‘His prints had been left when he washed Mrs Kincaid’s car,’ Irving said.
‘Right.’
‘So what about Elias?’ Lindell asked. ‘How did he get himself killed?’
‘I think Mrs Kincaid did that. By mistake. At some point since she put her daughter in the ground I think she started seeing ghosts. She was feeling guilty about her daughter and maybe tried to make it right. She knew what her husband was capable of, maybe he had even threatened her outright, so she tried to do it on the sly. She started sending anonymous letters to Elias, to help him along. It did. Elias was able to get to the secret web site, Charlotte’s Web. Once he saw those pictures of the girl, he knew who the real killer probably was. He was going about it very quietly. But he was going to subpoena Kincaid and spring it on him in court. Only he made a mistake and showed his hand.
He left a trail on the web site. Kincaid or the operators of the site learned they had been compromised.’
‘They sent out a gun,’ Lindell said.
‘I seriously doubt it was Kincaid himself. But probably somebody working for him. He’s got a security guy working for him. We’re checking him out.’
They all sat silent for a long moment. Irving clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. There was nothing on top of it. It was just polished wood.
‘You have to cut Sheehan loose,’ Bosch said. ‘He didn’t do it.’
‘Don’t worry about Sheehan,’ Irving said. ‘If he’s clean he goes home. I want to know how we proceed with Kincaid. It seems so ...’
Bosch ignored his hesitancy.
‘We do what we’re doing,’ he said. ‘We get search warrants signed and ready to go. I’m supposed to meet Mrs Kincaid tomorrow morning at the old house. I go, try to play her, try to get an admission. I think she’s fragile, maybe ready to be flipped. Either way, we spring the warrants. We use everybody and hit all places at once — the homes, the cars, the offices. We see what they bring. We also have to pull records on his dealerships. Find out what cars Kincaid was using back in July. Richter, too.’
‘Richter?’
‘He’s the security guy.’
Irving got up and went to the window this time.
‘You’re talking about a member of a family that helped build this city,’ he said. ‘The son of Jackson Kincaid.’
‘I know that,’ Bosch replied. ‘The guy’s from a powerful family. He’s even proprietary about the smog. He looks at it like it’s a family accomplishment. But that doesn’t matter, Chief. Not after what he’s done.’
Irving’s eyes dropped and Bosch knew he was looking down at the protest march.
‘The city’s held together ...’
He didn’t finish. Bosch knew what he was thinking. That those people down on the sidewalks were expecting news of charges being filed — against a cop.
‘Where are we with Detective Sheehan?’ Irving asked.
Lindell looked at his watch.
‘We’ve been talking to him for six hours now. When I left he had yet to say a single self-incriminating word in regard to the murder of Howard Elias.’
‘He previously threatened the victim in the manner in which the victim was killed.’
‘That was a long time ago. Plus, it was said in public, in front of witnesses. It’s been my experience that people who make threats like that usually don’t carry them out. They are blowing off steam most of the time.’
Irving nodded, his face still to the window.
‘What about ballistics?’ he asked.
‘Nothing yet. The autopsy on Elias was supposed to start this afternoon. I sent Detective Chastain over. They’ll dig the slugs out and he’ll take them over to your firearms people. It will take too long to send them to my people in Washington. But remember, Chief, Sheehan volunteered his gun. He said, “Do the ballistics.” Yes, he carries a nine but I kinda think he wouldn’t have offered the gun if he didn’t know the gun wouldn’t match the bullets.’
‘And his home?’
‘We searched it top to bottom — again, with his permission. Nothing. No other weapons, no hate notes about Elias, nothing.’
‘Alibi?’
‘Only place he’s hurting. He was home alone Friday night.’
‘What about his wife?’ Bosch asked.
‘The wife and kids were up in Bakersfield,’ Lindell said. ‘Apparently they’ve been up there a good long time.’
It was one more surprise about Sheehan. Bosch wondered why Sheehan hadn’t mentioned it when Bosch had asked about his family.
Irving remained silent and Lindell continued.
‘I guess what I’m saying is that we can hold him and wait till tomorrow when we’ve got the ballistics report to clear him. Or we can hop on Harry’s wagon and kick him loose now. But we keep him overnight and the expectations out on the street will just rise that much further ...’
‘And if we release him without explanation we could touch off a riot,’ Irving said.
Irving continued to stare at the window, brooding. This time Lindell waited.
‘Kick him loose at six,’ Irving finally said. ‘At the five o’clock briefing I will say he is being released pending further investigation. I can hear the howls already from Preston Tuggins and his people.’
‘That’s not good enough, Chief,’ Bosch said. ‘You have to say he’s clear. “Pending further investigation?” You might as well say we think he did it but we don’t have the evidence to charge him yet.’
Irving wheeled from the window and looked at Bosch.
‘Do not dare to tell me what is good enough, Detective. You do your job and I will do mine. Speaking of which, the briefing is in an hour. I want your two partners there for it. I am not going to stand up there with a bunch of white faces behind me and say we are letting a white cop go pending further investigation. I want your people there this time. And absolutely no excuse will be acceptable.’
‘They’ll be there.’
‘Good. Now let’s talk about what we will say to the media about the direction the investigation is heading in.’
The press conference was short. This time there was no sign of the chief of police. It was left to Irving to explain that the investigation was continuing and widening. He also said that the police officer who had been interviewed for several hours was being released. This brought an immediate chorus of shouted questions from the reporters. Irving raised his hands as if the action might in some way control the crowd. He was wrong.
‘We are not going to turn this into a shouting match,’ he barked. ‘I will take a handful of questions and that is it. We have an investigation to get back to. We — ’
‘What do you mean by released, Chief?’ Harvey Button called out. ‘Are you saying he has been cleared or you just don’t have evidence to hold him?’
Irving looked at Button for a moment before answering.
‘What I am saying is that the investigation is now moving into other areas.’
‘Then Detective Sheehan has been cleared, correct?’
‘I am not getting into naming people we talk to.’
‘Chief, we all know the name. Why can’t you answer the question?’
Bosch thought it was amusing in a cynical sort of way to watch this exchange because Lindell had convinced him it was Irving who had first leaked Frankie Sheehan’s name to the media. Now the deputy chief was trying to act insulted that it was out there.
‘All I am saying is that the police officer we have talked to provided satisfactory answers at this time. He is going home and that is all I am — ’
‘What other directions is the investigation going in?’ another reporter called out.
‘I cannot get into detail,’ Irving said. ‘Suffice it to say we will be turning over every stone.’
‘Can we ask the FBI agent questions?’
Irving glanced back at Lindell, who was standing at the back of the stage next to Bosch, Edgar and Rider.
He then looked back at the crowd of lights
, cameras and reporters.
‘The FBI and the LAPD have decided this will best be handled by funneling information through the police department. If you have a question, ask me.’
‘Are other cops being questioned?’ Button called out.
Irving had to think again to make sure he put the right words in the right order.
‘Yes, police officers are being questioned in a routine manner. At this point there are no police officers that we would classify as suspects.’
‘Then you are saying Sheehan is not a suspect.’
Button got him. Irving knew it. He had talked himself into a logic corner. But he took the easy, if not disingenuous, way out.
‘No comment.’
‘Chief,’ Button continued, above the din of other reporters, ‘the murders are almost forty-eight hours old. Are you saying there are no solid suspects at this time?’
‘We’re not going to get into what suspects there may or may not be. Next.’
Irving quickly pointed to another reporter in order to steer things away from Button. The questioning went on for another ten minutes. At one point Bosch looked over at Rider and she gave him a look that said, What are we doing here? And Bosch returned a look that answered, We are wasting our time.
When it was finally over, Bosch huddled on the stage with Edgar and Rider. They had arrived from Hollywood station just as the press conference had begun and he hadn’t had time to talk to them.
‘So where are we on the search warrants?’ he asked.
‘Almost done,’ Edgar said. ‘It didn’t help that we had to come down here for the dog and pony show.’
‘I know.’
‘Harry, I thought you were going to steer us clear of this stuff,’ Rider said.
‘I know. It was selfish. Frankie Sheehan is a friend.
What they did to him, leaking his name like that, was bullshit. I was hoping that having you two here might add some credibility to the announcement that he was being let go.’
‘So you used us the way Irving wanted to yesterday,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t let him do it but it was okay for yourself.’
Bosch studied her face. He could tell she was genuinely angry at being used in such a way. Bosch knew that it was a betrayal. A small one in his mind, but a betrayal just the same.
‘Look, Kiz, we can talk about this later. But like I said, Frankie’s a friend. He’s now your friend for this. And that could be valuable someday.’
He waited and watched and finally she gave a slight nod. It was over, for now.
‘How much more time do you need?’ he asked.
‘Maybe an hour,’ Edgar said. ‘Then we’ve got to find a judge.’
‘Why?’ Rider said. ‘What did Irving say?’
‘Irving’s sitting on the fence. So I want to have everything ready. I want to be able to move. Tomorrow morning.’
‘Tomorrow morning’s no problem,’ Edgar said.
‘Good. Then you two go back and finish up. Get to a judge tonight. Tomorrow we’ll — ’
‘Detective Bosch?’
Bosch turned. Harvey Button and his producer, Tom Chainey, were standing there.
‘I can’t talk to you,’ Bosch said.
‘We understand that you have reopened the Stacey Kincaid case,’ Chainey said. ‘We’d like to talk to you about — ’
‘Who told you that?’ Bosch snapped, anger quickly showing on his face.
‘We have a source who — ’
‘Well, tell your source he’s full of shit. No comment.’
A cameraman came up and poked his lens over Button’s shoulder. Button raised a microphone.
‘Have you exonerated Michael Harris?’ Button blurted out.
‘I said no comment,’ Bosch said. ‘Get that out of here.’
Bosch reached to the camera and put his hand over the lens. The cameraman shrieked.
‘Don’t touch the camera! This is private property.’
‘So is my face. Get it away from me. The press conference is over.’
Bosch put his hand on Button’s shoulder and forcefully ushered him off the stage. The cameraman followed. So did Chainey, but in a slow, calm way as if daring Bosch to manhandle him as well. Their eyes locked.
‘Watch the news tonight, Detective,’ Chainey said. ‘You might find it interesting.’
‘I doubt that,’ Bosch said.
Twenty minutes later Bosch was sitting on an empty desk at the mouth of the hallway that led to the RHD interview rooms on the third floor. He was still thinking about the exchange he’d had with Button and Chainey and wondering what they had. He heard one of the doors open and looked up. Frankie Sheehan came down the hallway with Lindell. Bosch’s old partner looked drained. His face was slack, his hair unkempt and his clothes — the same ones he had worn the night before in the bar — were disheveled. Bosch slid off the desk and stood up, ready to deflect a physical assault if need be. But Sheehan apparently read his body language and raised his hands, palms forward. He smiled crookedly.
‘It’s okay, Harry,’ Sheehan said, his voice very tired and hoarse. ‘Agent Lindell here gave me the scoop. Part of it, at least. It wasn’t you who ... It was myself. You know I forgot all about threatening that douche bag.’
Bosch nodded.
‘Come on, Frankie,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a ride.’
Without thinking too much about it Bosch led him to the main elevators and they headed down to the lobby. They stood side by side, both looking up at the lighted numbers above the door.
‘Sorry I doubted you, buddy,’ Sheehan said quietly.
‘Don’t worry about it, buddy. That makes us even.’
‘Yeah? How so?’
‘Last night when I asked about the prints.’
‘You still doubt them?’
‘Nope. Not at all.’
In the lobby they went out a side door to the employee parking lot. They were about halfway to the car when Bosch heard a commotion and turned to see several reporters and cameramen moving toward them.
‘Don’t say anything,’ Bosch said quickly. ‘Don’t say a word to them.’
The initial wave of reporters descended quickly and surrounded them. Bosch could see more coming.
‘No comment,’ Bosch said. ‘No comment.’
But it wasn’t Bosch they cared about. They shoved their microphones and cameras at Sheehan’s face. His eyes, so tired before, seemed wild now, even scared. Bosch tried to pull his friend through the crowd and to the car. The reporters shouted their questions.
‘Detective Sheehan, did you kill Howard Elias?’ a woman asked, louder than the others.
‘No,’ Sheehan said. ‘I didn’t — I didn’t do anything.’
‘Did you previously threaten the victim?’
‘Look, no comment,’ Bosch said before Sheehan could react to the question. ‘Do you hear that? No comment. Leave us a — ’
‘Why were you questioned?’
‘Tell us why you were questioned, Detective.’
They were almost there. Some of the reporters had dropped off, realizing they would get nothing. But most of the cameras were staying with them. They could always use the video. Suddenly, Sheehan broke from Bosch’s grip and wheeled around on the reporters.
‘You want to know why I was questioned? I was questioned because the department needs to sacrifice somebody. To keep the peace. Doesn’t matter who it is, as long as they fit the bill. That’s where I came in. I fit the — ’
Bosch grabbed Sheehan and yanked him away from the microphones.
‘Come on, Frankie, forget about them.’
By moving between two parked cars they were able to cut off the clot of reporters and cameramen. Bosch pushed Sheehan quickly to his slickback and opened the door. By the time the reporters followed in single file to the car, Sheehan was inside and safe from the microphones. Bosch went around to his side and got in.
They drove in silence until they were on the 101 Freeway going north. Bosch then gla
nced over at Sheehan. His eyes were staring ahead.
‘You shouldn’t have said that, Frankie. You’re fanning the fire.’
‘I don’t give a fuck about the fire. Not anymore.’
Silence returned. They were on the freeway cutting through Hollywood and traffic was light. Bosch could see smoke rising from a fire somewhere to the south and west. He thought about putting KFWB on the radio but decided he didn’t want to know what that smoke meant.
‘They give you a chance in there to call Margaret?’ he asked after a while.
‘Nope. They didn’t give me a chance to do anything other than confess. I’m sure glad you rode into town and saved the day, Harry. I never did get told what you told ’em but whatever it was it sure saved my ass.’
Bosch knew what Sheehan was asking but he wasn’t ready to tell him.
‘The media’s probably been out to your house,’ he said instead. ‘Margaret probably got blindsided with this.’
‘I got news for you, Harry. Margaret left me eight months ago. Took the girls and moved to Bakersfield. To be near her folks. There’s nobody at my house.’
‘Sorry, Frankie.’
‘I should’ve told you last night when you asked about them.’
Angels Flight Page 28