The Drop hb-17

by Michael Connelly

  “George Irving was a suicide.”

  Bosch looked at him for a moment.

  “Really? You know that?”

  “I know it’s the only way it could’ve happened. Him going there, to that hotel. He killed himself and it had nothing to do with Black and White. You’re barking up the wrong tree, dog.”

  Bosch started to get annoyed with this arrogant asshole.

  “Let’s cut the bullshit, Mason. You’ve got a choice here. You can take a seat and tell me what you did and who told you to do it and maybe you’ll get out of this okay. Or you can stand there and keep spinning bullshit and then I won’t really care what happens to you.”

  Mason folded his arms across his thick chest. He was going to turn this into a mano a mano battle of who backs down first, and it wasn’t a game where big biceps gave you the edge. He was ultimately going to lose.

  “I don’t want to sit down. I have no involvement in this case other than that I knew the guy who jumped. That’s it.”

  “Then tell me about the three deuces.”

  “I don’t have to tell you shit.”

  Bosch nodded.

  “You’re right. You don’t.”

  He stood up and glanced back at Edgar’s desk to make sure he hadn’t left anything out of place. He then took a step toward Mason and pointed at his chest.

  “Remember this moment. Because this was the moment you blew it, dog. This was the moment you could have saved your job but instead you gave it away. You’re not EOW. You just put the P in front of it—permanent end of watch.”

  Bosch headed toward the back hallway. He knew he was a walking contradiction. A guy who on Monday morning said he wouldn’t investigate cops, and now here he was. He was going to burn this cop in order to get to the truth of George Irving.

  “Hey, wait.”

  Bosch stopped and turned back. Mason lowered his arms and Bosch read it as a dropping of his guard.

  “I did nothing wrong. I responded to a direct request from a member of the city council. It was not a request involving specific action. It was no more than an alert and we get them passed on to us in roll call every day, every shift. Requests from council—RFCs, we call them. I did nothing wrong and if you burn me, you are burning the wrong guy.”

  Bosch waited without moving but that was it. He moved back toward Mason. He pointed to a chair.

  “Sit down.”

  This time Mason did take a seat, pulling one away from the Robbery module. Bosch returned to Edgar’s chair and they sat facing each other in the aisle between Robbery and Homicide.

  “So tell me about this request from council.”

  “I knew George Irving a long time. The academy, we were rookies together. Even after he left for law school we stayed close. I was best man at his wedding. Hell, I was the one who rented the honeymoon suite for them.”

  He reached out and gestured behind him in the direction of the squad lieutenant’s office, as if that were the honeymoon suite.

  “We did birthdays, Fourth of Julys . . . and I knew his father through him and saw him at a lot of these things over the years.”

  “Okay.”

  “So last summer in June—I forget the exact date—I went to a party for George’s kid. He—”

  “Chad.”

  “Yeah, Chad. Chad had just graduated from high school and was valedictorian and was going on a full ride up to USF, so they had a party for him and I went with Sandy, my wife. The councilman was there and we talked, mostly bullshit about the department and him trying to justify to me why the council fucked us on OT and things like that. Then at the end he told me sort of oh-by-the-way that he got a complaint from a constituent who said she got in a cab outside a restaurant in Hollywood and the driver was drunk. She said the car stank like a brewery and he was clearly impaired. He said that after a few blocks the lady had to tell the guy to pull over and she got out. She said it was a Black and White taxi and so he told me to keep an eye on the taxi drivers, that there could be a problem. He knew I worked P.M. watch and I might see something. And that was it. No conspiracy, no bullshit. I reacted to that when I was on patrol and there was nothing wrong with it at that time. And every case I made on those drivers was righteous.”

  Bosch nodded. If it was a true story, Mason had done nothing wrong. But his story brought Irvin Irving solidly back into the picture. The question for the district attorney or even a grand jury would be about the councilman. Was he subtly using his influence to help benefit his son’s client, or was he motivated by concerns for public safety? There was a fine line and Bosch doubted the question would ever get so far as a grand jury. Irving was too smart. Still, Bosch was intrigued by what Mason had tagged to the end of his story. There was nothing wrong with the chain of events “at that time.”

  “Did the councilman tell you when this complaint came in or how exactly it got to him?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “Did this sort of alert ever come up in a roll call over the summer?”

  “Not that I remember but I probably wouldn’t know, to tell you the truth. I’ve been around. I’ve got years and I’m allowed certain indulgences, I guess you might call it. I usually roll in first on shift change. I get priority vacation dibs, shit like that. I miss a lot of roll calls. I’ve been to too many and I can’t stand sitting up there in that little room and listening to the same thing night after night. But my partner, who’s a rookie, never misses and he tells me what I need to know. So this RFC could’ve come up. I just wasn’t there.”

  “But your partner never told you it came up, right?”

  “No, but we were already on it, so he wouldn’t have to. First deployment after that party, I started pulling over taxis. So he wouldn’t have to tell me if it came up in roll call. See what I mean?”

  “I do.”

  Bosch pulled out his notebook and flipped it open. There was nothing written on the pages concerning Mason but he wanted time to collect his thoughts and consider what to ask next. He started flipping through his pages of notes.

  “Nice,” Mason said. “That your number on the badge?”

  He pointed to the notebook.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where do you get something like that?”

  “Hong Kong. Did you know that your friend George Irving was repping a taxi company that was hoping to take the franchise away from Black and White? Did you know that the DUIs you put on the company’s record were going to help George succeed?”

  “Like I said, not at the time. Not last summer.”

  Mason rubbed his palms up and down his thighs. They were now moving toward something that was uncomfortable for him.

  “So at some point you did come to know this?”

  He nodded but didn’t speak.

  “When?” Bosch prompted.

  “Uh, that would have been about six weeks ago.”

  “Tell me.”

  “One night I pulled over a taxi. Saw the guy roll a stop sign and pulled him over. It was a Black and White, and right away the guy starts giving me shit about collusion and all this and I’m thinking, Yeah, yeah, yeah, just touch your nose with your forefinger, asshole. But then he says, ‘You and Irving Junior are doing this to us’ and I’m like, What the hell? So I get in his face and tell him to tell me exactly what he means by that. And that’s when I found out my friend Georgie was repping another cab company putting the move on Black and White.”

  Bosch leaned forward, closer to Mason, and put his elbows on his knees. They were getting to the center of it now.

  “What did you do?”

  “I confronted him. I went to George and gave him every way out, but at the end of the day, there was no way out. I felt he and his father had used me and I told him that. I told him we weren’t friends anymore and that was the last time I saw him.”

  Bosch nodded.

  “And this is why you think he killed himself.”

  Mason scoffed.

  “No, man. If he used me like that, then
I wasn’t really that important in his life. I think he killed himself for other reasons. I think Chad leaving was a big thing . . . and maybe there were other things. The family had secrets, you know what I mean?”

  Mason didn’t know about McQuillen or the marks on George Irving’s back. Bosch decided that this wasn’t the time for him to find out.

  “Okay, Mason, you have anything else for me?”

  Mason shook his head.

  “You didn’t confront the councilman about all of this, did you?”

  “Not yet.”

  Bosch thought about that.

  “You going to the funeral tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Tomorrow morning, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll guess I’ll decide then. We were friends a long time. Things just sort of went wrong at the end.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll see you there. You can go now. I appreciate you telling the story.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mason stood up and headed toward the back hallway, his head down. Bosch watched him go and wondered about the vagaries of relationships and investigations. He had come to the division expecting to confront a cop who was bent, who had crossed the line. Instead, he now viewed Mason as another victim of Irvin Irving.

  And at the top of the list of Irving’s victims was his own son. Mason might not have to worry about confronting the councilman. Bosch might get there first.

  25

  George Irving’s Thursday morning funeral was crowded. But it was hard for Bosch to tell if all the people were there to mourn the loss of George Irving or to buttress their ties to his father, the city councilman. Many of the city’s political elite were there, along with the command staff of the police department. Even Councilman Irving’s opponent in the upcoming election—the guy who didn’t have a chance—was present. It was as if a truce in politics had been called so respect could be shown for the dead.

  Bosch stood on the periphery of the graveside gathering and watched the parade of who’s who make their way to Irvin Irving and the rest of the dead man’s family to offer condolences. It was Bosch’s first look at Chad Irving, the third generation of the family. He clearly favored his mother in his looks. He stood next to her with his head down, barely looking up whenever someone offered a hand or a grip of the upper arm. He seemed bereft, whereas his mother was tearless and stoic, possibly operating behind a pharmaceutical haze.

  Bosch was so intent on studying the family and political permutations of the scene that he didn’t notice Kiz Rider slip away from the police chief’s side. She came up on Harry’s left as silent as an assassin.

  “Harry?”

  Bosch turned.

  “Lieutenant Rider. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “I came with the chief.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. Big mistake.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I wouldn’t be showing support for Irvin Irving right about now. That’s all.”

  “Have things advanced since our discussion yesterday?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  Bosch summarized his interview of Robert Mason and the clear implication that the councilman was complicit in the effort to move the Hollywood taxi franchise from B&W to Regent. He said that effort likely triggered the events that led to George Irving’s death.

  “Will Mason testify?”

  Bosch shrugged.

  “I never asked him but he knows the score. He’s a cop and he likes his job—enough to end his friendship with George Irving when he realized he was being used. He knows if he’s called to testify and he refuses, then his career is over. I think he’ll testify. I’m surprised he’s not here today. I thought maybe there might be some fireworks.”

  Rider scanned the crowd. The service was over and people were starting to drift off amid the tombstones, heading to their cars.

  “We don’t want fireworks here, Harry. If you see him, you head him off.”

  “It’s over. He didn’t come.”

  “So what’s your next move?”

  “Today’s the big day. I’m going to bring McQuillen in for a conversation.”

  “You don’t have enough to charge him.”

  “Probably not. I’ve got a forensics team at the hotel right now with my partner. They’re taking a second run at it. If we can put McQuillen in that suite or on the fire escape, it’s over.”

  “A big ‘if.’”

  “There’s also his watch and the possibility of matching it to the wounds on the back.”

  Rider nodded.

  “That might work, but as you mentioned before, it won’t be conclusive. We’ll have our experts say it’s a match. He’ll have his experts say it’s not.”

  “Yeah. Listen, Lieutenant, I think I’m about to have some company. You might want to move out of the way.”

  She scanned the remaining crowd.

  “Who?”

  “Irving’s been watching me without really watching me. I think he’s going to come over. He’s waiting for you to leave, I think.”

  “All right, then I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, Harry.”

  “If that’s what it takes. See you, Kiz.”

  “Stay in contact.”

  “Roger that.”

  She walked off and headed toward a clot of people surrounding the chief of police. Almost immediately Irvin Irving took advantage of seeing Bosch alone and headed toward him.

  Before Bosch could address him, Irving said what was on his mind.

  “It’s a devastating thing to put your son in the ground and not even know why he was taken.”

  Bosch had to hold himself back. He had decided that now was not the time to confront Irving. There was still work to be done. McQuillen first, then Irving.

  “I understand,” he said. “I hope to have something for you soon. The next day or two.”

  “That’s not good enough, Detective. I have not heard from you, and what I hear about you is not comforting. Are you working another case besides the investigation of my son’s death?”

  “Sir, I have a lot of open cases and things don’t come to a standstill because a politician pulled strings and put me on a new one. All you need to know is that I am working the case and will have an update for you before the week is out.”

  “I want more than an update, Bosch. I want to know what happened and who did this to my son. Are we clear?”

  “Sure, we’re clear. And what I would like now is to speak to your grandson for a few minutes. Could you—”

  “It’s not a good time.”

  “It’s never going to be a good time, Councilman. But if you are going to demand results, then you can’t stop me from throwing the net. I need to talk to the victim’s son. He’s looking at us right now. Would you please wave him over?”

  Irving looked back at the grave site and saw Chad standing by himself. He signaled him over. The young man walked up to them and Irvin Irving made the introduction.

  “Do you mind if I speak with Chad alone for a few minutes, Councilman?”

  Irving looked like he had been betrayed but didn’t want to reveal it in front of his grandson.

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll be at the car. We’ll be leaving soon, Chad. And Detective? I want to hear from you.”

  “You will, sir.”

  Bosch put his hand on Chad Irving’s upper arm and steered him away from his grandfather. They walked toward a stand of trees in the center of the cemetery. There was shade there and privacy.

  “Chad, I’m sorry about your father’s death. I’m looking into it and hope to know what happened very soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “I hate to bother you at this difficult time but I have a few questions and then I can let you go.”

  “Whatever. I don’t really know anything.”

  “I know but we need to talk to everybody in the family. It’s routine. Let’s start with, When was the last time you spoke to your father? Do you remember?”
<
br />   “Yeah, we talked on Sunday night.”

  “About anything specific?”

  “Not really. He just called and we sort of shot the shit for a few minutes about school and stuff but it was sort of bad timing. I had to go. So that was it.”

  “Where did you have to go?”

  “I had a study session set up and I had to go.”

  “Did he say anything about his work or any sort of pressure he was under, anything that was bothering him?”

  “No.”

  “What do you think happened to your father, Chad?”

  The boy was big and gangly, his face scattershot with acne. He shook his head violently at the question.

  “How should I know? I had no idea what was going to happen.”

  “Do you know why he would have gone to the Chateau Marmont and rented a room?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, Chad, that’s all. I’m sorry for the questions. But I am sure you want to know what happened.”

  “Yes.”

  Chad looked down at the ground.

  “When do you go back to school?”

  “I think I’ll stay with my mother for at least the weekend.”

  “She’ll probably need that.”

  Bosch pointed to the cemetery lane where the cars were waiting.

  “I think she and your grandfather are waiting for you. Thanks for your time.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good luck, Chad.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bosch watched him walk back toward his family. He felt sorry for the kid. He seemed to be walking back to a life of demands and expectations that he had no part in conjuring. But Bosch couldn’t think about it too long. He had work to do. As he started walking toward his own car, he pulled his phone and called his partner. It took Chu six rings to answer his phone.

  “Yeah, Harry.”

  “What’ve they come up with?”

  Bosch had gone through Lieutenant Duvall with a request to have the department’s top forensics team go back into the Chateau Marmont and make another sweep of room 79 using all means of evidence detection possible. Bosch wanted the place vacuumed, lasered, black-lighted and super glued. He wanted to try anything that might draw out evidence missed the first time, and possibly link McQuillen to the room.