7
Councilman Irving answered the door of his son’s home. He opened it just as wide as his own body, and it was clear before he said anything that he did not want to allow Bosch and Chu admittance.
“Councilman,” Bosch said, “we’d like to ask your son’s wife a few questions.”
“Deborah’s taken this very hard, Detective. It would be better if you could come back at another time.”
Bosch looked around on the doorstep, even glanced behind him and down at Chu on the lower step, before turning back to Irving and answering.
“We’re conducting an investigation, Councilman. Her interview is important and we can’t put it off.”
They stared at each other, neither yielding.
“You asked for me and you told me to proceed with urgency,” Bosch finally said. “This is what I’m doing. Are you going to let us come in or not?”
Irving relented and stepped back, opening the door wider. Bosch and Chu entered a vestibule with a table for dropping off keys and packages.
“What did you learn from the crime scene?” Irving said quickly.
Bosch hesitated, not sure whether to discuss the case with him this soon.
“So far not a lot. A case like this, a lot will ride on the autopsy.”
“When will that be?”
“It hasn’t been scheduled.”
Bosch checked his watch.
“Your son’s body only got to the morgue a couple hours ago.”
“Well, I hope you insisted that they schedule it quickly.”
Bosch tried to smile but it didn’t work out that way.
“Can you take us to your daughter-in-law now?”
“So that means you did not insist on any urgency.”
Bosch looked over Irving’s shoulder and saw the room opened into a larger room with a winding staircase. There was no sign of anyone else in the house.
“Councilman, don’t tell me how to run the investigation. If you want to take me off it, then fine, call the chief and have me pulled. But as long as I’m on the case, then I’m going to run the investigation the way I see best.”
Irving backed off.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll go get Deborah. Why don’t you and your partner wait in the living room.”
He led them into the house and directed them to the living room. He then disappeared. Bosch looked at Chu and shook his head at the same moment Chu was about to ask a question that Harry knew was going to be about Irving’s meddling in the investigation.
Chu held his tongue and just then Irving returned, leading a stunningly beautiful blond woman into the room. Bosch guessed she was in her midforties. She was tall and thin but not too tall and thin. She looked grief stricken but that didn’t take much away from the beauty of a woman who was aging as gracefully as a fine wine. Irving led her by the arm to a seat across a coffee table from a couch. Bosch moved into the seating arrangement but did not sit down. He waited to see what move Irving made, and when it became clear the councilman planned on staying for the interview, Harry objected.
“We’re here to talk to Mrs. Irving and we need to do that alone,” he said.
“My daughter-in-law wants me to be with her at this time,” Irving responded. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s fine. If you can be here somewhere in the house in case she needs you, that will be most helpful. But I need you to allow us to talk with Mrs. Irving alone.”
“Dad, it’s okay,” Deborah Irving said, defusing the situation. “I’ll be fine. Why don’t you make yourself something to eat in the kitchen?”
Irving looked at Bosch for a long moment, probably second-guessing his demand that Harry be put on the case.
“Just call if you need me,” he said.
Irving then left the room and Bosch and Chu sat down, Harry making their introductions.
“Mrs. Irving, I want—”
“You can call me Deborah.”
“Deborah, then. We want you to know that you have our condolences for the loss of your husband. We also appreciate your willingness to talk to us at this difficult time.”
“Thank you, Detective. I am more than willing to talk. It’s just that I don’t think I have any answers for you and the shock of this is more than . . .”
She looked around and Bosch knew what she was looking for. The tears were coming again. Harry signaled to Chu.
“Find her some tissues. Check the bathroom.”
Chu got up. Bosch intently watched the woman across from him, looking for signs of genuine emotion and loss.
“I don’t know why he would have done this,” she said.
“Why don’t we start with the easy questions? The ones where there are answers. Why don’t you tell me when you last saw your husband?”
“Last night. He left the house after dinner and didn’t come back.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No, he said he needed air, that he was going to put the top down and take a drive up on Mulholland. He told me not to wait up for him. I didn’t.”
Bosch waited but nothing else came.
“Was that unusual, him going out for a drive like that?”
“He had been doing it a lot lately. I didn’t think he was really out driving, though.”
“You mean he was doing something else?”
“Connect the dots, Lieutenant.”
“I’m a detective, not a lieutenant. Why don’t you connect the dots for me, Deborah. Do you know what your husband was doing?”
“No, I don’t. I’m just telling you that I didn’t think he was just riding around on Mulholland. I thought he was probably meeting someone.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“No. I was going to but I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know exactly. I was just waiting.”
Chu came back with a box of tissues and handed it to her. But the moment had passed and her eyes looked cold and hard now. Even so, she was beautiful, and Bosch found it hard to believe a husband would take to late-night drives when the woman waiting at home was Deborah Irving.
“Let’s go back a second. You said he left after you two had dinner. Was that at home or had you been out?”
“We were home. Neither of us was very hungry. We just had sandwiches.”
“Do you remember what time dinner was?”
“It would’ve been about seven thirty. He left at eight thirty.”
Bosch took out his notebook and wrote a few things down about what had been said so far. He remembered that Solomon and Glanville had reported that someone—presumably George Irving—had made the reservation at the Chateau at eight fifty, twenty minutes after Deborah said her husband had left their home.
“One-four-nine-two.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do those numbers mean anything to you? One-four-nine-two—fourteen ninety-two?
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
She seemed genuinely confused. Bosch had meant to keep her off balance by asking questions in a nonsequential manner.
“Your husband’s property—his wallet and phone and wedding ring—were in the hotel safe. That was the combination that was entered to lock it. Is there any significance to those numbers to your husband or you?”
“I can’t think of any.”
“Okay. Did your husband have a familiarity with the Chateau Marmont? Had he stayed there before?”
“We had been there before together, but like I said, I didn’t really know where he went when he went on his drives. He could’ve been going there. I don’t know.”
Bosch nodded.
“How would you describe your husband’s state of mind when you last saw him?”
She thought for a long moment before shrugging and saying that her husband seemed normal, not burdened or upset as far as she could tell.
“How would you describe the state of your marriage?”
She dropped her eyes to
the floor for a moment before bringing them up to his.
“We would have reached our twentieth anniversary in January. Twenty years is a long time. A lot of highs and lows but many more highs than lows.”
Bosch noted that she did not answer the question he had asked.
“What about right now? Were you in a high or a low?”
She paused a long moment before answering.
“Our son—our only child—left in August for college. It has been a difficult adjustment.”
“Empty nest syndrome,” Chu said.
Both Bosch and Deborah Irving looked at him but he added nothing else and looked a little foolish for interrupting.
“What day in January was your anniversary?” Bosch asked.
“The fourth.”
“So you were married on January fourth, nineteen ninety-two?”
“Oh, my god!”
She brought her hands to her mouth in embarrassment over not recognizing the hotel room safe combination. Tears rolled out of her eyes and she pulled tissues from the box.
“How stupid of me! You must think I’m a complete—”
“It’s okay,” Bosch offered. “I said it like a year, not a full date. Do you know if he used that number as a combination or password before?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“ATM password?”
“No we used our son’s birthday—five-two-ninety-three.”
“What about on his cell phone?”
“That’s Chad’s birthday, too. I’ve used George’s phone.”
Bosch wrote the new date down in his notebook. The cell phone had been logged into evidence by the SID team and was on its way downtown. He would be able to unlock it and access its call records at the PAB. He had to consider what this meant. On the one hand, use of the Irving’s anniversary date tended to indicate that it had been George Irving who had set the combination on the room safe. But a wedding date could be found in court records with a computer. Once again it was information that did not exclude either suicide or murder.
He decided to move in a new direction again.
“Deborah, what exactly did your husband do for a living?”
She responded with a more detailed version of what Irvin Irving had already told him. George had followed in his father’s footsteps, joining the LAPD at twenty-one. But after five years in patrol he left the department for law school. After earning his JD, he went to work for the City Attorney’s Office in the contracts department. That was where he stayed until his father ran for city council and won. George quit working for the city and opened up shop as a consultant for hire, using his experience and connections to his father and others in local government and bureaucracy to give his clients access to the halls of power.
George Irving had a wide range of clients, including towing firms, taxi licensees, concrete suppliers, building contractors, city office cleaners and code-enforcement litigators. He was a man who could plant the request in the right ear at the right time. If you wanted to do business with the city of Los Angeles, a man like George Irving was the one to see. He had an office in the shadow of City Hall, but the office was not where the work was done. Irving roamed the administrative wings and council offices of City Hall. That was where his work was done.
The widow Irving reported that her husband’s work brought them a very nice living. The house in which they sat was valued at more than $1 million, even factoring in the downturn in the economy. The work also had the propensity to bring him enemies. Unhappy clients, or those competing for the same contracts as his clients—George Irving didn’t operate in a world above contention.
“Did he ever speak about any business or person in particular being upset with him or holding a grudge?”
“No one that he spoke to me about. He has an office manager, though. I guess I should say he did have an office manager. She would probably know more about this area than I would. George didn’t share a lot of that with me. He didn’t want me to worry about it.”
“What is her name?”
“Dana Rosen. She’s been with him a long time—going back to the City Attorney’s Office.”
“Have you spoken with her today?”
“Yes, but not since I learned . . .”
“You spoke with her before learning your husband was deceased?”
“Yes, when I got up I realized he had not come home last night. He wasn’t answering his cell, so at eight o’clock I called the office and talked to Dana to see if she had seen him yet. She said no.”
“Did you call her back after you learned of your husband’s death?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Bosch wondered if there was a problem or jealousy between the two women. Could Dana Rosen be the woman Deborah thought her husband took drives at night to meet?
He wrote the name down and then closed his notebook. He thought he had plenty to start with. He hadn’t covered all the details but this was not the time for a long Q&A session. He was confident that he would be coming back to Deborah Irving. He stood up and Chu followed suit.
“I think this is enough for now, Deborah. We know it is a difficult time and you want to be with family. Have you told your son?”
“No, Dad did. He called him. Chad’s flying down tonight.”
“Where’s he going to school?”
“USF—the University of San Francisco.”
Bosch nodded. He had been hearing about the school because his daughter was already thinking about the next level of education and had mentioned it as a possibility. He also remembered that it was where Bill Russell had played college ball.
Harry knew he would want to talk to the son but didn’t mention it to Deborah. There was no need to have her thinking about it.
“What about friends?” he asked.
“Was he close to anyone?”
“Not really. He really only had one close friend and they hadn’t seen much of each other lately.”
“Who was that?”
“His name is Bobby Mason. They knew each other since the police academy.”
“Is Bobby Mason still a cop?”
“Yes.”
“Why hadn’t they seen each other lately?”
“I don’t know. They just hadn’t, I guess. I’m sure it was just a temporary lull in the relationship. I assume that’s the way men are.”
Bosch wasn’t sure what her last words were meant to convey about men. He didn’t have anyone in his life he would consider a best friend but he always thought he was different. That most men had male friends, even best friends. He wrote Mason’s name down, then gave Deborah Irving a business card with his cell phone number on it and invited her to call anytime. He said he would be in touch as the investigation progressed.
Bosch wished her good luck and then he and Chu left. Before they reached the car, Irvin Irving came out the front door and called to them.
“You were just going to leave without checking with me?”
Bosch handed the keys to Chu and told him to back the car out of the driveway. He waited until he and Irving were alone before speaking.
“Councilman, we need to get something straight here. I’m going to keep you informed but I don’t report to you. There’s a difference. This is a police investigation, not a city hall investigation. You were a cop but you’re not anymore. You’ll hear from me when I have something to report to you.”
He turned and started walking toward the street.
“Remember, I want an update by the end of the day,” Irving called after him.
Bosch didn’t respond. He kept on walking like he didn’t hear.
8
Bosch told Chu to drive north toward Panorama City.
“We’re up here,” he said. “We might as well go get a look at Clayton Pell. If he’s where he’s supposed to be.”
“I thought the Irving case was the priority,” Chu said.
“It is.”
Bosch offered no further explana
tion. Chu nodded but had something else on his mind.
“What about something to eat?” he asked. “We worked right through lunch and I’m starving, Harry.”
Bosch realized he was hungry, too. He checked his watch and saw it was almost three.
“The halfway house is way up Woodman,” he said. “There used to be a pretty good taco truck that parked on Woodman at Nordhoff. I had a trial a few years ago at the San Fernando Courthouse and my partner and I used to hit that truck every day at lunch. It’s kind of late but if we’re lucky he’ll still be there.”
Chu was a semi-vegetarian but usually liked the idea of Mexican food.
“Think they’ll have a bean burrito on that truck?”
“Most likely. If not, they’ve got shrimp tacos. I’ve had them.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He goosed the car’s accelerator.
“Was that Ignacio?” Chu eventually asked. “The partner, I mean.”
“Yeah, Ignacio,” Bosch said.
Bosch contemplated the fate of his last partner, who was murdered in the back room of a food market two years earlier while working the case that introduced Harry to Chu. The two current partners maintained silence the rest of the way.
The halfway house that Clayton Pell was assigned to was in Panorama City, which was the expansive neighborhood at the geographic center of the San Fernando Valley. Spawned by post–World War II prosperity and enthusiasm, it was the first planned community of Los Angeles, replacing miles of orange groves and dairy lands with the seemingly unending sprawl of inexpensive and prefabricated tract housing and low-rise apartments that soon defined the look of the Valley. Anchored by the nearby industries of the General Motors plant and the Schlitz brewery, the development represented the epoch of Los Angeles autotopia. Every man with a job and a commute. Every home with a garage. Every view a panorama of the surrounding mountains. Only American-born white people need apply.
At least that was the way they were spinning it in 1947 when the grid work was set and the lots went up for sale. However, over the decades since the glorious ribbon cutting on the community of tomorrow, both GM and Schlitz pulled out and the views of the mountains grew hazy with smog. The streets got crowded with people and traffic, the crime rate went up at a steady pace and people started living in a lot of those garages. Iron bars went over bedroom windows and the courtyard apartment buildings put security gates across the once wide and welcoming entrances. Graffiti marked gang turf and, finally, whereas once the name Panorama City represented a future as wide and unlimited as its 360-degree views, it was now more of a cruel irony. A place with a name that reflected very little of what was actually there. Residents in parts of the once proud suburban nirvana routinely organized to try to break away to the adjoining neighborhoods of Mission Hills, North Hills and even Van Nuys so as not to be associated with Panorama City.
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