Trunk Music

PART IX

BOSCH WALKED ACROSS the polished linoleum on the sixth floor of Parker Center, purposely driving his heels down with each step. He wanted to put scuff marks on the carefully tended finish. He turned into the alcove entrance to the Internal Affairs Division and asked the secretary behind the counter for Chastain. She asked if he had an appointment and Bosch told her he didn’t make appointments with people like Chastain. She stared at him a moment and he stared back until she picked up a phone and punched in an extension. After whispering into the line, she held the phone to her chest and looked up at Bosch and then eyed the shoebox and file he held in his hands.

“He wants to know what it’s about.”

“Tell him it’s about his case against me falling apart.”

She whispered some more and then Bosch was finally buzzed through the counter’s half door. He went into the IAD squad room, where several of the desks were occupied by investigators. Chastain stood up from behind one of these.

“What are you doing here, Bosch? You’re on suspension for letting that prisoner escape.”

He said it loudly so that the others in the squad room would know that Bosch was a guilty man.

“The chief cut it down to a week,” Bosch said. “I call that a vacation.”

“Well, that’s only round one. I still got your file open.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Chastain pointed to the interview room Bosch had been in the week before with Zane.

“Let’s talk in there.”

“No,” Bosch said. “We’re not talking, Chastain. I’m just showing.”

He dropped the file he was carrying on the desk. Chastain remained standing and looked at it without opening it.

“What is this?”

“It’s the end of the case. Open it.”

Chastain sat down and opened the file, exhaling loudly, as if he were embarking on a distasteful and worthless chore. On top was a copy of a page from the department’s manual of procedure and officer conduct. The manual was to IAD dicks what the state penal code was to the rest of the officers and investigators in the department.

The page in the file pertained to officers associating with known criminals, convicted felons and members of organized crime. Such association was strictly forbidden and punishable by dismissal from the department, according to the code.

“Bosch, you didn’t need to bring me this, I’ve got the whole book,” Chastain said.

He was trying out some light banter because he didn’t know what Bosch was doing and was well aware that his peers were watching from their desks while trying to act as if they weren’t.

“Yeah? Well, you better get your book out and read the bottom line there, pal. The exception.”

Chastain looked down at the bottom of the page.

“Says, ‘Exception to this code can be established if the officer can show to the satisfaction of superior officers a family relationship through blood or marriage. If that is established, officer must-’”

“That’s enough,” Bosch said.

He reached down and took the page so that Chastain could see what was in the rest of the file.

“What you have there, Chastain, is a marriage certificate issued in Clark County, Nevada, attesting to my marriage to Eleanor Wish. If that’s not good enough for you, beneath it are two affidavits from my partners. They witnessed the marriage. Best man and maid of honor.”

Chastain kept his eyes on the paperwork.

“It’s over, man,” Bosch said. “You lose. So get the fuck out of my life.”

Chastain leaned back. His face was red and he had an uncomfortable smile on his face. Now he was sure the others were watching.

“You’re telling me you got married just to avoid an IAD beef?”

“No, asshole. I got married because I love somebody. That’s why you get married.”

Chastain didn’t have a reply. He shook his head, looked at his watch and shuffled some papers while trying to act as though this was just a minor interruption in his day. He did everything but look at his nails.

“Yeah, I thought you’d run out of things to say,” Bosch said. “I’ll see you around, Chastain.”

He turned to walk away but then turned back to Chastain.

“Oh, and I almost forgot, you can tell your source our deal is done with, also.”

“What source, Bosch? Deal? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Fitzgerald or whoever you get your information from at OCID.”

“I don’t-”

“Sure you do. I know you, Chastain. You couldn’t have come up with Eleanor Wish on your own. You’ve got a pipeline over there to Fitzgerald. He told you about her. It was him or one of his people. Doesn’t matter to me who. Either way I’m out of a deal I made with him. You can tell him that.”

Bosch held the shoebox up and shook it. The videotape and audiotapes rattled inside it, but he could tell Chastain had no idea what was in the box or what it meant.

“You tell him, Chastain,” he said again. “See you around.”

He finally left then, pausing only at the counter to give the secretary a thumbs-up sign. In the hallway, rather than turn left toward the elevators, he took a right and headed through the double doors of the chief of police’s office suite. The chief’s adjutant, a lieutenant in uniform, sat behind the reception desk. Bosch didn’t know him, which was good. He walked up and put the shoebox down on the desk.

“Can I help you? What’s this?”

“It’s a box, Lieutenant. It’s got some tapes the chief will want to watch and listen to. Right away.”

Bosch made a move to leave.

“Wait a minute,” the adjutant said. “Will he know what this is about?”

“Tell him to call Deputy Chief Fitzgerald. He can explain what it’s about.”

Bosch left then, not turning around when the adjutant called after him for his name. He slipped through the double doors and headed down to the elevator. He felt good. He didn’t know if anything would come of the illegal tapes he had given the police chief, but he felt that all decks were cleared. His show with the box earlier with Chastain would ensure that the word got back to Fitzgerald that this was exclusively Bosch’s play. Billets and Rider should be safe from recriminations by the OCID chief. He could come after Bosch if he wanted, but Bosch felt safe now. Fitzgerald had nothing on him anymore. No one did.