The Wrong Side of Goodbye

43

Bosch hated the Ford he was driving. He decided it was time to go back to LAX and retrieve his own car after several days of vehicular subterfuge. From South Pasadena he took the 110 down through the center of the city, past the towers of downtown, and past USC and the neighborhood where Vibiana Duarte had lived most of her short life. He eventually connected to the Century Freeway and went west to the airport. He was handing his credit card to the garage attendant to cover an enormous parking fee when his phone buzzed with a 213 number he didn’t recognize. He took the call.

“Bosch.”

“It’s Vibiana.”

Her voice was a low but near hysterical whisper.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a man. He’s been here all day.”

“He’s in your loft?”

“No, down on the street. I can see him from the windows. He’s watching.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t want Gilberto to hear me. I don’t want him to be scared.”

“Okay, calm down, Vibiana. If he hasn’t made any move to comeup and get inside, then that’s not his plan. You are safe as long as you stay inside.”

“Okay. Can you come?”

Bosch grabbed his credit card and receipt from the attendant.

“Yes, I’m coming. But I’m at the airport. It’s going to take me a while. You need to stay inside and don’t answer the door until I get there.”

The parking gate was still down. Bosch covered the phone and yelled out the window at the attendant.

“Come on, open the gate! I gotta go!”

The gate finally started to rise. Bosch went back to the phone call as he powered through the exit.

“This guy, where exactly is he?”

“He moves around. Every time I look, he is somewhere else. I first saw him in front of the American and then he moved down the street.”

“Okay, try to track him. I’ll call when I get there and you give me his location. What does he look like? What’s he wearing?”

“He, uh, jeans, gray hoodie, sunglasses. He’s a white guy and he’s too old for the hoodie.”

“Okay, and you think he’s alone? You don’t see anybody else?”

“He’s the only one I can see but there might be somebody on the other side of the building.”

“Okay, I’ll check that when I get there. Just sit tight, Vibiana. Everything’s going to be all right. But if something happens before I get there, call nine-one-one.”

“Okay.”

“And by the way, the DNA came back. It’s a match. You are Whitney Vance’s granddaughter.”

She didn’t respond. Only silence.

“We can talk about it when I get there,” Bosch said.

He disconnected. He could have kept her on the phone but Bosch wanted both hands free for the drive. He retraced his path, jumping back onto the Century and taking it to the 110. Midday traffic was light and he made good time as he raced toward the looming towers of downtown. Most prominent of these was the U.S. Bank Tower and Bosch couldn’t help but think that whoever was watching Vibiana Veracruz had been dispatched from the fifty-ninth floor.

He exited on 6th Street downtown and worked his way into the Arts District. He called Vibiana and told her he was in the neighborhood. She said she was looking through the window as they spoke and could see the watcher under the scaffolding that wrapped the front of the building across the street, which was closed and under renovation. She said the scaffolding offered many places for him to watch from.

“That’s okay,” Bosch said. “What works for him will also work for me.”

He told her he would call her back as soon as the situation was resolved.

Bosch found parking in a lot by the river and then headed toward Vibiana’s building on foot. He saw the structure wrapped in scaffolding and entered through a side entrance where several construction workers were sitting on stacks of drywall during a break. One of them told Bosch he was in a hard-hat area as he passed.

“I know,” he said.

He followed a hallway toward the front of the building. The first floor was being prepared for commercial use and every unit had a garage-door-size opening to the street. No windows or doors had been installed yet. In the third unit he saw the back of a man in jeans and a gray hoodie. He was leaning against the right wall at the edge of the front opening and was well under the scaffold. It was good cover from the outside, but on the inside his back was toBosch and he was vulnerable. Bosch quietly pulled his gun from its holster and started moving toward him.

Noise from an electric saw being used on an upper level of the building covered Bosch’s approach. He got all the way up on the man, then grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. He shoved him back against the wall and jammed the barrel of his pistol into the man’s neck.

It was Sloan. Before Bosch could say a word, the man brought his arm up, knocked the gun away, and then spun Bosch into the wall. Sloan pulled his own gun and it was now pressed into Bosch’s neck. Sloan’s elbows pinned Harry’s arms up and against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing, Bosch?”

Bosch stared at him. He opened up his right palm in surrender and let his gun drop into his left until he was holding it by the barrel.

“I was going to ask you the exact same thing,” he said.

“I’m watching out for her,” Sloan said. “Just like you.”

Sloan stepped back. He withdrew his weapon and swung it behind his back and tucked it under his belt. It left Bosch with the upper hand but he knew he didn’t need it. He holstered his weapon.

“What’s going on, Sloan? You work for them.”

“I worked for the old man. The company on the paychecks changed but I never stopped working for him. Including right now.”

“He really sent you that day you came to my house?”

“That’s right. He was too sick to call or talk. He thought he was dying and wanted to know who or what you’d found.”

“You knew what I was doing.”

“That’s right. Just like I knew when you found her.”

He jerked his head in the direction of Vibiana’s building.

“How?”

“They’ve got you wired Bosch. You and your lawyer. They’re tracking your phones, your cars. You’re old-fashioned. You never look up.”

Bosch realized Haller had nailed it. They had watched him from a drone.

“And you’re part of all of that?” he asked.

“I acted like I was,” Sloan said. “They kept me on after Mr. Vance died. Until last night, when they burned out a DNA lab. I quit. Now I’m going to watch over her. It’s what he would have wanted and I owe him that.”

Bosch studied him. He could be a Trojan horse sent in by Trident and the corporation. Or he could be sincere. Bosch reviewed the information that he had recently gathered on Sloan. That he had been with Vance for twenty-five years. That he had attempted to revive Vance after he was already dead. That he had called the police to report the death instead of attempting to avoid an investigation. Bosch thought it added up to sincerity.

“Okay,” he said. “If you want to watch over her, then let’s do it right. This way.”

They stepped through the open doorway and out from under the scaffolding. Bosch looked up at the windows of the lofts on the fourth floor. He saw Vibiana looking down. He pulled his phone and called her as he headed toward the entrance of her building. She skipped the greeting.

“Who is he?” she said.

“He’s a friend,” Bosch said. “He worked for your grandfather. We’re coming up.”