The Drop

30

It was eight thirty by the time Bosch pulled up in front of the home where George Irving had lived. The lights were still on inside but the garage doors were closed and there were no cars in the driveway. Bosch watched for a few minutes and saw no activity behind any of the lighted windows. If Deborah Irving and her son were inside, they weren’t showing it.

Bosch pulled his phone and, as agreed, texted his daughter. He had left her at home alone, telling her he would not be gone more than two hours and that he would check on her upon arrival at and departure from his destination.

She responded quickly.

All good. Finished homework, watching Castle downloads.

Bosch pocketed the phone and got out of the car. He had to knock twice, and when the door opened, it was Deborah Irving by herself.

“Detective Bosch?”

“Sorry to intrude so late, Mrs. Irving. I need to speak with you.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

“Of course. Come in.”

She opened up and led him into the room and to the couch where he had sat before at the start of the case.

“I saw you at the funeral today,” she said. “Chad said he spoke to you also.”

“Yes. Is Chad still here?”

“He’s staying through the weekend but he’s not home right now. He went to see an old girlfriend. It’s a very difficult time for him, as you can imagine.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Can I get you a coffee? We have a Nespresso.”

Bosch didn’t know what that meant but shook his head.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Irving.”

“Please call me Deborah.”

“Deborah.”

“Are you here to tell me you will be making an arrest in the case soon?”

“Uh, no, I’m not. I’m here to tell you there’s not going to be an arrest.”

She looked surprised.

“Dad — uh, Councilman Irving — told me there was a suspect. That it had to do with one of the competitors George was dealing with.”

“No, that was how it was looking because I went down the wrong path.”

He checked her reaction. No giveaways. She still looked genuinely surprised.

“You sent me down the wrong path,” he said. “You and the councilman and even Chad held back on me. I didn’t have what I needed and I went stumbling off after a murderer when there never was a murderer.”

Now she was beginning to look indignant.

“What do you mean? Dad told me there was evidence of assault and that George was choked. He said it was most likely a cop. Don’t tell me you are covering up for the cop who did this.”

“That’s not the case, Deborah, and I think you know it. That day I came here, the councilman told you what to say, what to leave in and what to leave out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like that the room your husband rented was the room you two shared on the night you got married. Like that your son was already scheduled to come home Monday — before your husband even went out that night.”

He let that sink in for a long moment, letting her come to realize what he had and what he knew.

“Chad was coming home because you two had something to tell him, right?”

“This is ridiculous!”

“Is it? Maybe I should talk to Chad first, ask him what he was told when he was sent the airline ticket Sunday afternoon.”

“You leave Chad alone. He’s going through a lot.”

“Then talk to me, Deborah. Why’d you hide it? Can’t be money. We checked the insurance policies. They’re all mature, no suicide clauses. You get the money whether he jumped or not.”

“He didn’t jump! I’m going to call Irvin. I’m going to tell him what you’re saying.”

She started to stand up.

“Did you tell George you were leaving him? Is that it? Is that why he put your anniversary date into the combination on the room safe? Is that why he jumped? His son was gone and now you were going, too. He had already lost his friend Bobby Mason and all he had left was a job working as a bagman for his father.”

She tried what Bosch always viewed as the last best defense of a woman. She started crying.

“You bastard! You’ll destroy a good man’s reputation. Is that what you want? Will that make you happy?”

Bosch didn’t answer for a long time.

“No, Mrs. Irving, not really.”

“I want you to leave now. I buried my husband today and I want you out of my house!”

Bosch nodded but made no move to get up.

“I’ll leave when you give me the story.”

“I don’t have the story!”

“Then Chad does. I’ll wait for him.”

“All right, look, Chad doesn’t know a thing. He’s nineteen years old. He’s a boy. If you talk to him you’ll destroy him.”

Bosch realized that it was all about the son, about protecting him from knowing that his father had killed himself.

“Then you have to talk to me first. Last chance, Mrs. Irving.”

She gripped her chair’s armrests and bowed her head.

“I told him our marriage was over.”

“And how did he take it?”

“Not well. He didn’t see it coming because he didn’t see what he had become. An opportunist, a taker, a bagman, like you said. Chad had gotten away and I decided I would, too. There was no one else. There was just no reason to stay. I wasn’t running to something. I was just running away from him.”

Bosch leaned forward, elbows on his knees, making the conversation more intimate.

“When did this conversation take place?” he asked.

“A week before. We talked about it for a week but I wasn’t changing my mind. I told him to bring Chad down or I would go up there to tell him. He made the arrangements Sunday.”

Bosch nodded. All the details were fitting together.

“What about the councilman? Was he told?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him and it never came up after — when he was here that day and told me that George was dead. He didn’t mention anything about it then and he didn’t at the funeral today either.”

Bosch knew that this didn’t mean anything. Irving could have been keeping his knowledge to himself as he waited to see which way the investigation would go. In the long run it didn’t matter what Irving knew or when he knew it.

“On Sunday night, when George went out, what did he say to you?”

“As I told you before, he said he was going out for a drive. That’s all. He didn’t tell me where.”

“Did he threaten to kill himself during any of your discussions in the week prior to his death?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure. I’m not lying to you.”

“You said you talked about it for several nights. He did not accept your decision?”

“Of course not. He said he wouldn’t let me go. I told him he didn’t have a choice. I was leaving. I was prepared. It wasn’t a rash decision. I’ve been in a loveless marriage for quite a long time, Detective. The day Chad got the acceptance letter from USF, that was the day I started planning.”

“Did you have a place you were going to go?”

“A place, a car, a job — everything.”

“Where?”

“San Francisco. Close to Chad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this from the start? What’s the point of hiding it?”

“My son. His father was dead and it wasn’t clear how. He didn’t need to know that his parents’ marriage had been coming to an end. I didn’t want to put that on him.”

Bosch shook his head. She apparently didn’t care that her deception had almost resulted in McQuillen’s being accused of murder.

There was a noise from somewhere in the house and Deborah became alert.

“That’s the back door. Chad is home. Do not tell him this. I beg you.”

“He’s going to find out. I should talk to him. His father must’ve told him something when he told him he needed to fly home.”

“No, he didn’t. I was in the room when he called. He just told him we needed him to come home for a few days because of a family emergency. George assured him that everybody was fine healthwise but that he needed to come home. Do not tell him about this. I will tell him.”

“Mom?”

It was Chad calling from somewhere in the house.

“In the living room, Chad,” his mother called back.

Then she looked at Bosch with beseeching eyes.

“Please,” she whispered.

Chad Irving entered the living room. He was dressed in blue jeans and a golf shirt. His hair was unkempt and it looked startlingly different from the carefully combed look he’d had at the funeral.

“Chad,” Bosch said. “How are you doing?”

The boy nodded.

“Fine. What are you doing here? Did you arrest someone for killing my father?”

“No, Chad,” his mother said quickly. “Detective Bosch was just doing some follow-up on your father. I had to answer a few questions about the business. That’s all and, in fact, Detective Bosch was just about to leave.”

The time was rare that Bosch would allow someone to speak for him and lie and even push him out the door. But Bosch played along. He even stood up.

“Yes, I think I have what I need for now. I do want to talk a little more with you, Chad, but that can wait until tomorrow. You are still around tomorrow, right?”

Bosch looked at Deborah the whole time he spoke. The message was clear. If you want to be the one who tells him, then tell him tonight. Otherwise, Bosch would be back in the morning.

“Yes, I’m staying until Sunday.”

Bosch nodded. He moved out of the seating area.

“Mrs. Irving, you have my number. Call me if anything else comes up. I’ll show myself out.”

With that, Bosch headed through the living room and then out of the house. He went off the front walkway and crossed the lawn diagonally to his car.

He received a text as he walked. It was from his daughter, of course. No one else ever texted him.

Going to read in bed. Night, Dad.

He stood next to his car and answered her right away.

On my way home now. . O?

Her response was quick.

Ocean.

It was a game they played, though a game with a higher purpose. He had taught her the LAPD’s phonetic alphabet and often tested her in texts. Or while out driving together, he’d point out a license plate and have her call it out in phonetic code.

He texted her back.

TMG

That’s my girl.

Once he was in the car, he lowered the window and looked up at the Irving house. The lights had been turned off now in the downstairs rooms. But the family — what was left of it — was still awake upstairs, dealing with the debris George Irving had left behind.

Bosch started his car and headed toward Ventura Boulevard. He opened his phone and called Chu’s cell. He checked the dash clock and saw it was only nine thirty-eight. There was plenty of time. The Times deadline for the morning print edition was eleven.

“Harry? Everything all right?”

“Chu, I want you to call your girlfriend at the Times. Give—”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Harry. I made a mistake and I resent how you keep sticking the knife in and turning it.”

“Well, I resent you, Chu. But I need you to do this. Call her and give her the story. No names, it’s got to come from ‘informed sources.’ The LAPD—”

“Harry, she won’t trust me. I killed the story before by threatening to ruin her. She won’t even talk to me anymore.”

“Yes, she will. If she wants the story. Send her an e-mail first that says you want to make it up to her and give her a story. Then call her. Just no names. Informed sources. The LAPD will announce tomorrow that the George Irving case has been closed. His death has been ruled a suicide. Make sure you say to her that a week’s investigation has determined that Irving was facing marital issues and tremendous job pressures and difficulties. You got that? I want it said that way.”

“Then why don’t you call her?”

Bosch turned onto Ventura and headed toward the Cahuenga Pass.

“Because she’s yours, Chu. Now call her or text her or send her an e-mail and give it to her exactly the way I said.”

“She’ll want more. This is generic. She’ll want what she calls the telling details.”

Bosch thought for a moment.

“Tell her that the room Irving jumped from had been his honeymoon suite twenty years ago.”

“Okay, that’s good. She’ll like that. What else?”

“Nothing else. That’s enough.”

“Why now? Why not in the morning?”

“Because if it’s in tomorrow’s print edition, it’s going to be hard to change. And that’s what I’m guarding against. High jingo, Chu. This isn’t the conclusion that’s going to make the city councilman happy. That in turn won’t make the chief happy.”

“But it’s the truth?”

“Yeah, it’s the truth. And the truth gets out. Tell GoGo that if she does this right, there’s going to be a follow-up she’ll want to get a piece of.”

“What follow-up?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. Just get this going. She has a deadline.”

“Is this how it’s always going to be, Harry? You just tell me what to do and when to do it. I never get a say?”

“You’ll have a say, Chu. With your next partner.”

Bosch closed the phone. As he drove the rest of the way home, he thought about the things he was setting in motion. With the newspaper, with Irving and with Chu.

He was making risky moves and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was because he had been led so far astray on the investigation. Was he punishing himself or those who had led him astray?

Just as he started climbing Woodrow Wilson toward his home he got another call. He expected it to be Chu, confirming that he had made the call and that the story would be in the morning print edition of the Times. But it wasn’t Chu.

“Hannah, I’m working.”

“Oh, I thought maybe we could talk.”

“Well, I’m alone now and have a few minutes but like I said, I’m working.”

“Is it a crime scene?”

“No, an interview, you could call it. What’s up, Hannah?”

“Well, two things. Is there any update on the case involving Clayton Pell? Clayton asks me about it every time I see him. I wish there was something to tell him.”

“Well, there really isn’t. It kind of got back-burnered while I work on this other thing. But that is ending now and I’ll be back on the Pell case pretty quick. You can tell Clayton that. We’ll find Chilton Hardy. I guarantee it.”

“Okay, that’s good, Harry.”

“What’s the other thing you wanted to talk about?”

He knew what it was but it was her call. She had to ask it.

“Us. . Harry, I know I messed things up with my issues about my son. I am sorry about that and I hope it didn’t completely spoil things. I like you a lot and I hope we can see each other again.”

Bosch pulled to a stop in front of his house. His daughter had left the porch light on. He stayed in the car.

“Hannah. . the truth is, all I’ve been doing is working. I’ve got two cases here and I’m trying to work them both. Why don’t we see how we feel over the weekend or early next week? I’ll call you then or you can call me if you want.”

“Okay, Harry. We’ll talk next week.”

“Yes, Hannah. Good night and have a good weekend.”

Bosch opened the car door and practically had to roll out of the car. He was tired. The burden of knowledge was heavy. And all he wanted was to crash into a black dream where nothing could find him.