The Drop hb-17

by Michael Connelly

  “Let’s see the photo,” Bosch said.

  Chu pulled up the driver’s license photo of Chilton Hardy Jr. In the twenty-six years since his arrest in North Hollywood, he had lost most of his hair, and his skin had turned sallow. His face was lined by years of hard living. But the eyes were still the same. Cold and unforgiving. Bosch looked at the photo for a long moment before speaking.

  “All right, good work. Print it.”

  “We going up to see Mr. Hardy?”

  “Not yet. We go slow and deliberate on this one. Hardy’s felt safe enough to stay in town all these years. We need to prepare and approach with caution. Print out both the old and new photos and make two six-packs.”

  “We’re going up to show Pell?”

  “Yeah, and maybe take him for a little ride.”

  While Chu got busy pulling mug shots and building the photo lineups, Bosch moved back to his desk. He was about to call Hannah Stone to inform her of their plan when a text came in from his daughter.

  I told Ashlyn’s mom that you’re on a hot case. She says I can stay over. Cool?

  Bosch thought for a long moment before responding. It was a school night but Maddie had stayed with Ashlyn before on occasions when Bosch was traveling on cases. Ashlyn’s mother was very accommodating and believed she was in some way helping the cause of justice by taking care of Maddie while Bosch pursued murderers.

  But he had to wonder if there wasn’t something else at work here. Was his daughter clearing the way for him to be with Hannah?

  He almost called her but stuck with the texting conversation because he didn’t want Chu overhearing.

  Are you sure? I won’t be that late. I could pick you up on my way home.

  She quickly answered that she was sure and wanted to stay over. She said they had gone by the house after school to pick up clothes. Bosch finally sent her back his approval.

  He then called Hannah to tell her she would be seeing him before eight o’clock. She said that Bosch and Chu could use one of the counseling rooms to show Pell the photo lineups.

  “What if we want to take Pell for a ride? Are there any rules about that?”

  “Where would you take him?”

  “We have an address. We think it’s where he lived with his mother and this guy. I want to see if he recognizes the place. It’s an apartment building.”

  She was quiet for a moment, probably considering whether it was a good or bad thing for Pell to see the place where he was abused as a child.

  “There are no rules,” she finally said. “He can leave the facility. But I think I should go, too. He could have a bad reaction. Maybe I should be there.”

  “I thought you had meetings. You have work till eight.”

  “I just need to get my hours in. I came in late today because I thought I would have sessions tonight. We get audited on our hours. I don’t want there ever to be an issue about my working a six-hour day.”

  “Got it. Well, we should be there in about an hour. Will Pell be back from work?”

  “He’s already back. We’ll be ready for you. Does this change our dinner plans?”

  “Not on my end. I was looking forward to it.”

  “Good. Me, too.”

  21

  Bosch and Chu drove separately out to the Valley so that they would not have to fight their way back downtown in rush-hour traffic after the excursion. Chu could simply head east on the 134 freeway to his home in Pasadena and Bosch could remain in the Valley until his dinner with Hannah Stone.

  On the way up on the 101 freeway, Bosch finally heard back from Witcomb of Hollywood Division patrol.

  “Sorry, Harry. I was in the middle of something, and then I just sort of forgot to call you back. What can I do you for?”

  “You know a P-three in the station named Robert Mason?”

  “Bobby Mason, yeah. But he’s nights and I’m days, so I don’t know him that well. What’s up with him?”

  “I’m looking at some arrests he’s made that have something to do with something I’m working and need to talk to him about it.”

  “You’re working the Chateau case with Irvin Irving’s kid, right?”

  It sounded odd to Bosch to call George Irving a kid.

  “That’s right.”

  “What kind of arrests are we talking about?”

  “Three deuces.”

  “What do three deuces have to do with the Chateau?”

  Bosch was silent for a moment, hoping the hesitation would send a message to Witcomb that he was seeking information, not looking to distribute it.

  “It’s just an angle,” he finally said. “What have you heard about Mason? Is he doing okay?”

  Bosch was largely talking in code, trying to find out if Mason had a reputation one way or the other in terms of being bent or corrupt in any way.

  “What I heard was that he was upset yesterday,” Witcomb said.

  “About what?”

  “About the Chateau. I guess he was old pals with the councilman’s son. I heard they were in the same academy class, even.”

  Bosch moved his car into the exit lane for Lankershim Boulevard. The plan was to pick up Chu in the commuter lot next to the Metrolink station in Studio City.

  He played it cool with Witcomb, not wanting to reveal the importance of things.

  “Yeah, I heard they knew each other back then,” he said.

  “Looks that way,” Witcomb said. “But that’s all I know, Harry. Like I said, Mason’s nights and I’m days. Speaking of which, I’m just about out of here. You got anything else?”

  This was Witcomb’s way of saying he didn’t want to get further involved in discussions about a fellow cop. Bosch didn’t really blame him.

  “Yeah, you know which basic Mason usually works?”

  Hollywood Division was geographically broken into eight basic car areas or patrol zones.

  “I can look it up here pretty quick. I’m in the watch office.”

  Bosch waited and Witcomb quickly came back.

  “This deployment he’s in six-Adam-sixty-five so I’d say that’s where he usually works.”

  A deployment period was twenty-eight days. The first “six” was for the Hollywood Division designation. “Adam” referred to his patrol unit and “sixty-five” was his zone. Bosch couldn’t remember the geographic delineations in Hollywood Division but he took a flyer.

  “Sixty-five, is that the La Brea corridor?”

  “You got it, Harry.”

  Bosch asked Witcomb to keep their conversation private, thanked him and ended the call.

  Harry considered things and saw that Irvin Irving had an out. If Mason was pulling over B&W drivers in an effort to help tilt the franchise toward Regent, then he could have been doing it solely at the request of his former friend and academy classmate, George Irving. It would be hard to prove that Councilman Irvin Irving had anything to do with it.

  Bosch pulled into the commuter lot and circled, looking for his partner. When it became apparent that he had arrived ahead of Chu, he pulled to a stop in the main lane and waited. Palm on the wheel, he drummed his fingers on the dashboard and realized he was disappointed by the acknowledgment that Irvin Irving’s actions might not have precipitated his son’s death. If the councilman were ever accused of selling his influence on the taxi franchise decision, Bosch had already found the makings of reasonable doubt. Irving could argue that the whole scheme was cooked up and carried out by his dead son, and Bosch didn’t think he would be above doing that.

  He lowered the car window to let in some fresh air. To rid himself of his unease he jumped over to the other case and started thinking about Clayton Pell and how they were going to handle him. He then thought about Chilton Hardy and realized that he did not want to put off possibly getting a look at the man who was the ultimate target of the Lily Price investigation.

  The passenger door opened and Chu slipped into the seat. Bosch had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had not seen him enter the lot
in his Miata and park.

  “Okay, Harry.”

  “Okay. Hey, I changed my mind about going to Woodland Hills. I want to ski Hardy’s place, maybe even get a look at him if we’re lucky.”

  “‘Ski’?”

  “As in schematic. I want to see the lay of the land for when we do come back for real. We’ll do that and then go see Pell. That all right with you?”

  “I’m good.”

  Bosch left the lot and drove back to the 101. Traffic was heavy going west to Woodland Hills. Twenty minutes later he exited on Topanga Canyon Boulevard and headed north.

  The DMV address for Chilton Hardy was a two-story apartment building a half mile north of the big mall that anchored the West Valley. The apartment complex was large, running from sidewalk to back alley with an underground parking garage. After driving by it front and back, Bosch parked at the curb out front and he and Chu got out. Assessing the address, Bosch was struck by a familiarity he couldn’t place. The complex had gray siding and white trim for a Cape Cod look, with navy-and-white-striped awnings over the windows on the front side.

  “You recognize this place?” Bosch asked.

  Chu studied the building for a moment.

  “No. Should I?”

  Bosch didn’t answer. He walked to the security gate, where there was a call box. The names of the building’s forty-eight tenants were listed along with their apartment numbers. Bosch scanned the list and didn’t see Chilton Hardy’s name. According to the DMV computer, Hardy was supposed to be living in apartment 23. The name next to 23 was Phillips. Again, Bosch was hit with a feeling of déjà vu. Had he been here before?

  “What do you think?” Chu asked.

  “When was the driver’s license issued?”

  “Two years ago. He could’ve been here then. He could’ve come and gone.”

  “Or never been here.”

  “Yeah, he picks a random address to hide his trail.”

  “Maybe not so random.”

  Bosch turned around and looked about as he considered whether to risk exploring this further and possibly alerting Hardy—if he was here—that he had drawn the attention of the police. He saw the sign planted near the curb.

  ARCADE LUXURY APARTMENTS

  APT. FOR RENT

  TWO BEDROOM/TWO BATH

  FIRST MONTH FREE

  INQUIRE WITHIN

  Bosch decided he would not call apartment 23 yet. Instead, he punched the number 1 into the call box. It was listed as Manager.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re here to look at the apartment for rent.”

  “You must have appointment.”

  Bosch looked at the call box and for the first time saw the camera lens next to the speaker. He realized the manager was probably looking at him and didn’t like the vibe he was getting.

  “We’re here now. Do you want to rent it or not?”

  “Must have appointment. Sorry.”

  Fuck it, Bosch thought.

  “Open up. It’s the police.”

  He pulled his badge and held it up to the camera. A moment later the security gate buzzed and Bosch pushed through.

  The gate led to a central area where there was a bank of mailboxes and a bulletin board with notices about the complex. Almost immediately they were approached by a small, dark man of what appeared to be South Asian descent.

  “Police,” he said. “How can I do for you?”

  Bosch identified himself and Chu and the man introduced himself as Irfan Khan and said he was the manager. Bosch told him they were conducting an investigation in the area and were looking for a man who may have been the victim of a crime.

  “What crime?” Khan asked.

  “We can’t tell you that at the moment,” Bosch said. “We need to simply know if this is where the man lives.”

  “What is name?”

  “Chilton Hardy. He may use the name Chill.”

  “No, not here.”

  “You sure, Mr. Khan?”

  “Yes, sure. I manage building. He not here.”

  “Take a look at a picture of him.”

  “Okay, you show it.”

  Chu pulled out a photo from Hardy’s current driver’s license and showed Khan. He looked at it for a good five seconds and then shook his head.

  “See, I tell you. This man not here.”

  “Yeah, I got it. This man not here. How about you, Mr. Khan? How long have you been here?”

  “I work here three years now. I do very good job.”

  “And this guy never lived here? What about two years ago?”

  “No, I remember him if he live.”

  Bosch nodded.

  “Okay, Mr. Khan. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “I cooperate fully.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bosch turned and headed back toward the gate. Chu followed. When they got to the car, Bosch looked over the car roof at the building for a long moment before ducking into the driver’s seat.

  “Do you believe him?” Chu asked.

  “Yeah,” Bosch said. “I guess I do.”

  “So then, what do you think?”

  “I think we’re missing something. Let’s go see Clayton Pell.”

  He turned the car on and pulled away from the curb. As he steered back toward the freeway, he had the navy-and-white-striped awnings in his mind’s eye.

  22

  It was one of the few times he let Chu drive. Bosch was in the backseat with Clayton Pell. He wanted to be close to him in case of a violent reaction. When Pell had seen the photo lineups earlier and picked Chilton Hardy’s photo out each time, he had disappeared behind a wall of controlled rage. Bosch could sense it and he wanted to be close in case he had to do something about it.

  Hannah Stone rode in the front passenger seat and from his position Bosch could watch both Pell and her. Stone had a concerned look on her face. The reopening of Pell’s old wounds was clearly weighing on her.

  Bosch and Chu had choreographed the drive before arriving at the Buena Vista to pick up Pell. From the halfway center they first drove to Travel Town in Griffith Park so that they could begin the tour with Pell seeing what appeared to be one of the places of good memories of his young life. Pell wanted to get out and watch the trains, but Bosch said no, they were on a schedule. The truth was, he didn’t want to allow Pell to watch the children on the train rides.

  Now Chu turned right onto Cahuenga and started heading north toward the address they had traced Chilton Hardy to during the time period Pell lived with him. By the prearranged plan, they would not point out the apartment building to Pell. They would simply see if he recognized it on his own.

  When they were two blocks away Pell showed the first stirring of recognition.

  “Yes, this is where we lived. I thought that place was a school and I wanted to go there.”

  He pointed out the window at a private day-care center that had a swing set in front behind a wire fence. Bosch could understand how an eight-year-old might think it was a school.

  They were coming up to the apartment building now. It was on Pell’s side. Chu took his foot off the gas pedal and started to coast, which Bosch thought was a giveaway, but they went right by the address without a word from Pell.

  It wasn’t a case catastrophe but Bosch was disappointed. He was thinking in terms of a prosecution. If he was able to testify that Pell pointed out the apartment building without any help, that would bolster Pell’s story. If they had to specifically point the place out to Pell, a defense attorney would be able to contend that Pell was manipulating the police and creating his testimony out of a revenge fantasy.

  “Anything yet?” Bosch asked.

  “Yeah, I think we might’ve just passed it but I’m not sure.”

  “You want us to turn around?”

  “Is that all right?”

  “Sure. Which side were you looking at?”

  “My side.”

  Bosch nodded. Now things were looking good.

&nbs
p; “Detective Chu,” he said. “Rather than turn around let’s go right and go around so it’s on Clayton’s side again.”

  “Got it.”

  Chu turned right at the next block, then took his first right and drove three blocks down. He then turned right and came back to Cahuenga at the corner where the day-care center was. He turned right again and they were only a block and a half from the address.

  “Yeah, right up here,” Pell said.

  Chu drove well below the speed limit. A car blasted its horn from behind and then passed them. Everyone in the police car ignored it.

  “This is it,” Pell said. “I think.”

  Chu pulled to the curb. It was the right address. Everyone was silent while Pell looked out the window at the Camelot Apartments. It was a two-story stucco affair with rounded faux turrets at the two front corners. It was typical of the urban-blight apartments that sprouted in the city in the boom times of the fifties. They were designed and built to last thirty years and were going on twice that now. The stucco was cracked and discolored, the roof line was no longer straight and the flap of a blue plastic tarp was tied over the top of one of the turrets as a makeshift remedy for a leaking roof.

  “It was nicer back then,” Pell said.

  “Are you sure it’s the right place?” Bosch asked.

  “Yeah, this is it. I remember it sort of looking like a castle and I was excited about living here. Except I didn’t know . . .”

  His voice trailed off and he just looked at the building. He had turned halfway in his seat so his back was to Bosch. Harry saw Pell lean his forehead against the window. His shoulders then began to shake and there was a low sound almost like a whistle as he began to cry.

  Bosch raised a hand and reached over to Pell’s shoulder, but then he stopped. He hesitated and pulled his hand back. Stone had been turning in her seat and she saw the move. In that split second, Bosch saw her disgust with him.

  “Clayton,” she said. “It’s all right. It’s good to see this, to confront the past head-on.”

  She reached over the seat and put her hand on Pell’s shoulder, doing what Bosch could not. She didn’t look at Bosch again.

  “It’s all right,” she said again.