“Sorry, I’m just a callous defense attorney. Did he lawyer up yet?”
“I don’t know. But I told you, you don’t want that case. Guy’s a soulless psychopath. You don’t want to get near that.”
“True.”
“This guy, he should get the death penalty, you ask me. But he didn’t kill anyone—that we know about yet.”
Out his window Bosch saw the driver standing in front of the coffee shop. He was holding two coffee cups and waiting to be called back to the Lincoln. He appeared to Bosch to be looking across the street at something. He then made a slight nod.
“Did he just…”
Bosch turned and peered out the back window of the Lincoln to try to see what the driver was looking at.
“What?” Haller said.
“Your driver,” Bosch said. “How long have you had him?”
“Who, Boyd? About two months now.”
“He one of your reformation projects?”
Bosch now leaned forward to look past Haller and out his window. Haller had a history of taking on his clients as drivers in order to help them pay off their legal fees—to him.
“I’ve helped him through a couple of scrapes,” Haller said. “What’s going on?”
“Did you mention CellRight in his presence?” Bosch asked in response. “Does he know where you’re taking the samples?”
Bosch had put two and two together. He had forgotten that morning to check his house and the street out front for cameras, but he remembered Creighton mentioning Haller during the confrontation in the lobby of the police station. If they knew about Haller, then they might also have him under surveillance. There could be a plan to intercept the DNA samples either before they reached CellRight or once they had been turned in.
“Uh, no, I haven’t told him where we’re going,” Haller said. “I haven’t spoken about it in the car. What’s going on?”
“You are probably under surveillance,” Bosch said. “And he might be in on it. I just saw him nod to somebody.”
“Fucking A. Then his ass is grass. I’ll—”
“Hold on a second. Let’s think about this. Do you—”
“Wait.”
Haller put his hand up to stop Bosch from speaking. He then moved his laptop and folded up the desk. He got up and leaned over the seat toward the steering wheel. Bosch heard the air compression thump of the car’s trunk opening.
Haller got out of the car and went to the trunk. Soon Bosch heard it slammed shut and Haller got back into the car with a briefcase. He opened the case and then opened a secret compartment inside it. There was an electronic device secreted in the space and he turned on a switch, then put the case down on the seat between them.
“It’s an RF jammer,” he said. “I take this baby in with me to every client meeting I have in the jail – you never know who’s listening. If anybody’s listening to us now, they’re getting an earful of white noise.”
Bosch was impressed.
“I just bought one of those,” he said. “But it wasn’t in a fancy briefcase.”
“Took it as a partial fee payment from a former client. A cartel courier. He wasn’t going to need it where he was going. So what’s your plan?”
“Do you know of another place to take the swabs?”
Haller nodded.
“California Coding up in Burbank,” he said. “It was down to them or CellRight and CellRight agreed to the push.”
“Give me back the package,” Bosch said. “I’ll take the tubes to CellRight. You take a phony package to California Coding. Make them think that’s where we’re doing the analysis.”
Bosch took the extra tubes containing swabs from Vibiana and Gabriela out of his coat pocket. He didn’t have an extra from Whitney Vance, so, to sell the misdirection in case the tubes fell into the wrong hands, he used the Sharpie to change the initials marked on the tubes. He turned V-V into W-V and G-L to the randomly chosen G-E. He then signaled for the padded envelope. He removed the tubes containing swabs from Vance, Lida, and Veracruz and put them into his coat pocket. He then put the two altered tubes into the envelope and handed it back.
“You take that to California Coding and ask for a blind comparison,” he said. “Don’t let on to your driver or anybody else you think you’re being followed. I’ll go to CellRight.”
“Got it. I still want to kick his ass. Look at him over there.”
Bosch checked the driver again. He was no longer looking across the street.
“There will be time for that later. And I’ll help.”
Haller was writing something on a legal pad. He finished, tore the page off the pad, and handed it to Bosch.
“That’s CellRight and my contact there,” Haller said. “He’s expecting the package.”
Bosch recognized the address. CellRight was out near Cal State L.A., where the LAPD lab was located. He could get there in ten minutes but would take thirty to make sure he wasn’t followed.
He opened his door and turned to look back at Haller.
“Keep that cartel briefcase close,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” Haller said. “I will.”
Bosch nodded.
“After I drop this I’m going up to see Ida Townes Forsythe,” he said.
“Good,” Haller said. “We want her on our side.”
Bosch got out just as Boyd came around to the driver’s door. Bosch said nothing to him. He went back to his own car and sat behind the wheel and watched the intersection as Haller’s Lincoln pulled onto Cesar Chavez and headed west. There was a lot of traffic moving through the intersection, but Bosch saw no vehicle that he thought was suspicious or that might be tailing the Lincoln.
38
The drop-off at CellRight went down without incident after Bosch took antisurveillance measures that included driving completely around Dodger Stadium in Chavez Ravine. After hand delivering the three tubes to Haller’s contact, Bosch made his way over to the 5 freeway and headed north. Along the way he diverted at the Magnolia exit in Burbank to continue his circuitous driving patterns and to grab a submarine sandwich at Giamela’s. He ate in the car and kept his eyes on the comings and goings in the parking lot.
He was putting the empty sandwich wrap back in the bag when his phone chirped and he took a call from Lucia Soto, his former partner at LAPD.
“How is Bella Lourdes?” she asked.
Word had spread fast for a name not released publicly.
“You know Bella?” he asked.
“A little. From Las Hermanas.”
Bosch remembered that Soto was part of an informal group made up of Latina police detectives from all of the departments in the county. There weren’t many, so the group forged some tight bonds.
“She never told me she knew you,” he said.
“She didn’t want you to know she was checking you out with me,” Soto said.
“Well, she went through a lot. But she’s tough. I think she’ll be okay.”
“I hope so. It’s an awful story.”
She waited a beat for him to start telling her the details but Bosch kept quiet. She finally got the picture.
“I heard you filed on the guy today,” she said. “I hope you’ve got him dead to rights.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Bosch said.
“Good to hear. So, Harry, when are we going to have lunch and catch up? I miss you.”
“Damn, I just ate. But we’ll do it soon—next time I’m downtown. I miss you too.”
“I’ll see you, Harry.”
Bosch pulled out of the lot and followed a roundabout route west toward South Pasadena. He drove by Ida Townes Forsythe’s home on Arroyo Drive four times over a spread of thirty minutes, each time noting the cars parked on the street and anything else that might indicate that Whitney Vance’s longtime secretary and assistant was being watched. He saw no indicators of surveillance and after a couple passes in the alley behind the house he decided it was safe to knock on the door.
He parked on a side street and walked around to Arroyo and up to the house. Forsythe’s home was much nicer in person than on his viewing on Google street view. It was a classic California Craftsman that had been meticulously cared for. He stepped up onto a wide, long front porch and knocked on a coffered wood door. He had no idea whether Forsythe was home or still had duties to perform inside the Vance home. If that was the case, he was prepared to wait until she returned.
But he didn’t have to knock a second time. The woman he had come to see swung the door open and looked at him with eyes that did not register any familiarity.
“Mrs. Forsythe?”
“It’s Ms.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Forsythe. Do you remember me? Harry Bosch? I came to see Mr. Vance last week?”
The recognition was there now.
“Of course. Why are you here?”
“Uh, well, first I wanted to express my sympathies. I know you and Mr. Vance worked together a long time.”
“Yes, we did. It’s been quite a shock. I know he was old and ill, but you don’t expect a man of such power and presence to suddenly be gone. What can I do for you, Mr. Bosch? I guess whatever it is Mr. Vance had you investigating doesn’t really matter anymore.”
Bosch decided that the best move would be the head-on approach.
“I’m here because I want to talk to you about the package Mr. Vance had you mail to me last week.”
The woman in the doorway stood frozen for almost ten seconds before answering. She looked fearful.
“You know that I am being watched, right?” she said.
“No, I don’t know that,” Bosch said. “Before knocking I looked and didn’t see anyone. But if that’s the case you should invite me in. I parked around the corner. Right now, standing out front is the only giveaway that I’m here.”
Forsythe frowned but then stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Come in,” she said.
“Thank you,” Bosch said.
The entry room was broad and deep. She led Bosch down the length of it and then into a rear sitting room off the kitchen where there were no windows facing the street. She pointed to a chair.
“What is it you want, Mr. Bosch?”
Bosch sat down, hoping it would persuade her to do the same but she remained standing. He did not want this to be an adversarial conversation.
“Well, first, I need to confirm what I said at the door,” he said. “You did send that package to me, didn’t you?”
Her arms were folded now.
“I did,” she said. “Because Mr. Vance asked me to.”
“Did you know what was in it?” Bosch asked.
“I didn’t at the time. I do now.”
This immediately concerned Bosch. Had the corporate minders asked her about it?
“How do you know now?” he asked.
“Because after Mr. Vance passed and his body was taken I was told to secure his office,” she said. “In doing so I noticed that his gold pen was missing. That was when I remembered the heavy object in that package he asked to be sent to you.”
Bosch nodded with relief. She knew about the pen. But if she didn’t know about the will, then perhaps no one else did yet. That would give Haller an edge when he made his move with it.
“What did Mr. Vance tell you when he gave you the package for me?”
“He told me to put it in my purse and to take it home with me. He said he wanted me to take it to the post office and mail it the next morning before coming to work. I did as I was told.”
“Did he ask you about it?”
“Yes, first thing when I came in that morning. I told him I had just been to the post office and he was pleased.”
“If I showed you the envelope that was addressed and sent to me, do you think you could identify it?”
“Probably. It had his handwriting on it. I would recognize that.”
“And if I write all of this as you have recounted it into an affidavit, would you be willing to sign it in front of a notary?”
“Why would I do that? To prove that was his pen? If you’re going to sell it, I would like the opportunity to buy it from you. I would pay above market price.”
“It’s not that. I’m not selling the pen. There was a document in the package that may become contested and I may need to prove, as well as I can, how it came into my possession. The pen, which was a family heirloom, will be helpful in that process but a signed affidavit from you would also be.”
“I don’t want to get mixed up with the board of directors, if that’s what you’re talking about. Those people are animals. They’ll sell their own mothers for a piece of all that money.”
“You wouldn’t be pulled in any deeper than you are already going to be, Ms. Forsythe.”
She finally moved to one of the other chairs in the room and sat down.
“What do you mean by that?” she said. “I have nothing to do with all of that.”
“The document in the package was a handwritten will,” Bosch said. “It names you as a beneficiary.”
He studied her reaction. She seemed puzzled.
“Are you saying I get money or something?” she asked.
“Ten million dollars,” Bosch said.
Bosch saw her eyes flare for a moment at the realization that she was in line for some of the riches. She brought her right arm up and held a fist against her chest. Her chin came down but Bosch could still see her lips tremble as tears came. Bosch wasn’t sure how to read it.
It was a long moment before she looked up at him and spoke.
“I didn’t expect anything,” she said. “I was an employee. I wasn’t family.”
“Have you been going to the house this week?” he asked.
“No, not since Monday. The day after. That was when I was informed that my services were no longer needed.”
“And you were there Sunday when Mr. Vance died?”
“He called me and asked me to come in. He said he had some letters he wanted to write. He told me to come in after lunch and I did. I was the one who found him in his office when I got there.”
“You were allowed to go back there unescorted?”
“Yes, I’ve always had that privilege.”
“Did you call for an ambulance?”
“No, because he was clearly dead.”
“Was he at his desk?”
“Yes, he died at his desk. He was slumped forward and to the side a little bit. It looked like he went fast.”
“So you called security.”
“I called Mr. Sloan and he came in and called someone on staff who had medical training. They tried CPR but it didn’t work. He was dead. Mr. Sloan then called the police.”
“Do you know how long Mr. Sloan worked for Vance?”
“A long time. At least twenty-five years, I would say. He and I were there the longest.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue that seemed to Bosch to have materialized out of nowhere.
“When I met with Mr. Vance he gave me a phone number and told me it was a cell phone,” Bosch said. “He said to call him if I made any headway with my investigation. Do you know what happened to that phone?”
She shook her head immediately.
“I don’t know anything about it,” she said.
“I called a few times and left messages,” Bosch said. “And Mr. Sloan called me on it as well. Did you see him take anything from the desk or the office after Mr. Vance was dead?”
“No, he told me to secure the office after they removed the body. And I didn’t see a cell phone.”
Bosch nodded.
“Do you know what Mr. Vance hired me to do?” he asked. “Did he discuss it with you?”
“No, he didn’t,” she said. “Nobody knew. Everybody in the house was curious but he didn’t tell anybody what you were doing.”
“He hired me to find out if he had an heir. Do you know if he had anyone watching me?”
“Why would he do that?”
�
��I’m not sure, but the will he wrote and had you send to me clearly assumes that I had found a living heir. But we never talked again after that day I visited him at the mansion.”
Forsythe squinted her eyes as though she had trouble tracking the story.
“Well, I don’t know,” she said. “You said you called that number he gave you and left messages. What did you tell him?”
Bosch didn’t answer her. He remembered now that he had left a carefully worded message that could be ascribed to the cover story of finding James Aldridge. But it could also have been taken as a message that Bosch had found an heir.
He decided to end the conversation with Forsythe.
“Ms. Forsythe,” he said. “You should look into hiring an attorney who will represent you in this. It’s probably going to get nasty when the will gets filed with the probate court. You need to protect yourself. I’m working with an attorney named Michael Haller. Have whoever you hire contact him.”
“I don’t know any lawyers I could call,” she said.
“Ask your friends for a recommendation. Or your banker. Bankers probably deal with probate lawyers all the time.”
“Okay, I will.”
“And you never answered about the affidavit. I’ll write it up today and bring it back tomorrow for you to sign. Will that be okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
Bosch stood up.
“Have you actually seen someone watching you or the house?”
“I have seen cars out there that don’t belong. But I can’t be sure.”
“Do you want me to go out the back?”
“That might be best.”
“No problem. Let me give you my number. Call me if you have any difficulties or if anybody starts asking you questions.”
“Okay.”
Bosch handed her a business card and she led him to the back door.
39
From South Pasadena it was an easy drive up to the Foothill Freeway and then west toward San Fernando. Along the way Bosch called Haller to tell him he had completed both the CellRight drop-off and the interview with Ida Townes Forsythe.
“I just left California Coding,” Haller said. “They’ll get back to us next week with the results.”
Bosch realized he was still in the car with Boyd driving and was playing to him, selling the decoy drop of DNA samples.
The Wrong Side of Goodbye Page 29