The Wrong Side of Goodbye

23

Bosch stayed up half the night jumping from CNN to Fox News and then online to the Times website, hoping for an update on the death of Whitney Vance. But he came away disappointed in the supposed twenty-four-hour news cycle. There were no updates on the cause of or details about the death. All each entity did was add backstory, digging out old clips and adding them to the tail of the very thinly reported breaking news of the death. At about 2 a.m. CNN reran the 1996 interview Larry King did with Vance on his book publication. Bosch watched this with interest because it showed a much more spry and engaging version of Vance.

Sometime after that Bosch fell asleep in the leather chair in front of the television, four empty bottles on the table next to him. The TV was still on when he awoke and the first image he saw was the Coroner’s van exiting through the gate of the Vance estate on San Rafael and driving past the camera. The camera then held on the black steel gate rolling closed.

In the video, it was dark on the street but there was no time stamp. Because Vance would get the VIP treatment from the Coroner’s Office, Bosch guessed that the body was not removed until the middle of the night after a thorough investigation that would have included detectives from the Pasadena Police Department.

It was 7 a.m. in Los Angeles and that meant the eastern media was already well into the Vance story. The CNN anchor flipped the story to a financial reporter who talked about Vance’s majority holdings in the company his father had founded and what could happen now that he had died. The reporter said that Vance had no “known heirs” and so it remained to be seen what instructions he left in his will for the distribution of his wealth and holdings. The reporter intimated that there could be surprises in the will. He added that Vance’s probate attorney, a Century City lawyer named Cecil Dobbs, could not be reached for comment because of the early hour in Los Angeles.

Bosch knew he had to get up to San Fernando to continue working through the latest call-in tips and leads on the Screen Cutter case. He slowly climbed out of the leather chair, felt his back protest in a half dozen places, and made his way to his bedroom to shower and prepare for the day.

The shower made him feel crisp-at least temporarily. As he dressed he realized he was famished.

In the kitchen he brewed a half pot of coffee and then began searching for something to eat. Without his daughter living in the house anymore, Bosch had fallen off on keeping the cabinets and refrigerator stocked. All he found was a box of Eggo waffles in the freezer containing two last soldiers exhibiting freezer burn. Bosch put them both in the toaster and hoped for the best. He checked the cabinets and refrigerator a second time and found no syrup, butter, or even peanut butter anywhere. He was going to have to go dry with the waffles.

He took the coffee in a mug left over from his LAPD homicide days. Printed around its circumference was Our Day Begins When Your Day Ends. And he learned that eating waffles without syrup or other additives made them portable. He sat down at the diningroom table and ate them by hand while sorting through the mail that had accumulated on the table. It was an easy process because four out of every five pieces were junk mail that he could easily identify without opening them. He put these in a pile to the left and the mail he would have to open and deal with to the right. This included pieces of correspondence addressed to his neighbors but mistakenly stuffed into his box.

He was halfway through the pile when he came to an 8 x 5 padded manila envelope with a heavy object in it. There was no return address and his own address was scrawled in an unsteady hand. The envelope had a South Pasadena postmark. He opened it and slid out the object, a gold pen he immediately recognized. It now had a cap but he knew it was Whitney Vance’s. There were also two separately folded pieces of stationery of a high-grade pale yellow stock. Bosch unfolded the first one and found himself looking at a handwritten letter to him from Whitney Vance. The stationery had Vance’s name and the San Rafael Avenue address printed across the bottom.

The letter had the previous Wednesday’s date on it. The day after Bosch had gone to Pasadena to meet Vance.

Detective Bosch,

If you are reading this then my most loyal and trusted Ida has been successful in getting this envelope to you. I am placing my trust in you as I have done with her for many decades.

It was a pleasure to meet you yesterday and I can sense that you are an honorable man who will do what is right in any circumstance. I am counting on your integrity. No matter what happens to me I want you to continue your search. If there is an heir to what I have on this earth then I want that person to have what is mine.I want you to find that person and I trust that you will. It gives an old man a sense of redemption to know he has done the right thing at last.

Be safe. Be vigilant and determined.

Whitney P. Vance

October 5, 2016

Bosch reread the letter before unfolding the second document. It was handwritten in the same shaky but legible scrawl as the first.

Whitney Vance Last

Will and Testament

October 5, 2016

I, Whitney Vance, of Pasadena, Los Angeles County, California, write this Will by hand to declare my desires for the disposition of my estate after my death. As of the date of this Will, I am of sound mind and am entirely capable of determining my own affairs. I am not married. By this Will I expressly revoke any and all previous, antecedent Wills and Codicils, declaring any and all to be null, void, and invalid.

I have currently employed the investigative services of Hieronymus Bosch to ascertain and locate my issue and the heir of my body conceived in spring 1950 by Vibiana Duarte and born of her in due course. I charged Mr. Bosch to bring forward the heir of my body, with reasonably sufficient genealogical and scientific proof of heredity and genetic descent, so that the heir of my body may receive my estate.

I appoint Hieronymus Bosch sole executor of this, my Will. No bond or other security shall be required of Mr. Boschas executor of my Will. He shall pay my just debts and obligations, which shall include a reasonably generous fee for his service.

To Ida Townes Forsythe, my secretary, friend and confidante of 35 years, I give, devise, and bequeath $10,000,000.00 (ten million US Dollars), together with my thanks and gratitude for her loyal service, counsel, and friendship.

To the heir of my body, my issue, my genetic descendant, and the last of my bloodline, I give, devise, and bequeath all of the remainder of my estate, in its entirety, of any, all, and whatever kind and character, which shall include all my bank accounts, all my stocks, bonds, and business interests, my homes and all my real property in fee simple, and all my personal property, possessions, and chattels. In particular, to the heir of my body I bequeath the pen with which this Will is written. It is made of gold mined by our progenitors and passed down through generations to have and hold until it is passed to succeeding generations of our blood.

Done by and in my own hand

Whitney P. Vance

October 5, 2016, at 11:30 A.M. Pacific Standard Time

Bosch was stunned by what he had in his hands. He reread the will and it didn’t lessen his wonder. He held a document that was essentially worth billions of dollars, a document that could change the course of a giant corporation and industry, not to mention the life and family of an unsuspecting woman born forty-six years ago of a father she never knew.

That is, if she was still alive and Bosch could find her.

Bosch read the first letter for the third time and took Whitney Vance’s charge to heart. He would be vigilant and determined.

He refolded the two documents and returned them to the envelope. He hefted the heavy pen in his hand for a moment and then placed it back in the envelope as well. He realized that at some point, there would be an authentication process and he might have already damaged it by his handling of the stationery. He took the envelope into the kitchen and found a large resealable plastic bag to preserve it in.

Bosch also knew he had to safeguard the package. He suspected that there would be many forces out there bent on destroying it. The thought reminded him of when Howard Hughes died and various wills came to the surface. He didn’t remember how that probate was decided but he recalled the multiple claims to the fortune. The same could be the case with Vance. Bosch knew he needed to make copies of the documents in the envelope and then secure the originals in his safe deposit box.

Bosch went back into the living room and turned off the TV so he could make a call. He hit the speed dial for Mickey Haller’s cell phone and his half brother picked up the call after one ring.

“What’s up, broheim?”

“Are you my lawyer?”

“What? Of course I am. What did you do now?”

“Funny. But you’re not going to believe this. Are you sitting down?”

“I’m sitting in the back of the Lincoln, heading in to see my girl Clara Foltz.”

The translation was that Haller was heading to court. The downtown courthouse was formally known as the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center.

“You heard about Whitney Vance dying?” Bosch asked.

“I heard something about it on the radio, yeah,” Haller said. “But what do I care about some billionaire kicking the bucket?”

“Well, I’m holding his last will and testament. He sent it to me. It names me executor and I don’t know the first thing about what to do with it.”

“Are you pulling my dick, broheim?”

“No, broheim. I’m not pulling your dick.”

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Hold on.”

Bosch then heard Haller redirect his driver from the downtown destination to the Cahuenga Pass, where Bosch lived. Then he got back on the line.

“How the fuck did you end up with his will?”

Bosch gave him a short summary of the Vance case. He also revealed that this was the case he had called Haller about to get the referral to a private DNA lab.

“Okay, who else knows you have this will?” Haller asked.

“No one,” Bosch said. “Actually, somebody might. It came in the mail and Vance’s letter says he gave the task to his longtime secretary. But I don’t know if she knew what was in the package she mailed. She’s in the will to the tune of ten million.”

“That’s a big reason to make sure she got the will to you. You said it came in the mail? Was it certified-did you have to sign for it?”

“No, it was stuffed into the box with all the junk mail.”

“That was risky but maybe it was the best way to get it to you under the radar. Slip it out with the secretary, have her drop it in a mail box. Okay, listen, I need to get off the line so I can get somebody to take my appearance in arraignment court. But you sit tight. I’m heading your way.”

“Do you still have that copier in the car?”

“Sure do.”

“Good. We need to make copies.”

“Definitely.”

“Do you even know anything about wills and probate, Mick?”

“Hey, bro, you know me. Have case, will travel. Doesn’t matter what kind of case it is, I can handle it. And what I don’t know, I can bring somebody in on to help. I’ll be there inside of thirty.”

As Bosch put the phone down he wondered if he had made a critical mistake bringing the Lincoln Lawyer into the case. His instincts were that Haller’s lack of experience in probate and inheritance law would be more than balanced by his street smarts and legal cunning. Bosch had seen him work and knew he had something that didn’t come with training, no matter what the school or specialty. He had a deep hollow that he somehow filled by standing as a David against the Goliaths of the world, whether in the form of the power and might of the state or a billion-dollar corporation. Bosch also had no doubts about Haller guarding his back. He could trust him. And he had a growing feeling that this might be the most important support to have in the days ahead.

He checked his watch and saw it was near nine now and Bella Lourdes would be at the station. He called but she didn’t answer. He assumed that was because she was already working the phones responding to the batch of call-in tips he had left on her desk. He was leaving her a message telling her to call him back when his call-waiting indicated she was already doing so.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said. “Where are you?”

“I’m still at home. You’re going to have to handle things on your own today.”

She groaned and asked why.

“Something’s come up on a private case I’m working,” he said. “It can’t wait.”

“The one with all the birth certificates?” she asked.

“How did you-”

He remembered her eying the stack of copies he had placed on his desk in the cubicle.

“Never mind,” he said. “Just don’t mention that to anybody. I should be back in a couple days.”

“A couple days?” Lourdes exclaimed. “Harry, the proverbial iron is hot right now. This guy just tried to strike for the first time we know about in eight months. We now have the mask. Things are happening and we really need you in here.”

“I know, I know. But this other thing can’t wait and it looks like I have to go to San Diego.”

“You’re killing me, Harry. What’s the case?”

“I can’t tell you right now. When I can, I will.”

“That’s nice of you. And it’s more important than a guy running around up here raping Mexican girls.”

“It’s not more important. But we both know that the Screen Cutter is lying low right now with all of this attention. Unless he’s already split. And if he has, then we’re spinning our wheels, anyway.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll let the cap know and I’m sure he’ll be happy not to have you around. Last thing he wants is for you to crack this thing anyway.”

“There you go.”

“No, there you go. Running out on the case.”

“Look, I’m not running out. This other thing will clear soon. And I’m only a phone call away. In fact, there’s something I was going to do today but you need to do it now instead.”

“And what’s that?”

“The caller who led me to the mask said the guy was checking car doors while he was running.”

“So?”

“So something happened that messed up his getaway.”

“Yeah, Beatriz clocked him with the broomstick.”

“Something more. He lost his ride.”

“You mean you think he had a getaway driver? Maybe we’re looking for more than one suspect. Different masks, different rapists, but working together-is that it?”

“No, the DNA is from one offender.”

“Right, forgot. So you think he’s a rapist with a getaway driver?”

“I thought about that but it’s a long shot. Most serial offenders are loners. There are exceptions but it’s rare. Most of the time you go with the percentages and you come out ahead.”

“Okay, then what?”

“I think you should go out and search Beatriz’s house again. Do you guys have a metal detector?”

“A metal detector? For what?”

“The backyard by the window the Screen Cutter jumped through. I think maybe he lost the keys to his getaway car when he went through the window and hit the ground. There’s a bed of vines and ground cover there.”

“Right, I saw.”

“It was a panic move. He’s disoriented by the blow from the broomstick, he drops the knife, jumps through the window, and falls on the ground. His keys could have gone flying. So what’s he do? He can’t sit there looking through the bushes and vines. He’s gotta get out of there. He just starts running.”

“That to me sounds like the long shot.”

“Maybe. But this guy is a planner and there he was, running down the street, trying to find an unlocked car to boost.”

“True.”

“Anyway, what else are you going to do, chase call-in tips and look-alikes all day?”

“There you go again against the tip line. But you do have a point. And they do have a metal detector over at Public Works for finding underground pipes and cables and stuff. We used it once to find a gun a banger wrapped in plastic and buried in his backyard. Tied him to an assault with a deadly. If Dockweiler’s over there, he’ll let us use it. If he’s in a good mood.”

“Grab that and run it through the bushes and the ground cover under that window.”

“You don’t grab it. It’s like a lawnmower. It’s got wheels.”

“Then take Sisto with you. Give him a chance to redeem himself.”

“Redeem himself for what?”

“I don’t really think his heart was in it the other day. He was babysitting the scene for us, playing on his phone the whole time, not paying attention. Not his case, not invested. Between you and me, his search was lazy. We’re lucky he found the knife without cutting himself on it.”

“But we’re not judgmental, are we?”

“Back in the day, we’d say a guy like that couldn’t find shit in his mustache with a comb.”

“We are just brutal!”

“I know what I saw. I’m glad I’m working with you and not him.”

She paused and Bosch knew it was to smile.

“I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” she said then. “From the great Harry Bosch, no less. Anyway, sounds like a plan. I’ll let you know.”

“Remember, you find something, you owe me a beer. You alsoshould ask Sisto about auto thefts Friday from Area Two-the other side of Maclay. Maybe the Screen Cutter grabbed a car over there.”

“Aren’t you just full of ideas today.”

“Yeah, that’s why I get the big bucks.”

“And all because of one of the tip line calls that you swore up and down were going to be a complete waste of time.”

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong, and I admit I was wrong.”

“You heard it here first, folks.”

“I gotta go, Bella. Be careful out there.”

“You too-with whatever your super-secret case is.”

“Roger that.”

They disconnected.