The Drop

25

George Irving’s Thursday morning funeral was crowded. But it was hard for Bosch to tell if all the people were there to mourn the loss of George Irving or to buttress their ties to his father, the city councilman. Many of the city’s political elite were there, along with the command staff of the police department. Even Councilman Irving’s opponent in the upcoming election — the guy who didn’t have a chance — was present. It was as if a truce in politics had been called so respect could be shown for the dead.

Bosch stood on the periphery of the graveside gathering and watched the parade of who’s who make their way to Irvin Irving and the rest of the dead man’s family to offer condolences. It was Bosch’s first look at Chad Irving, the third generation of the family. He clearly favored his mother in his looks. He stood next to her with his head down, barely looking up whenever someone offered a hand or a grip of the upper arm. He seemed bereft, whereas his mother was tearless and stoic, possibly operating behind a pharmaceutical haze.

Bosch was so intent on studying the family and political permutations of the scene that he didn’t notice Kiz Rider slip away from the police chief’s side. She came up on Harry’s left as silent as an assassin.

“Harry?”

Bosch turned.

“Lieutenant Rider. I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I came with the chief.”

“Yeah, I saw that. Big mistake.”

“Why’s that?”

“I wouldn’t be showing support for Irvin Irving right about now. That’s all.”

“Have things advanced since our discussion yesterday?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Bosch summarized his interview of Robert Mason and the clear implication that the councilman was complicit in the effort to move the Hollywood taxi franchise from B&W to Regent. He said that effort likely triggered the events that led to George Irving’s death.

“Will Mason testify?”

Bosch shrugged.

“I never asked him but he knows the score. He’s a cop and he likes his job — enough to end his friendship with George Irving when he realized he was being used. He knows if he’s called to testify and he refuses, then his career is over. I think he’ll testify. I’m surprised he’s not here today. I thought maybe there might be some fireworks.”

Rider scanned the crowd. The service was over and people were starting to drift off amid the tombstones, heading to their cars.

“We don’t want fireworks here, Harry. If you see him, you head him off.”

“It’s over. He didn’t come.”

“So what’s your next move?”

“Today’s the big day. I’m going to bring McQuillen in for a conversation.”

“You don’t have enough to charge him.”

“Probably not. I’ve got a forensics team at the hotel right now with my partner. They’re taking a second run at it. If we can put McQuillen in that suite or on the fire escape, it’s over.”

“A big ‘if.’”

“There’s also his watch and the possibility of matching it to the wounds on the back.”

Rider nodded.

“That might work, but as you mentioned before, it won’t be conclusive. We’ll have our experts say it’s a match. He’ll have his experts say it’s not.”

“Yeah. Listen, Lieutenant, I think I’m about to have some company. You might want to move out of the way.”

She scanned the remaining crowd.

“Who?”

“Irving’s been watching me without really watching me. I think he’s going to come over. He’s waiting for you to leave, I think.”

“All right, then I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, Harry.”

“If that’s what it takes. See you, Kiz.”

“Stay in contact.”

“Roger that.”

She walked off and headed toward a clot of people surrounding the chief of police. Almost immediately Irvin Irving took advantage of seeing Bosch alone and headed toward him.

Before Bosch could address him, Irving said what was on his mind.

“It’s a devastating thing to put your son in the ground and not even know why he was taken.”

Bosch had to hold himself back. He had decided that now was not the time to confront Irving. There was still work to be done. McQuillen first, then Irving.

“I understand,” he said. “I hope to have something for you soon. The next day or two.”

“That’s not good enough, Detective. I have not heard from you, and what I hear about you is not comforting. Are you working another case besides the investigation of my son’s death?”

“Sir, I have a lot of open cases and things don’t come to a standstill because a politician pulled strings and put me on a new one. All you need to know is that I am working the case and will have an update for you before the week is out.”

“I want more than an update, Bosch. I want to know what happened and who did this to my son. Are we clear?”

“Sure, we’re clear. And what I would like now is to speak to your grandson for a few minutes. Could you—”

“It’s not a good time.”

“It’s never going to be a good time, Councilman. But if you are going to demand results, then you can’t stop me from throwing the net. I need to talk to the victim’s son. He’s looking at us right now. Would you please wave him over?”

Irving looked back at the grave site and saw Chad standing by himself. He signaled him over. The young man walked up to them and Irvin Irving made the introduction.

“Do you mind if I speak with Chad alone for a few minutes, Councilman?”

Irving looked like he had been betrayed but didn’t want to reveal it in front of his grandson.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be at the car. We’ll be leaving soon, Chad. And Detective? I want to hear from you.”

“You will, sir.”

Bosch put his hand on Chad Irving’s upper arm and steered him away from his grandfather. They walked toward a stand of trees in the center of the cemetery. There was shade there and privacy.

“Chad, I’m sorry about your father’s death. I’m looking into it and hope to know what happened very soon.”

“Okay.”

“I hate to bother you at this difficult time but I have a few questions and then I can let you go.”

“Whatever. I don’t really know anything.”

“I know but we need to talk to everybody in the family. It’s routine. Let’s start with, When was the last time you spoke to your father? Do you remember?”

“Yeah, we talked on Sunday night.”

“About anything specific?”

“Not really. He just called and we sort of shot the shit for a few minutes about school and stuff but it was sort of bad timing. I had to go. So that was it.”

“Where did you have to go?”

“I had a study session set up and I had to go.”

“Did he say anything about his work or any sort of pressure he was under, anything that was bothering him?”

“No.”

“What do you think happened to your father, Chad?”

The boy was big and gangly, his face scattershot with acne. He shook his head violently at the question.

“How should I know? I had no idea what was going to happen.”

“Do you know why he would have gone to the Chateau Marmont and rented a room?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, Chad, that’s all. I’m sorry for the questions. But I am sure you want to know what happened.”

“Yes.”

Chad looked down at the ground.

“When do you go back to school?”

“I think I’ll stay with my mother for at least the weekend.”

“She’ll probably need that.”

Bosch pointed to the cemetery lane where the cars were waiting.

“I think she and your grandfather are waiting for you. Thanks for your time.”

“Okay.”

“Good luck, Chad.”

“Thanks.”

Bosch watched him walk back toward his family. He felt sorry for the kid. He seemed to be walking back to a life of demands and expectations that he had no part in conjuring. But Bosch couldn’t think about it too long. He had work to do. As he started walking toward his own car, he pulled his phone and called his partner. It took Chu six rings to answer his phone.

“Yeah, Harry.”

“What’ve they come up with?”

Bosch had gone through Lieutenant Duvall with a request to have the department’s top forensics team go back into the Chateau Marmont and make another sweep of room 79 using all means of evidence detection possible. Bosch wanted the place vacuumed, lasered, black-lighted and super glued. He wanted to try anything that might draw out evidence missed the first time, and possibly link McQuillen to the room.

“We got nothin’. So far, at least.”

“Okay. Were they out on the fire escape yet?”

“They started there. Nothing.”

Bosch couldn’t say he was disappointed because he knew it was a long shot in the first place, especially on the fire escape, which had been exposed to the elements for nearly four days.

“Do you need me there?”

“No, I think we’re going to wrap soon. How was the funeral?”

“It was a funeral. Not much else to say.”

In order to bring Chu in and oversee the second forensic examination of the crime scene, Bosch had told him in general terms where the investigation was moving.

“Then, what’s next?”

Bosch climbed into his car and started the engine.

“I think it’s time we spoke to Mark McQuillen.”

“All right, when?”

Bosch had been thinking about that but wanted to consider the how, when and where questions further.

“We’ll work it out when you get back to the PAB.”

Bosch disconnected and dropped the phone into his coat pocket. He loosened his tie slightly as he drove out of the cemetery. Almost immediately his phone buzzed and he assumed Chu was calling back with another question. But instead it was Hannah Stone’s name on the ID screen.

“Hannah.”

“Hello, Harry. How are you?”

“I just left a funeral.”

“What? Whose?”

“Somebody I never met. It was work. How are things at the center?”

“They’re fine. I’m on a break.”

“Good.”

He waited. He knew she wasn’t calling just to pass the time.

“I was wondering if you’ve been thinking about last night.”

The reality was that Bosch had been consumed by the Irving case since he had confronted Robert Mason the night before.

“Of course,” he said. “That was pretty wonderful for me.”

“It was wonderful for me, too, but I didn’t mean that. I meant about what I told you. Before.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“About Shawn. My son.”

This felt jagged and awkward. He wasn’t sure what she wanted.

“Well. . I don’t know, Hannah, what am I supposed to be thinking about?”

“Never mind, Harry. I need to go.”

“Wait, Hannah. Come on, you called me, remember? Don’t go and don’t get upset. Just tell me, what am I supposed to be thinking about with your son?”

Bosch felt something gripping his insides. He had to consider that for her the night before might have been some sort of means to a hopeful end that was about her son and not them. To Bosch, her son was lost. When Shawn was twenty years old he had drugged a girl and raped her — a sad and terrible story. He pleaded guilty and went to prison. That was five years ago and Hannah had dedicated her life since then to trying to understand where the impulse in him had come from. Was it genetic, was it nature, was it nurture? It was a form of prison in itself for Hannah, and Bosch had felt sympathy as she told him the ugly story.

But now he wasn’t sure what she wanted from him besides his sympathy. Was he supposed to say her son’s crime was not her fault? Or that her son wasn’t evil? Or was she hoping for some sort of concrete help in terms of her son’s incarceration? Bosch didn’t know because she hadn’t said.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want it to ruin anything, that’s all.”

That eased things for him a small bit.

“Then don’t let it, Hannah. Just let things happen. We’ve only known each other a few days. We like to be with each other but maybe we moved too quickly. Let’s just let things happen and don’t bring this other stuff into it. Not yet.”

“But I have to. He’s my son. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with what he did and to think about him up there?”

The grip inside tightened again and he understood that he had made a mistake with this woman. His loneliness and his own need for connection had led him down the wrong path. He had waited so long and now had chosen so wrong.

“Hannah,” he said. “I’m in the middle of stuff here. Can we talk about all of this later?”

“Whatever.”

It was said as an invective. She might as well have said Fuck you, Bosch. The message was the same. But he acted like he had not received it.

“Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I’m clear. Good-bye, Hannah.”

“Good-bye, Harry.”

Bosch disconnected and fought the urge to throw the phone out the car window. His thinking that Hannah Stone could be the one he brought into the life he shared with his daughter had been a fool’s dream. He had moved too quickly. He had dreamed too quickly.

He shoved the phone into his coat pocket and buried his thoughts about Hannah Stone and failed romance as deep as George Irving had just been put in the ground.