The Drop

20

Bosch sat back down on the bench and composed himself. He then pulled his phone and called Hannah Stone’s cell number. She had given it to him when they parted ways Monday evening.

She answered right away, even though Bosch’s number was blocked.

“It’s Harry Bosch.”

“I thought it might be you. Is there anything new?”

“No, I’m working on something else today. But my partner is trying to run down the guy Chill.”

“Okay.”

“Anything new on your end?”

“No, just doing the same good work we always do.”

“That’s good.”

There was an awkward pause and then Bosch plowed ahead.

“My daughter is studying at a friend’s house tonight, so I’m free. And I was wondering — I mean, I know it’s pretty soon — but I wanted to see if you wanted to have dinner again tonight.”

“Uh. .”

“It’s no big deal. It’s short notice. I’ll—”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that we have sessions on Wednesday and Thursday nights and I’m supposed to work tonight.”

“Don’t you get a dinner break?”

“Yes, but it’s too short. Tell you what, can I call you back?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to jump through any—”

“I want to, but I have to see if somebody will switch with me. I take tomorrow night if they take tonight. Can I call you back?”

“Sure.”

Bosch gave her his number and they disconnected. He got up, patted Charlie Chaplin on the shoulder and headed out the door.

When Bosch got back to the unit, Chu was working on his laptop and didn’t look up as Harry entered the cubicle.

“You find my guy yet?”

“Not yet.”

“How’s it looking?”

“Not very good. There are nine hundred eleven variations of Chill in the moniker files. And that’s just in California. So don’t hold your breath.”

“Is that total or is that just in the time frame I asked for?”

“The time frame doesn’t matter. Your guy from ’eighty-eight could easily have been put into the database in any year before or since. It would depend on whether he was arrested, was the subject of a field interview, or was a victim. There are a lot of possibilities. I have to look at all of them.”

Chu was speaking in a clipped tone. Bosch knew he was still angry about being shut out of the Irving investigation.

“All of that might be true but let’s prioritize by narrowing the focus to. . let’s say pre-’ninety-two. My hunch is that if he’s in the box, he went in before then.”

“Fine.”

Chu started typing. He still had not looked up or acknowledged Bosch with his eyes.

“When I came in, I saw that the lieutenant’s alone in her office. You could go talk to her about the transfer.”

“I want to get this done.”

Bosch was calling Chu’s bluff and they both knew it.

“Good.”

Bosch’s cell buzzed and he saw it was an 818 call — the Valley. As he answered, he left the cubicle and headed out to the hallway so he could talk privately. It was Hannah Stone calling from one of her work lines.

“I won’t be able to meet you till about eight because of some things here at work. Will that be all right?”

“Sure, that works.”

It would only give him about ninety minutes with her, unless he changed his daughter’s curfew.

“Are you sure? You sound—”

“No, it will work. I could work late, too. I’ve got stuff here. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about somewhere in the middle this time? Do you like sushi?”

“Uh, not really. But I guess I could try it.”

“You mean you’ve never even tried sushi?”

“Uh. . I sort of have a problem with raw fish.”

He didn’t want to mention that it related to his experience in Vietnam. The rancid fish they would come across in the tunnels. The overpowering smell.

“Okay, then scratch sushi. How about Italian?”

“Italian’s good. Let’s do Italian.”

“You know where Ca’ Del Sole is in North Hollywood?”

“I can find it.”

“Eight o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

“See you soon, Harry.”

“See you soon.”

Bosch ended the call and then made another he wanted to keep private as well. Heath Witcomb had been a smoking pal from Harry’s days in Hollywood Division. They had shared the ash can behind the station countless times until Bosch gave up the habit. Witcomb was a patrol sergeant and as such he was in a position to know Robert Mason, the patrol cop credited with all three of the B&W drunk driving arrests. He also still smoked.

“Busy, Harry,” Witcomb said as he answered. “What do you need?”

“Just call me next time you go out back.”

Bosch disconnected. As he pushed through the door back into the unit, Chu was pushing out.

“Harry, where have you been?”

“I went for a smoke.”

“Harry, you don’t smoke.”

“Yeah, so what’s up?”

“Chilton Hardy.”

“You found him?”

“I think so. It fits.”

They entered the cubicle and Chu slid into his seat in front of his computer. Bosch leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. Chu hit the space bar to rouse the computer from sleep. The screen lit, and on display was a mug shot of a white man of about thirty with spiky dark hair and acne scars. He cast a sullen look at the camera, staring with cold blue eyes.

“Chilton Aaron Hardy,” Chu said. “Known as Chill.”

“How old is this?” Bosch asked. “And where was it?”

“Nineteen eighty-five. North Hollywood Division. Battery on a police officer. He was twenty-eight at the time and lived in an apartment on Cahuenga in Toluca Lake.”

Toluca Lake was at the edge of Burbank and Griffith Park. Bosch knew it was very close to Travel Town, the place where Clayton Pell said he rode the trains when he was living with Chill.

Bosch next did the math. Chilton Hardy would be fifty-four years old if he was still alive.

“Did you put it through DMV?”

Chu had not. He switched screens and plugged Hardy’s name into the state database containing the identities of the twenty-four million licensed drivers in California. Chu hit enter to begin the search and they waited to see if Hardy was one of those drivers. Seconds ticked by and Bosch expected a no-match return. As a general rule, people who get away with murder don’t stick around.

“Bingo,” Chu said.

Bosch leaned down and closer in toward the screen. There were two matches. Chilton Aaron Hardy, age seventy-seven and still licensed with an address down in Los Alamitos. And Chilton Aaron Hardy Jr., age fifty-four, of Woodland Hills, a suburb of Los Angeles.

“Topanga Canyon Boulevard,” Bosch said, reading the address of the younger Hardy. “He didn’t go too far.”

Chu nodded.

“West Valley.”

“Seems a little too easy. Why’d this guy hang around?”

Chu didn’t answer because he knew Bosch was just thinking out loud.

“Let’s see the photo,” Bosch said.

Chu pulled up the driver’s license photo of Chilton Hardy Jr. In the twenty-six years since his arrest in North Hollywood, he had lost most of his hair, and his skin had turned sallow. His face was lined by years of hard living. But the eyes were still the same. Cold and unforgiving. Bosch looked at the photo for a long moment before speaking.

“All right, good work. Print it.”

“We going up to see Mr. Hardy?”

“Not yet. We go slow and deliberate on this one. Hardy’s felt safe enough to stay in town all these years. We need to prepare and approach with caution. Print out both the old and new photos and make two six-packs.”

“We’re going up to show Pell?”

“Yeah, and maybe take him for a little ride.”

While Chu got busy pulling mug shots and building the photo lineups, Bosch moved back to his desk. He was about to call Hannah Stone to inform her of their plan when a text came in from his daughter.

I told Ashlyn’s mom that you’re on a hot case. She says I can stay over. Cool?

Bosch thought for a long moment before responding. It was a school night but Maddie had stayed with Ashlyn before on occasions when Bosch was traveling on cases. Ashlyn’s mother was very accommodating and believed she was in some way helping the cause of justice by taking care of Maddie while Bosch pursued murderers.

But he had to wonder if there wasn’t something else at work here. Was his daughter clearing the way for him to be with Hannah?

He almost called her but stuck with the texting conversation because he didn’t want Chu overhearing.

Are you sure? I won’t be that late. I could pick you up on my way home.

She quickly answered that she was sure and wanted to stay over. She said they had gone by the house after school to pick up clothes. Bosch finally sent her back his approval.

He then called Hannah to tell her she would be seeing him before eight o’clock. She said that Bosch and Chu could use one of the counseling rooms to show Pell the photo lineups.

“What if we want to take Pell for a ride? Are there any rules about that?”

“Where would you take him?”

“We have an address. We think it’s where he lived with his mother and this guy. I want to see if he recognizes the place. It’s an apartment building.”

She was quiet for a moment, probably considering whether it was a good or bad thing for Pell to see the place where he was abused as a child.

“There are no rules,” she finally said. “He can leave the facility. But I think I should go, too. He could have a bad reaction. Maybe I should be there.”

“I thought you had meetings. You have work till eight.”

“I just need to get my hours in. I came in late today because I thought I would have sessions tonight. We get audited on our hours. I don’t want there ever to be an issue about my working a six-hour day.”

“Got it. Well, we should be there in about an hour. Will Pell be back from work?”

“He’s already back. We’ll be ready for you. Does this change our dinner plans?”

“Not on my end. I was looking forward to it.”

“Good. Me, too.”