The Wrong Side of Goodbye

by Michael Connelly

  Bosch ducked in against the house and Valdez posted up behind him. There was a rumbling sound and Bosch knew it was the sound of the garage opening. But it wasn’t followed by the sound of the vehicle pulling in. Instead, Bosch heard the engine die, followed by the vehicle’s door opening and closing. A few seconds later, there was another heavy metal banging sound that Bosch could not identify.

  Bosch looked back at Valdez and nodded. He then edged up to the corner and looked into the front yard. The vehicle was a white pickup truck with a camper shell. Bosch could see a man standing at the tailgate he had just dropped. He was leaning into the back of the truck but Bosch could not see what he was doing. He saw no one else in or around the truck. He turned back to Valdez and whispered.

  “Switch places with me and tell me if that’s him,” he said.

  They traded positions and Valdez looked around the edge of the house. He had to wait to see him until the man ducked out of the rear of the truck. He then held out a thumbs-up. It was Dockweiler.

  “Can you see what he’s doing?” Bosch asked. “Is Bella in the truck?”

  Valdez shook his head. Bosch didn’t know if that was no to both questions or just the first.

  Suddenly there was a loud chirping sound coming from the chief and he quickly grabbed the phone off his belt and killed the sound.

  Of course, it was too late.

  “Hold it right there!”

  The voice boomed from the front yard. It was Dockweiler.

  “Don’t fucking move!”

  Bosch was behind Valdez and could not see Dockweiler. He stayed tight against the side of the house, knowing that if Dockweiler thought there was only one prowler then Bosch might be able to do something here.

  “I’ve got a gun and I’m a qualified marksman,” Dockweiler yelled. “Step out and let me see your hands.”

  Now the beam of a flashlight hit the corner of the house and Valdez was lit up like a target. Valdez saw what Bosch couldn’t see but knew was most likely the gun Dockweiler was threatening to use. Valdez raised his hands and stepped out into the light. It was a brave move and Bosch knew it was to draw Dockweiler’s attention away from the corner.

  “Hey Dock, take it easy,” Valdez said. “It’s Chief Valdez. You can put the gun down.”

  Dockweiler’s voice carried genuine surprise.

  “Chief? What are you doing here?”

  Valdez kept walking straight out from the corner toward the street. Bosch quietly slipped his weapon out of its holster and held it at the ready with two hands. If he so much as heard Dockweiler cock his weapon he would step out and take the man down.

  “I was looking for Bella,” Valdez said.

  “Bella?” Dockweiler said. “You mean Lourdes? Why would she be up here? I think she lives in the city.”

  “Come on, Dock. Put the weapon down. You know me. There is no threat here. I’m standing out in the open. Put it down.”

  Bosch wondered if Sisto and Trevino had heard any of the confrontation and what action they might be taking. He looked down the side of the house in the direction of the backyard and saw no one. If they were coming, they were doing so on the other side of the house. It was a good move, giving them two angles on the man with the gun.

  He turned back around and edged closer to the corner. Valdez was now almost twenty feet out from the house and halfway to the street. He still had his hands held up, and in the flashlight beam Bosch was reminded by the smooth fit of his black polo shirt that the chief was not wearing a ballistic vest underneath. It was a detail that would factor into the decisions Harry was about to make. He knew he might have to engage first to prevent Dockweiler from taking a shot at Valdez.

  “Why are you here, Chief?” Dockweiler demanded.

  “I told you,” Valdez said calmly. “Looking for Bella.”

  “Who sent you here? Was it that guy Bosch?”

  “What makes you bring him up?”

  Before Dockweiler could respond, there was a chorus of shouts from the front yard and Bosch recognized the voices of Trevino and Sisto.

  “Put the gun down!”

  “Dockweiler, put the gun down!”

  Bosch moved forward and out from the side of the house. Dockweiler had swung the flashlight and the aim of his gun to the other side, where Trevino and Sisto were side by side in combat firing stances.

  Bosch realized he had the drop on Dockweiler, who was so preoccupied by the other three men in the yard that he was not expecting a fourth. Bosch covered the ground to the back of the pickup truck in less than three seconds.

  Valdez saw Bosch and knew he needed to move the aim of Dockweiler’s weapon off the other two men before the impact from Bosch.

  “Kurt, right here!” he yelled.

  Dockweiler started to swing the light back toward the police chief, the muzzle of his handgun moving with it. Bosch hit him with his body, smashing his chest into Dockweiler’s left arm and upper torso. Dockweiler made an oof sound as the air blasted out of his lungs and he fell heavily to the ground. Bosch bounced off the bigger man and went the opposite way to the ground.

  No shot was fired. Sisto moved in and jumped on Dockweiler before he could recover from the impact. He grabbed his gun hand with two hands and wrested it free, then threw it onto the lawn a safe distance away. Valdez soon followed on the pile and Dockweiler, a larger man than any of the other four, was controlled. Bosch crawled over and put his weight on the back of the man’s legs while Trevino moved in and pulled his arms behind his back for cuffing.

  “What the fuck is this?” Dockweiler yelled.

  “Where is she?” Valdez yelled right back. “Where is Bella?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dockweiler managed to say, despite Sisto pushing his face into the grass of his front lawn. “I haven’t seen or talked to that bitch in two years.”

  Valdez backed off the pile and stood up.

  “Get him up,” he ordered. “We’ll get him inside. See if he’s got the keys on him.”

  The flashlight had fallen to the grass and was pointing away from the men. Bosch reached over and grabbed it and started sweeping it over the grass, looking for the gun. When he spotted it he got up and went to claim it.

  Dockweiler took the opportunity to attempt one last effort at standing up. Trevino drove a knee into the side of his torso and the impact ended the move. Dockweiler stopped resisting.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I give up. You assholes, what is it? Four against one? Fuck you.”

  Trevino and Sisto started checking his pockets for keys.

  “No, fuck you, Dockweiler,” Sisto said. “Tell us where Bella is. We know you grabbed her.”

  “You are out of your fucking minds,” Dockweiler responded.

  Bosch put the light on the truck’s open tailgate. He moved so that he could angle the light into the camper shell, fearful of what he might see.

  But there was only an assortment of tools in the back of the truck and it was not readily apparent to him what Dockweiler had been doing at the tailgate when they watched him from the corner of the house.

  Bosch noticed a key ring sitting on the tailgate and grabbed it.

  “I have the keys,” he reported to the others.

  While Sisto and Trevino stood Dockweiler up, Valdez came over to get a look at the back of the pickup.

  “This didn’t exactly go down textbook,” Bosch said. “How do you want to handle it from here? No warrant and he’s not going to be inviting us in.”

  “No PC but plenty of EC, if you ask me,” Valdez said. “We need to get into the house. Let’s open it.”

  Bosch agreed but it was always better when the police chief himself made the call. Probable cause and a judge’s signature were needed for a search warrant, but exigent circumstances trumped all. There was no definitive legal definition that perfectly outlined the bounds of which emergencies allowed for the relaxing of constitutional protections. But Bosch felt that a missing police officer and a gu
n-wielding former colleague would qualify in any court in the land.

  He checked the open garage as he walked to the front door. It was stacked full with boxes and pallets. There was no room to park the truck in there, so he wondered why Dockweiler had opened the door.

  When he got to the front door he put the light on the key ring. There were several keys, including one Bosch recognized as the universal key that started all police and city vehicles, as well as a small bronze key that would open a smaller lock. He reached into his pocket and brought out his own keys. He compared the small bronze key to the filing cabinet in his cubicle at the detective bureau to the one on Dockweiler’s ring. The teeth lined up exactly.

  Bosch had no doubt now. Dockweiler had kept a key to his desk in the detective bureau after transferring to Public Works and was the one who had clandestinely been checking the Screen Cutter file.

  Bosch opened the front door with the second key he tried and then held the door as Dockweiler was walked in by Sisto and Trevino.

  Valdez was the last to enter. Bosch was holding up Dockweiler’s key ring by the file key.

  “What’s that?” Valdez asked.

  “The key to my file drawer on his ring,” Bosch said. “I figured out last week that somebody was reviewing my files—especially on the Screen Cutter. I, uh, thought it was someone in the bureau. But it was him.”

  Valdez nodded. It was another detail falling into place.

  “Where do we put him?” Sisto asked.

  “In the kitchen, if there’s a table and chairs,” Trevino said. “Lock him to a chair.”

  Bosch followed the chief down the entrance hall and to the left into the kitchen and watched as Sisto and Trevino used two pairs of cuffs to secure Dockweiler to a chair in front of a cluttered table in a small dining nook that was the glass add-on Bosch had noticed from the backyard. It had floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides with venetian blinds to help control the heat the sun generated on the glass. Bosch wondered if Dockweiler had considered that when he added the atrium room to his house.

  “This is bullshit,” the former detective said as soon as he was secured to the chair. “You got no warrant, you got no case, you come busting in here. This won’t stand. This will go down in flames and then I’ll own all of you assholes. And the city of San Fernando.”

  Dockweiler’s face was dirty from the struggle on the front lawn. But in the harsh fluorescent light from the kitchen ceiling fixture Bosch could see slight discoloration in the corners of his eyes and an unnatural thickness in the upper nose. Residual bruising and swelling from a significant impact. He could also see that Dockweiler had tried to hide the purplish-yellow bruising with makeup.

  The kitchen table had been set up as a bill-paying station. There were credit-card invoices and two checkbooks stacked sloppily on the left. On the right were pay stubs, financial records, and unopened mail in piles. At center was a coffee mug filled with pens and pencils and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The house had the distinct smell of a smoker’s home. Bosch picked it up with every breath.

  Bosch went to the window over the kitchen sink and unlocked and opened it to let some fresh air in. He then went to the table. He moved the mug to the left side of the table because he wanted nothing between himself and Dockweiler when they talked. He started to pull out the chair directly across the table from him. He knew that there were two things at stake in the interrogation that was about to begin: Bella Lourdes and the Screen Cutter case.

  Bosch was about to sit down, when Trevino stopped him.

  “Hold on, hold on.”

  He pointed toward the hallway.

  “Chief, let’s step out and talk for a minute,” Trevino said. “Bosch, you too. Sisto, you stay with him.”

  “Yeah, you guys go out and talk about it,” Dockweiler mocked. “Try to figure out how you fucked this whole thing up and how you’re going to un-fuck it.”

  Bosch turned at the archway that led from the kitchen into the hallway. He looked at Dockweiler, then at Sisto. He nodded. Whatever their differences, Sisto and Trevino had played it right when they had come up the side of the house. The chief might be a dead man if they hadn’t.

  Sisto nodded back.

  Trevino led the way down the hallway to the front door. Bosch and Valdez followed. They spoke in low voices and Trevino got right to the point.

  “I’m going to handle the interview,” Trevino said.

  Bosch looked from Trevino to Valdez and waited a moment for the chief to speak against that idea. But Valdez said nothing. Bosch looked back at Trevino.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “It’s my case. I know it better than anybody. I should do the interview.”

  “The priority here is Bella,” Trevino said. “Not the case. And I know her better than you.”

  Bosch shook his head like he didn’t get it.

  “That makes no sense,” he said. “It doesn’t matter how well you know her. It’s how well you know the case. He’s the Screen Cutter. He grabbed Bella because she got too close on the case or figured it out when she was with him. Let me talk to him.”

  “We don’t know he’s the Screen Cutter for sure yet,” Trevino said. “We need to first—”

  “Did you see his eyes?” Bosch said, interrupting. “Swollen and purple from where Beatriz Sahagun hit him with the stick. He tried to cover it with makeup. There’s no doubt. He’s the Screen Cutter. You may not know it but I do.”

  Bosch again turned to Valdez on appeal.

  “Chief, I’ve got to do this,” he said.

  “Harry,” the chief said. “The captain and I talked about this before any of this with Bella even came up. It’s about what could happen down the line, you know, in court with your history.”

  “My history?” Bosch asked. “Really? You mean the hundred-plus murders I’ve cleared? That history?”

  “You know what he means,” Trevino said. “Your controversies. They make you a target in court. They undercut you.”

  “We also have the reserve issue,” Valdez added. “You’re not full-time and that’s something that a lawyer will pick apart in court. It won’t look good in front of a jury.”

  “I probably put in as many hours a week as Sisto does,” Bosch said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Trevino said. “You’re a reserve. It is what it is. I’m going to do this interview and I want you to go through the house and look for any sign of Bella, any evidence at all that he had her here. And when you’re finished with that, go search the truck.”

  For a third time Bosch looked at Valdez, and it was clear he was siding with Trevino on this.

  “Just do it, Harry,” he said. “Do it for Bella, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure thing,” Bosch said. “For Bella. Call me when you need me.”

  Trevino turned and started back toward the kitchen.

  Valdez lingered a bit and just nodded to Bosch before following his captain. Bosch was supremely frustrated at being pulled away from his own case but not interested in putting his professional pride and emotions above the ultimate goal, especially with Bella Lourdes unaccounted for. He had no doubt he should be handling the interview and had the better skills for drawing information from Dockweiler. But he also believed that he would eventually get the chance to use them.

  “Captain?” he said.

  Trevino turned around to look back at him.

  “Don’t forget to read him his rights,” Bosch said.

  “Of course,” Trevino said.

  He then went through the archway into the kitchen.

  31

  Bosch moved into the living room and then down a hallway leading to bedrooms. He knew he had to be very careful and put emotions aside here. He believed that the exigent circumstances of having an officer missing allowed him to search Dockweiler’s house without legal risk. But searching for evidence in the Screen Cutter case was different. He would need a warrant for that. The contradiction put him in a legal predicament. He had to search the house f
or Lourdes and any indication or evidence of her location, but he couldn’t dig deeper for evidence that Dockweiler committed the rapes.

  He had to be realistic too. His newfound knowledge of Dockweiler and the fact that he had kept a key and had been secretly entering the police station to read the investigative file was convincing evidence that he was Screen Cutter. With that conclusion in mind it seemed unlikely to Bosch that they were going to find Bella alive, and possibly unlikely they would find her at all. He needed to put the Screen Cutter case first here and preserve it against any future legal challenge.

  He put on a pair of latex gloves and began the search by starting at the end of the bedroom hallway and working his way back toward the kitchen. There were three bedrooms but only one was used as such. He searched Dockweiler’s room first and found it to be a mess, with clothes and shoes strewn on the floor everywhere around the bed, most likely in the spots where they were shed. The bed was unmade and the sheets had a dingy gray cast to them. The walls were yellowed but not with paint. The room smelled sour with perspiration and cigarette smoke. Bosch kept a rubber-gloved hand over his mouth as he moved through it.

  The attached bath was just as unkempt, with more clothing thrown in the bathtub and a horribly stained toilet. Bosch picked a hanger up off the floor and fished around in the bathtub to make sure there wasn’t anything or anyone hidden beneath the clothes. The clothes in the tub seemed dirty in a way separate from the clothes left on the floor of the bedroom. They were caked with a granular gray dust that Bosch believed might be concrete dust. He wondered if it was debris from an inspection or a Public Works project.

  The phone booth shower was empty, its white tiles as dingy as the bedroom sheets, and the drain had trapped more of the concrete powder and granules. He next moved into a small walk-in closet in the bathroom and found it to be surprisingly neat, primarily because most of the items of clothing it would normally hold were on the bedroom floor and in the bathtub.

  The two other bedrooms were used for storage. The small room was lined with glass-door gun cabinets with several rifles and shotguns on display. Most had tags attached to the trigger guards that identified the ammunition they were presumably loaded with. The larger guest bedroom was used for storage of life-sustaining supplies. There were stacked pallets of bottled water and energy drinks and boxes of canned and powdered goods that would presumably have distant expiration dates.