“I hope you catch the fucking bastard,” Pell said, his voice strangled with emotion.
“Don’t worry,” Bosch said. “We will.”
“I hope he dies. I hope he puts up a fight and you kill his ass.”
“Come on, Clayton,” Stone said. “Let’s not think about those kinds of—”
He slapped her hand off his shoulder.
“I want him to die!”
“No, Clayton.”
“Yes! Look at me! At what I am! It’s all because of him.”
Stone turned back in her seat and sat down.
“I think Clayton has been through enough here,” she said in a clipped tone. “Can we go back now?”
Bosch reached forward and tapped Chu on the shoulder.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Chu pulled away from the curb and headed north. The car was silent the whole way back and it was dark by the time they got back to the Buena Vista. Chu stayed in the car while Bosch walked Pell and Stone to the front gate.
“Clayton, thank you,” Bosch said as Stone used her key to open the passage. “I know that was tough on you. I appreciate your willingness to do it. It’s going to help the case.”
“Doesn’t matter if you have a case. Are you going to catch him?”
Bosch hesitated and then nodded.
“I think so. We still have some work to do but we’ll get it done and then we’ll go find him. I promise you that.”
Pell walked through the open gate without another word.
“Clayton, you should go to the kitchen and see if there’s dinner,” Stone instructed.
Pell raised a hand and waved, indicating he had heard her, as he walked off into the center courtyard. Stone turned to close the gate but Bosch was standing there. She looked up at him and Harry could read the disappointment.
“I guess we’re not having dinner,” he said.
“Why not? Your daughter?”
“No, she’s at her friend’s. But I just thought . . . I mean, I’m fine to have dinner. I just need to take my partner to his car in Studio City. You still want to meet at the restaurant?”
“Sure, but let’s not wait till eight. After that ride . . . I think I’m finished for the day.”
“All right. I’ll drop Chu off and then head over there and meet you. That okay or do you want me to come back here?”
“No, I’ll meet you there. Perfect.”
23
They got into the restaurant more than a half hour before their reservation time and were given a quiet booth in a back room near a fireplace. They ordered pastas and a Chianti Hannah chose. Through the dinner the food was good and the talk small—until Stone put Bosch directly on the spot.
“Harry, why couldn’t you comfort Clayton in the car today? I saw you. You couldn’t touch him.”
Bosch took a long drink of wine before attempting an answer.
“I just didn’t think he wanted to be touched. He was upset.”
She shook her head.
“No, Harry, I saw. And I need to know why a man like you could not have any sympathy for a man like him. I need to know that before I could . . . before anything could move forward between you and me.”
Bosch looked down at his plate. He put his fork down. He felt tense. He had met this woman only two days ago yet he couldn’t deny his attraction to her or that some sort of connection had been established. He didn’t want to spoil this chance but he didn’t know what to say.
“Life is too short, Harry,” she said. “I can’t waste my time and I can’t be with someone who doesn’t understand what I do and have a basic human compassion for people who are victims.”
He finally found his voice.
“I have compassion. My job is to speak for victims like Lily Price. But what about Pell’s victims? He’s damaged people as badly as he has been damaged. Am I supposed to pat him on the back and say, There, there, it’s going to be okay? It’s not okay now and it’s never going to be okay. And the thing is, he knows it.”
He made an open-palms gesture, as if to say, This is me, this is the truth.
“Harry, do you believe there is evil in the world?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have a job if there wasn’t.”
“Where does it come from?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your job. You confront evil almost every day. Where does it come from? How do people become evil? Is it in the air? Do you catch it like you catch a cold?”
“Don’t patronize me. It’s a little more complicated than that. You know that.”
“I’m not patronizing you. I am trying to figure out how you think so that I can make a decision. I like you, Harry. A lot. Everything I’ve seen I like except what you did in the backseat of that car today. I don’t want to start something only to find out I was wrong about you.”
“So what’s this, like a job interview?”
“No. It’s me trying to get to know you.”
“It’s too much like those speed-dating things they have. You want to know everything before anything even happens. There’s something else here you’re not telling me.”
She didn’t respond right away and that told Bosch he had hit on something.
“Hannah, what is it?”
She ignored his question and insisted on her own.
“Harry, where does evil come from?”
Bosch laughed and shook his head.
“This is not what people talk about when they are trying to get to know each other. Why do you care what I think about that?”
“Because I just do. What’s your answer?”
He could see the seriousness in her eyes. This was important to her.
“Look, all I can tell you is that nobody knows where it comes from, okay? It’s just out there and it is responsible for truly awful things. And my job is to find it and take it out of the world. I don’t need to know where it comes from to do that.”
She composed her thoughts before responding.
“Well said, Harry, but not good enough. You’ve been at this for a long time. From time to time you must have thought about where the darkness in people comes from. How does the heart turn black?”
“Is this the nature-versus-nurture discussion? Because I—”
“Yes, it is. How do you vote?”
Bosch wanted to smile but somehow knew it would not be received well.
“I don’t vote because it doesn’t—”
“No, you have to vote. You really do. I want to know.”
She was leaning across the table, talking to him in an urgent whisper. She leaned back as the waiter came to the table and started to clear their plates. Bosch welcomed the interruption because it gave him time to think. They ordered coffee but no dessert. Once the waiter was gone, it was time.
“Okay, what I think is that certainly evil can be nurtured. No doubt that is what happened with Clayton Pell. But for every Pell who acts out and damages somebody, there is someone who has had the exact same childhood who never acts out and never hurts anybody. So there is something else. Another part to the equation. Are people born with something that lies dormant and comes to the surface only under certain circumstances? I don’t know, Hannah. I really don’t. And I don’t think anybody else does either. Not for sure. We only have theories, and none of it really matters in the long run because it is not going to stop the damage.”
“You mean my work is useless?”
“No, but your work—like mine—comes into play after the damage is done. Sure, your efforts will hopefully prevent a lot of these people from going out and doing it again. I do believe that and I told you so the other night. But how is it going to identify and stop the individual who has never acted out or broken a law or done anything before that warns of what’s to come? Why are we even talking about this, Hannah? Tell me what you’re not telling me.”
The waiter came back with the coffee. Hannah told him to bring their check. Bosch took this as a bad sign. She wan
ted to get away from him. She wanted to go.
“So that’s it. We get the check and you run away without answering the question?”
“No, Harry, that’s not it. I asked for the check because I want you to take me home with you now. But there is something you need to know about me first.”
“Then tell me.”
“I have a son, Harry.”
“I know. You said he’s up in the Bay Area.”
“Yes, I go up there to visit him in prison. He’s in San Quentin.”
Bosch couldn’t say he hadn’t expected a secret like this. But he hadn’t expected it to be her son. Maybe a former husband or partner. But not her son.
“I’m sorry, Hannah.”
It was all he could think to say. She shook her head as if to ward off his sympathy.
“He did something terrible,” she said. “Something evil. And to this day I can’t fathom where it came from or why.”
Holding the bottle of wine under his arm, Bosch unlocked the front door and held it open for her. He was acting calm but he wasn’t. They had talked about her son for almost another hour. Bosch had mostly listened. But in the end all he could do was once more offer her sympathy. Are parents responsible for the sins of their children? Often yes but not always. She was the therapist. She knew that better than he.
He hit the light switch next to the door.
“Why don’t we have a glass on the back deck?” he said.
“That sounds lovely,” she said.
He walked her through the living room to the sliding door to the deck.
“This is a great place, Harry. How long have you lived here?”
“I guess it’s almost twenty-five years. It just hasn’t seemed that long. I rebuilt it once. After the earthquake in ’ninety-four.”
They were greeted by the hissing sound of the freeway from down at the bottom of the pass. In their exposed position on the deck, the wind was crisp. Hannah walked right out to the rail and took in the view.
“Wow.”
She made a full turn, her eyes toward the sky.
“Where’s the moon?”
Bosch pointed toward Mount Lee.
“It must be behind the mountain.”
“I hope it comes out.”
Bosch held the bottle up by its neck. It was what was left from the restaurant, brought along because he knew he had nothing at home. He had stopped drinking at home since Maddie had started living with him, and he rarely imbibed when out.
“I’m going to turn on some music and get a couple glasses. I’ll be right back.”
Back inside, he turned on the DVD player but wasn’t sure what was in the slot. Soon he heard Frank Morgan’s saxophone and he knew all was good. He quickly moved down the hallway and did a quick cleanup of his bedroom and bathroom, grabbing fresh sheets from the closet and making the bed. He then went into the kitchen and grabbed two wineglasses before returning to the deck.
“I was wondering what happened to you,” Hannah said.
“I had to straighten up at least a little bit,” he said.
Bosch poured the wine. They touched glasses and sipped and then Hannah moved close to him and they kissed for the first time. They held it until Hannah broke away from him.
“I’m sorry to have put you through all of that, Harry. My soap opera.”
Bosch shook his head.
“It’s not a soap opera. He’s your son. Our children are our hearts.”
“‘Our children are our hearts.’ That’s nice. Who said that?”
“I don’t know. Me, I guess.”
She smiled.
“It doesn’t sound like something a hard-boiled detective would say.”
Bosch shrugged.
“Maybe I’m not one. I live with a fifteen-year-old girl. I think she keeps me soft.”
“Have I put you off by being so forward tonight?”
Bosch smiled and shook his head.
“I like what you said about not wasting time. We both felt the connection the other night. So here we are. If it’s right, then I don’t want to waste time either.”
She put her glass down on the railing and moved closer to him.
“Yes, here we are.”
Bosch put his glass down next to hers. He then stepped into her and put his hand on the back of her neck. He moved even closer and kissed her, using his other hand to hold her body tightly against his.
Eventually, she slipped her lips off his and they stood cheek to cheek. He felt her hand go inside his jacket and up his side.
“Forget about the moon and the wine,” she whispered. “I want to go inside now.”
“Me, too,” he said.
24
At 10:30 P.M. Bosch walked Hannah Stone out to her car. She had followed him up the hill from the restaurant earlier. She had told him she could not spend the night and he was okay about that. At the car, they held each other in a long embrace. Bosch felt good. The time with her in his bedroom had been wonderful. He had waited a long time for someone like Hannah.
“Call me when you get home, okay?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“I know but call me anyway. I want to know you’re home safe.”
“Okay.”
They looked at each other for a long moment.
“I had a nice time, Harry. I hope you did, too.”
“You know it.”
“Good. I want to do it again.”
He smiled.
“Yeah, me, too.”
She broke away and opened the door to her car.
“Soon,” she said as she got in.
He nodded. They smiled. She started the car and drove off. Harry watched her taillights disappear around a bend in the road and then he went to his own car.
Bosch pulled into the rear lot of Hollywood Division and parked in the first slot he found open. He hoped he was not too late. He got out and walked toward the back door of the station. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. It was Hannah.
“You’re home?”
“Made it. Where are you?”
“Hollywood Division. I need to see somebody on P.M. watch.”
“So that’s why you pushed me out the door.”
“Uh, actually, I think you were the one who said you needed to go.”
“Oh. Well, then, okay. Have fun.”
“It’s work. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Bosch walked through the double doors and down the hall to the watch office. There were two custodies cuffed to the bench that ran down the middle of the hall. They were waiting to be processed into the jail. They looked like a couple of Hollywood hustlers who came up short on the hustle.
“Hey, man, you help me out?” one of them asked as Bosch went by.
“Not tonight,” Bosch replied.
Bosch ducked his head into the watch office. There were two sergeants standing side by side, looking at the deployment chart for A.M. watch. No lieutenant. This told Bosch that the next shift was still upstairs in roll call and he hadn’t missed the shift change. He knocked on the glass window next to the door. Both sergeants turned to him.
“Bosch, RHD. Can you call Adam-sixty-five in? I need ten minutes with him.”
“He’s already on the way. He’s first in.”
They staggered the shift change—one car at a time—so the division would not be left with no one on patrol. Usually the first in was the car containing the most senior officer or the patrol team that had had the toughest night.
“You think you can send him over to detectives? I’ll wait over there.”
“You got it.”
Bosch walked back past the custodies and then took a left down the back hallway, past the kit room and into the detective squad room. He had worked in Hollywood Division for many years before his RHD assignment and knew the station well. As expected, the D bureau was deserted. At most Bosch thought he might find a patrol officer writing up his reports but there wasn’t anyone in the room at all.
; There were wooden signs hanging from the ceiling above the pods for the different crime units. Bosch went over to the homicide pod and looked for his old partner Jerry Edgar’s desk. He identified it because of a photo taped to the back of the cubicle of Edgar with Tommy Lasorda, the former manager of the Dodgers. Bosch sat down and tried the pen drawer but found it locked. This gave him an idea and he quickly stood back up and scanned all the desks and counters in the squad room until he saw a stack of newspapers on a break table near the front of the room. He walked over and looked through the stack until he found the sports section. He then leafed through it until he found one of the ubiquitous advertisements for pharmaceutical treatment of erectile dysfunction. He tore the ad out and then went back to Edgar’s desk.
Bosch had just finished slipping the ad through the crack above Edgar’s locked desk drawer when a voice surprised him from behind.
“RHD?”
Bosch swiveled around on Edgar’s chair. A uniformed cop was standing by the entrance from the back hallway. He had gray close-cropped hair and a muscular build. He was in his midforties but looked younger, even with the gray hair.
“Yeah, that’s me. Robert Mason?”
“That’s me. What is—”
“Come on over here so we can talk, Officer Mason.”
Mason came over. Bosch noticed that his short sleeves were tight on his biceps. He was the breed of cop who wanted any potential challengers to see the guns and know what they would be up against.
“Have a seat,” Bosch said.
“No, thanks,” Mason said. “What’s going on? I’m EOW and I want to get out of here.”
“Three deuces.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Three deuces.”
Bosch was watching his eyes, looking for any sort of tell.
“Okay, three deuces. You got me. What does it mean?”
“It means there are no coincidences, Mason. And you writing up three deuces last summer on three different B and W taxi drivers, all in Adam-sixty-five, stretches the limits of possible coincidence. My name isn’t RHD. It’s Bosch and I’m investigating the murder of your buddy George Irving.”
Now he saw the tell. But it came and went. Mason was about to make a bad choice. But when he did, Bosch was still surprised.
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