truth was revealed to the righteous. He often felt it at the moment things started to tumble together on a case.

“Jerry,” he said, “did Rapport tell you which cab company brought him to the hotel?”

“You mean what kind?”

“Yeah, you know, Valley Cab, Yellow Cab, which company? It says it on the door of the taxi.”

“He didn’t say but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing. Did you get a cell phone for this guy?”

“No, but he’s there at the hotel for a week.”

“Right. I got that. I tell you what, Jerry, I want you and your partner to go back over to the hotel and ask about the man on the fire escape. Find out if they had anybody working that night who could have been the man on the ladder. And find out about the uniforms they wear.”

“Come on, Bosch. It was at least two hours before Irving went down. Most likely longer.”

“I don’t care if it was two days, I want you out there asking the questions. Send me the report when you’re done. By tonight.”

Bosch closed the phone. He turned and looked at Chu.

“Let me see the file on Irving’s taxi franchise client.”

Chu looked through the stack of files and handed one to Bosch.

“What’s going on?” Chu asked.

“Nothing yet. What are you working on?”

“The insurance. So far, it’s all legit. But I have to make a call.”

“Me, too.”

Bosch picked up his desk phone and called the Chateau Marmont. He was in luck. When he was transferred to Thomas Rapport’s bungalow the writer answered.

“Mr. Rapport, this is Detective Bosch with the LAPD. I have a few follow-up questions regarding the interview you gave my colleagues earlier. Would this be a good time to talk?”

“Uh, not really. I’m in the middle of a scene right at the moment.”

“A scene?”

“A movie scene. I’m writing a movie scene.”

“I see and I understand, but this will only take a few minutes of your time and this is very important to the investigation.”

“Did the guy jump or was he pushed?”

“We can’t say for sure, sir, but if you answer a couple questions, we will be closer to knowing.”

“Go ahead, Detective. I’m all yours. From your voice, I’m picturing you as sort of a Columbo-looking guy.”

“That’s fine, sir. Can I start?”

“Yes, Detective.”

“You arrived at the hotel on Sunday evening by taxi, is that correct?”

“Yes, it is. Direct from LAX. Archway was supposed to send a car but I got in early and there was no car. I didn’t want to wait, so I just took a cab.”

“Do you happen to remember the name of the cab company you used?”

“The company? You mean like Checker Cab or something?”

“Yes, sir. We have several companies that are licensed to operate in the city. I’m looking for the name that was on the door of your cab.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know it. There was just a line of taxis and I jumped in one.”

“You remember what color it was?”

“No. I just remember it was dirty inside. I should’ve waited for the studio car.”

“You told Detectives Solomon and Glanville that you were delayed a bit on your arrival at the hotel while waiting for the cab driver to print out a receipt. Do you have that receipt handy?”

“Hold on.”

While Bosch waited, he opened the file for Irving’s taxi franchise project and started looking through the documents. He found the contract Irving had signed with Regent five months earlier, then came to a letter that was addressed to the city’s franchise board. It informed the board that Regent Taxi would be competing for the Hollywood franchise when it came up for renewal in the coming year. The letter also listed the “performance and trust” issues facing the current franchise holder, Black & White Taxi. Before Bosch finished reading the letter, Rapport came back on the phone.

“I have it here, Detective. It was Black and White. That was the name of the company.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rapport. I have one last question. Does it say on the receipt who the driver was?”

“Uh. . hmm. . uh, no, it just gives his number. It says driver twenty-six. Does that help?”

“It does, sir. It helps a lot. Now, that’s a pretty nice place you’re staying in, right?”

“Very nice, and I think you know who died here.”

“Yes, I do. But the reason I ask is, do you know if that room is equipped with a fax machine?”

“I don’t have to look. I know it is because I faxed pages to the set an hour ago. You want me to fax you this receipt?”

“Exactly, sir.”

Bosch gave him the number to the fax in the lieutenant’s office. No one would be able to look at the receipt except Duvall.

“It will be on its way as soon as I hang up, Lieutenant,” Rapport said.

“That’s Detective.”

“I keep forgetting you’re not Columbo.”

“No, sir, I’m not. But I am going to hit you with just one more question.”

Rapport laughed.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s a tight space in the garage area where you come in. Did your taxi pull in ahead of Mr. Irving’s car or was it the other way around?”

“Other way. We pulled in right behind him.”

“So when Irving got out of his car, did you see him?”

“Yeah, he stood there and gave his keys to the valet guy. The valet then wrote his name on a receipt and tore off the bottom half and gave it to him. The usual thing.”

“Did your driver see this?”

“I don’t know but he had a better view through the windshield than I did in the back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rapport, and good luck with the scene you’re writing.”

“I hope I’ve helped.”

“You have.”

Bosch hung up and while he waited for the receipt to arrive via fax, he called George Irving’s office manager, Dana Rosen, and asked her about the letter to the city’s franchise board that was in the Regent Taxi file.

“Is this a copy or the original that was not yet sent out?” he asked.

“Oh, no, that was sent out. We sent it individually to every member of the board. That was the first step in announcing the plans to go for the Hollywood franchise.”

Bosch was looking at the letter as they spoke. It was dated two Mondays earlier.

“Was there any response to this?” he asked.

“Not yet. It would have been in the file if there was.”

“Thank you, Dana.”

Bosch hung up and went back to looking through the Regent file. He found a paper-clipped batch of printouts that must have been the backup Irving used for the allegations contained in the letter. There was a copy of a story that had been in the Times which reported that the third Black & White driver in four months had been arrested for driving drunk while operating a taxi. The story also reported that a B&W driver was determined to have been at fault in an accident involving serious injuries to the couple in the cab’s backseat earlier in the year. The stack also contained copies of the arrest reports on the DUI stops and a batch of moving violations that had been written against B&W drivers. Everything from running red lights to double-parking, the moving violations were probably just routine and collateral to the DUI arrests.

The records made it easy for Bosch to see why Irving thought B&W was vulnerable. Snatching the Hollywood franchise was probably going to be the easiest piece of business he had ever done.

Bosch quickly scanned the arrest reports but was snagged by a curiosity. He noticed that in each of the reports, the same badge number had been entered in the block identifying the arresting officer. Three arrests spread over four months. It seemed beyond coincidence that the same cop would have made all three arrests. He knew that it was conceivable that the badge number simply belonged to the jail officer who had administered the Breathalyzer tests at Hollywood Division after the cab drivers were taken into custody by other officers. But even that would have been unusual and out of procedure.

He picked up the phone and called the department’s personnel office. He gave his own name and badge number and said he needed to get an ID off a badge. He was transferred to a mid-level bureaucrat who looked it up on the computer and gave Bosch the name, rank and assignment.

“Robert Mason, P-three, Hollywood.”

As in Bobby Mason. George Irving’s longtime friend — until recently.

Bosch thanked her and hung up. He wrote down the information he had just assembled and then studied it. He could not dismiss as happenstance the fact that Mason had made three DUI arrests of B&W drivers at a time he was apparently still friends with a man representing a rival to B&W’s Hollywood franchise.

He circled Mason’s name in his notes. The patrol officer was definitely someone Bosch wanted to talk to. But not yet. Bosch needed to know far more than he knew now before he could make the approach.

He moved on and next studied the arrest summaries, which contained the probable cause for detaining the drivers. In each case the driver had been observed driving erratically. In one of the cases, the summary noted that a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey had been found under the driver’s seat of the taxi.

Bosch noted that the report did not mention the size of the bottle and for a moment he mused over the choice of the words half empty over half full and the different interpretations the descriptions might bring. But then Chu rolled his chair over and leaned against his desk.

“Harry, it sounds like you have something going.”

“Yeah, maybe. You want to take a ride?”