The Harry Bosch Novels, Volume 2

by Michael Connelly

  Bosch said nothing. He didn’t know how to respond because her words were true.

  In a few minutes they were at her apartment and Bosch walked her in and sat her on the couch.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “When you get a chance, look around and make sure they didn’t take anything.”

  “I didn’t have anything to take.”

  Bosch looked at the Nighthawks print on the wall above her. It was a painting of a lonely coffee shop on a dark night. A man and a woman sitting together, another man by himself. Bosch used to think he was the man alone. Now he stared at the couple and wondered.

  “Eleanor,” he said. “I have to go back. I’ll come back here as soon as I can.”

  “Okay, Harry, thanks for getting me out.”

  “You going to be okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Back at Metro, Iverson was waiting for Bosch before they took their first shot at Goshen. Felton had acceded to leaving Goshen for Bosch. It was still his case.

  In the hallway outside the interview room, Iverson tapped Bosch on the arm to stop him before going in.

  “Listen, Bosch, I just want to say I don’t know what you got going on with that woman and I guess it’s nobody’s business anymore since the captain let her go, but since we’re going to be working together on Lucky here, I thought I’d clear the air. I didn’t appreciate the way you spoke to me, telling me to get the fuck out and all.”

  Bosch looked at him a minute. The detective still had a toothpick in his mouth and Bosch wondered if it was the same one from before.

  “You know, Iverson, I don’t even know your first name.”

  “It’s John, but people call me Ivy.”

  “Well, Iverson, I didn’t appreciate the way you were sneaking around the captain’s office or the interview room. In L.A. we’ve got a name for cops who sneak around and eavesdrop and are assholes on general principle. We call ’em squints. And I don’t really care if you’re offended by me or not. You’re a squint. And you make any trouble for me from here on out and I’ll go right to Felton and make trouble for you. I’ll tell him about finding you in my room today. And if that’s not enough, I’ll tell ‘im that I won six hundred bucks on the wheel in the casino last night but the money disappeared off the bureau after you were there. Now, you want to do this interview or not?”

  Iverson grabbed Bosch by the collar and shoved him against the wall.

  “Don’t you fuck with me, Bosch.”

  “Don’t you fuck with me, Ivy.”

  A smile slowly cracked across Iverson’s face and he released his grip and stepped back. Bosch straightened his tie and shirt.

  “Then let’s do it, cowboy,” Iverson said.

  When they squeezed into the interview room, Goshen was waiting for them with his eyes closed, his legs up on the table and his hands laced behind his head. Bosch watched Iverson look down at the torn metal where the cuff ring had been attached to the table. Red flares of anger burst on his cheeks.

  “Okay, asshole, get up,” Iverson ordered.

  Goshen stood up and brought his cuffed hands up. Iverson got out his keys and took the cuff off one wrist.

  “Let’s try this again. Sit down.”

  When Goshen was back down, Iverson cuffed his wrists behind his back, looping the chain through one of the steel slats of the chair back. Iverson then kicked out a chair and sat to the side of the gangster. Bosch sat across from him.

  “Okay, Houdini, you also’ve got destroying public property on your list now,” Iverson said.

  “Wow, that’s bold, Iverson. Really bold. That’s like the time you came into the club and took Cinda into the fantasy booth. I think you called it interrogation. She called it something else. What’s this going to be?”

  Iverson’s face now glowed with anger. Goshen puffed his chest up proudly and smirked at the detective’s embarrassment.

  Bosch shoved the table into Goshen’s midsection and the big man doubled over it as his breath burst out. Bosch was up quickly and around the table. As he went, he pulled his key chain from his pocket. Then, using his elbow to keep Goshen’s chest down on the table, he flicked open the blade of his pocketknife and sawed off the big man’s ponytail. He went back to his seat and when Goshen lifted up, threw the six-inch length of hair on the table in front of him.

  “Ponytails went out of style at least three years ago, Goshen. You probably didn’t hear about it.”

  Iverson burst out in uproarious laughter. Goshen looked at Bosch with pale blue eyes that seemed as soulless as buttons on a machine. He didn’t say a word. He was showing Bosch he could take it. He was stand-up. But Bosch knew even he couldn’t stand up forever. Nobody can.

  “You’ve got a problem, Lucky,” Iverson said. “Big problems. You—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I don’t want to talk to you, Iverson. I don’t want you to talk to me. You’re a runt. I’ve got no respect for you. Understand? Anybody talks, let him talk.”

  Goshen nodded to Bosch. There was a silence during which Bosch looked from him to Iverson and then back.

  “Go get a cup,” Bosch said, without looking at Iverson. “We’ll be fine in here.”

  “No, you—”

  “Go get a cup.”

  “You sure?”

  Iverson looked as if he were being kicked out of the college fraternity because the boys didn’t think he fit in.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. You got a rights form on you?”

  Iverson got up. He took a folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket and tossed it on the table.

  “I’ll be right outside the door.”

  When Goshen and Bosch were alone they studied each other for a moment before Bosch spoke.

  “You want a smoke?”

  “Don’t play the good guy with me. Just tell me what’s what.”

  Bosch shrugged off the rebuke and got up. He moved behind Goshen and took his keys out again. This time he unlocked one of the cuffs. Goshen brought his hands up and began rubbing the wrists to get circulation going. He noticed the length of hair on the table and slapped it onto the floor.

  “Let me tell you something, Mr. L.A. I’ve been to a place where it doesn’t matter what they do to you, where nothing can hurt you. I’ve been there and back.”

  “Everybody’s been to Disneyland, so what?”

  “I’m not talking about fuckin’ Disneyland, asshole. I spent three years in the penta down in Chihuahua. They didn’t break me then, you aren’t going to do it now.”

  “Let me tell you something then. In my life I’ve killed a lot of people. Just wanted you to know that up front. Time comes again, there won’t be any hesitation. None. This isn’t about good guy cops and bad guy cops, Goshen. That’s the movies. The movies where the bad guys have ponytails, I guess. But this is real life. You are nothing to me but meat. And I’m gonna put you down. That’s a given. It’s just up to you how hard and how far you want to go down.”

  Goshen thought a moment.

  “All right, so now we know each other. Talk to me. And I’ll take that smoke now.”

  Bosch put his cigarettes and matches on the table. Goshen got one out and lit it. Bosch waited until he was done.

  “I gotta advise you first. You know the routine.”

  Bosch opened the piece of paper Iverson had left and read Goshen his rights. He then had the man sign his name on it.

  “This is being taped, isn’t it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay then, what’ve you got?”

  “Your fingerprints were on Tony Aliso’s body. The gun we found behind the toilet will be going back to L.A. today. The prints are good to have, real good. But if the bullets they pick out of Tony’s gourd match that gun, then it’s all over. I don’t care what kind of alibi you line up or what your explanation will be or if your lawyer’s Johnnie fucking Cochran, you won’t just be meat, you’ll be
one hundred percent grade A dead meat.”

  “That gun ain’t mine. It’s a plant, goddamn it. You know it and I know it. And it’s not going to fly, Bosch.”

  Bosch looked at him a moment and felt his face getting hot.

  “You’re saying I put that there?”

  “I’m saying I watched the O.J. show. Cops out here are no different. I’m saying I don’t know if it was you or Iverson or whoever, but that gun’s a fuckin’ plant, goddammit. That’s what I’m saying.”

  Bosch traced a finger along the top of the table, waiting for the anger to dissipate to the point where he could control his voice.

  “You hang on to that bullshit story, Goshen, and you’ll go far with it. You’ll go about ten years and then they’ll strap you down and stick a needle in your arm. At least it’s not the gas chamber anymore. They make it easy on you guys now.”

  Bosch leaned back but there wasn’t a lot of room. The back of the chair hit the wall. He took out the Chap Stick and reapplied it.

  “We own you now, Goshen. All you have left is one small window of opportunity. Call it a little piece of destiny still in your grasp.”

  “And what window’s that?”

  “You know what window, you know what I’m talking about. Guy like you doesn’t move an inch without the okay. Give us the guy you worked the hit with and the guy who told you to put Tony in the trunk. You don’t make a deal and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.”

  Goshen let out his breath and shook his head.

  “Look, I did not do this. I did not!”

  Bosch didn’t expect him to say anything different. It wasn’t that easy. He had to wear him down. He leaned across the table conspiratorially.

  “Listen, I’m going to tell you something so that you know that I’m not bullshitting you. Maybe save some time, so you can decide where to go from here.”

  “Go ahead, but it’s not going to change anything.”

  “Anthony Aliso was wearing a black leather jacket Friday night. Remember that? One with the two-inch lapels. It—”

  “You’re wasting your—”

  “You grabbed him there, Goshen. Just like this.”

  Bosch reached across the table and demonstrated, using both hands to grab an imaginary set of lapels on a jacket Goshen wasn’t wearing.

  “Remember that? Tell me I’m wasting my time now. Remember, Goshen? You did it, you grabbed him like that. Now who is bullshitting who?”

  Goshen shook his head but Bosch knew he had scored. The pale blues were looking inward at the memory.

  “Kind of a freaky thing. Processed leather like that holds the amino acids from the prints. That’s what the tech tells me. We got some nice ones. Enough to take to the DA or the grand jury. Enough for me to come out here. Enough for us to come right into your fucking house and hook you up.”

  He hesitated a moment until Goshen was looking at him.

  “And now this gun turns up in your house. I guess we’ll just have to wait on the ballistics if you don’t want to talk anymore. But I’ve got a hunch about it. I like my chances.”

  Goshen slammed two open palms down on the steel table. It made a sound like a shot and echo.

  “This is a setup. You people put—”

  Iverson burst through the door, his gun out and aimed at Goshen. He jerked the weapon up like a TV cop.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Bosch said. “Lucky here is just a little mad, is all. Give us a few more minutes.”

  Iverson went back out without a word.

  “Nice play, but that’s all it was,” Goshen said. “Where’s my phone call?”

  Bosch leaned back across the table.

  “You can make the call now. But you make the call and it’s over right here. Because that won’t be your lawyer. That will be Joey’s lawyer. He’ll be here to represent you, but we both know the one he’ll be watching out for is Joey Marks.”

  Bosch stood up.

  “I guess then we’ll just have to settle for you. We’ll go the distance on you.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have me, you prick. Fingerprints? You need more than that. That gun’s a plant and everybody’s going to know it.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying it. I’ll know what I need to know from ballistics by tomorrow morning.”

  It was hard for Bosch to tell if that had registered because Goshen didn’t give it much time to.

  “I’ve got a fuckin’ alibi! You can’t pin this on me, man!”

  “Yeah? What’s your fuckin’ alibi? How do you even know when he got hit?”

  “You asked me about Friday night, right? That’s the night.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Goshen sat silent and motionless for a half minute. Bosch could see the eyes going to work. Goshen knew he had crossed one line with what he had said. Bosch guessed he was considering how far he should cross. Bosch pulled the chair out and sat back down.

  “I got an alibi, so I’m in the clear.”

  “You’re not in the clear till we say you are. What’s your story?”

  “No. I’m gonna tell my lawyer what it is.”

  “You’re hurting yourself, Goshen. You’ve got nothing to lose telling me.”

  “Except my freedom, right?”

  “I could go out, verify your story. Maybe then I’d start listening to your story about the gun being planted.”

  “Yeah, right, that’s like puttin’ the inmates in charge of the prison. Talk to my lawyer, Bosch. Now get me a fucking phone.”

  Bosch stood up and signaled for him to put his arms behind his back. He did so and Bosch cuffed him again, then left the room.

  After Bosch filled them in on how Goshen had won round one, Felton told Iverson to take a phone into the interview room and allow the suspect to call his lawyer.

  “I guess we’ll let him stew,” Felton said when he and Bosch were alone. “See how he likes his first taste of incarceration.”

  “He told me he did three years down in Mexico.”

  “He tells that to a lot of people he’s trying to impress. Like the tattoos. When we were backgrounding him after he showed up a couple years ago, we never found anything about a Mexican prison and as far as we know, he’s never ridden a Harley, let alone with any motorcycle gang. I think a night in county might soften him up. Maybe by round two we’ll have the ballistics back.”

  Bosch said he had to use a phone to call his CO to check on what the plan was for the gun.

  “Just pick an empty desk out there,” Felton said. “Make yourself at home. Listen, I’ll tell you how this most likely will go and you can tell your Lieutenant Billets. The lawyer he calls is most likely going to be Mickey Torrino. He’s Joey Marks’s top guy. He’s going to object to extradition and meantime try to get bail. Any bail will do. All they want to do is get him out of our hands and into their hands and then they can make their decision.”

  “What decision?”

  “Whether or not to whack him. If Joey thinks Lucky might flip, he’ll just take him out to the desert somewhere and we’ll never see him again. Nobody will.”

  Bosch nodded.

  “So you go make your call and I’ll call over to the prosecutor’s office, see if we can’t get an X hearing scheduled. I think the sooner the better. If you can get Lucky to L.A., he’s going to be even more likely to start thinking about cutting a deal. That is, if we don’t break him first.”

  “It’d be nice to have the ballistics before the extradition hearing. If we get a ballistics match, it will seal it. But things don’t move so quickly in L.A., if you know what I mean. I doubt there’s even been an autopsy.”

  “Well, make your call and then we’ll reconnoiter.”

  Bosch used an empty desk next to Iverson’s to make his call. He got Billets at her desk and he could tell she was eating. He quickly updated her on his failed effort to scam Goshen into talking and the plans to have the prosecutor’s office in Las Vegas handle the extradition hearing.

/>   “What do you want to do about the gun?” he asked when he was done.

  “I want it back here as soon as possible. Edgar talked somebody over at the coroner’s office into doing the cut this afternoon. We should have the bullets by tonight. If we have the gun, we can take the whole thing over to ballistics tomorrow morning. Today’s Tuesday. I doubt there’d be an extradition hearing before Thursday. We’d have an answer from ballistics by then.”

  “Okay, I’ll grab a plane.”

  “Good.”

  Bosch sensed something off about her tone. She was preoccupied by something other than ballistics and what she was eating.

  “Lieutenant,” he said. “What’s up? Is there something I don’t know about?”

  She hesitated a moment and Bosch waited her out.

  “Actually, something’s come up.”

  Bosch’s face flashed warm. He guessed that Felton had screwed him and told Billets about the Eleanor Wish situation.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve made an ID on the guy who was in Tony Aliso’s office.”

  “That’s great,” Bosch said, relieved but confused by her somber tone. “Who?”

  “No, it’s not great. It was Dominic Carbone from OCID.”

  Bosch was stunned into silence for a long moment.

  “Carbone? What the . . . ?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got some feelers out. I’d like you back here until we figure out what to do with this. Goshen will keep until the extradition hearing. He’s not going to be talking to anyone but his lawyer. If you can get back, I’d like us all to get together and hash this around. I haven’t talked to Kiz and Jerry yet today. They’re still working the financial trail.”

  “How’d you make the ID on Carbone?”

  “Pure luck. Things were kind of slow after I talked to you and the captain out there this morning. I took a drive downtown and stopped by Central. I’ve got a friend, she’s a lieutenant, too, up in OC. Lucinda Barnes, you know her?”

  “No.”

  “Anyway, I went up to see her. I wanted to kind of feel around, maybe get an idea why they took the pass on this one. And, lo and behold, we’re sitting there talking and this guy walks through the squad and I think I recognize him but I’m not sure from where. I ask who he is and she tells me that’s Carbone. And that’s when I remembered. He’s the guy on the tape. He had his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. I even saw the tattoo. It’s him.”