The Drop hb-17

by Michael Connelly

  After the preamble Gandle proceeded to divide responsibilities among the teams. While much of the investigation inside the two town houses would involve the gathering of forensic evidence, the heart of the case would undoubtedly be the videos found in the second bedroom closet and the photos taped to the walls throughout the town house. The OU investigators would be charged with documenting who the victims were, where they came from and what exactly happened to them. It would be a terribly grim task. Earlier, Chu had put one of the DVDs from the bedroom closet into his computer so that he and Bosch could get a sense of what was on the vast collection of tapes and discs. The video showed Hardy raping and torturing a woman to the point that she began begging him—after he pulled down her gag—to kill her and simply put her out of her misery. The video ended with the woman choked unconscious but clearly still breathing and Hardy turning to his camera and smiling. He had gotten what he wanted from her.

  In all of his years as a cop, Bosch had seen nothing so gut-wrenching and horrible. There were images on that one disc that he knew were indelible and that he would have to try to push into the recesses of his mind. But there were dozens more discs and tapes and hundreds of photographs. Each would need to be viewed, described, catalogued and placed into evidence. It was going to be painful, soul-searing work, guaranteed to leave the kind of internal scars only homicide cops carry. Gandle said that he wanted everyone in the unit to be open to discussing the harrowing duty with therapists in the department’s Behavioral Sciences Unit. Every cop knew that quietly carrying the horrors of the job inside could be like carrying untreated cancer. Still, seeking help for dealing with the burden was seen by many as a weakness. No cop wanted to be weak, whether it was in the view of the bad guys or their fellow good guys.

  Gandle next turned the meeting over to Bosch and Chu, the lead investigators, and they quickly summarized the steps that led them to Hardy and the side-by-side town houses.

  They also discussed the dichotomy in the investigation that they now faced. There was a need for speed on one level but also a necessity to move deliberately and carefully to ensure that they conducted the most thorough investigation possible.

  The department was under the legal obligation to file charges against Hardy within forty-eight hours of his arrest. He would be brought into court for his first appearance before a judge on Wednesday morning. If by then he was not charged with a crime, he would be released.

  “What we’re going to do is file one case against him,” Bosch said. “One murder now and then we add on later when we’re ready with the rest. So on Wednesday we go with Lily Price. Right now, it’s a wobbler but it’s still our best bet. We have a DNA hit, and while it’s not Hardy’s, we think we can prove it puts him at the scene. What we’re hoping is that between now and Wednesday morning we find an image of Lily somewhere in this place.”

  Chu held up a 5 × 7 photo of Lily Price taken from the original murder book. It was her yearbook photo. She was smiling and innocent and beautiful. If they found her image anywhere among Hardy’s souvenirs, it wouldn’t look the same.

  “We’re talking nineteen eighty-nine so she won’t be on any of the DVDs unless we find out that Hardy was transferring VHS to DVD,” Chu said. “But this is unlikely as there is no transfer machine here and this isn’t the kind of thing you send out to have done.”

  “We’re going to take a quick run at the still photos,” Bosch said. “Those of you working the VHS, keep an eye out for her. If we find her on one of this guy’s tapes or photos, then we’re gold on Wednesday.”

  When Bosch and Chu were finished, Gandle took back the lead to wrap things up with a final rally cry.

  “Okay, people,” he said. “That’s it. We all know what we have to do. So let’s do it. Make it count.”

  The group started to break up. Bosch could feel an air of urgency among the detectives. Gandle’s charge had worked.

  “Oh, one other thing,” Gandle said. “No time limitations on the work on this. We have full overtime authorization and that comes directly from the chief’s office.”

  If the lieutenant was expecting a cheer or even a round of applause, he was disappointed. There was little reaction to the good news that money would flow unabated into the investigation. OT was a good thing and it had been in short supply all year. But there was a reluctance to consider financial remuneration for the work this case would entail. Bosch knew that everyone in the room would work whatever hours were needed whether paid or not.

  This is why we do this.

  Bosch thought about what Kiz Rider had said to him earlier. It was all part of the mission and this case told that tale better than most.

  38

  It took the three teams of detectives assigned to the photographic and video evidence two hours to package all the materials from the second bedroom closet into evidence boxes. As if in a solemn funeral procession three unmarked cars then transported the boxes north to Los Angeles and the PAB. Bosch and Chu were in the last car, three boxes of still photos on the rear seat. There was little to talk about as they drove. They had a grim duty ahead of them and thoughts of preparing for it were all-consuming.

  The media relations office had tipped the media to the arrival of the procession and as the detectives carried their boxes into the police headquarters, they were documented by photographers and videographers lined up outside the building’s entrance. This was not done simply to appease the media. Rather, it was part of what would be an ongoing effort to use the media to hammer home with the public—and the local jury pool—that Chilton Hardy was guilty of ghastly deeds. It was part of the subtle complicity that would always exist between the police and the media.

  All three of the meeting rooms had been assigned to what was being known as the Hardy Task Force. Bosch and Chu took the smallest room because it did not have video equipment. They were going to sort through still photographs and didn’t need it.

  Hardy had shown no apparent rhyme or reason in his cataloguing of the photos. Old and new, the photographs were tossed into several shoeboxes and placed on the shelves of the closet. There was no writing on the front or back of any of them. Several photos were taken of the same individuals but these might be spread across two or three different shoe boxes.

  As Bosch and Chu began to go through them, they attempted to group the photos in a variety of ways. First and foremost they tried to put all photos of the same individual together. They then tried to estimate the age of the photos and organize them chronologically. Some of the photos had date stamps on them and these were helpful, though there was no way of knowing if the camera used had been set with the proper date.

  In most of the photos the individual who was depicted alone or with Hardy or with a man’s body assumed to be Hardy’s was clearly alive in the photograph. He or she was either engaged in a sex act or in some cases smiling directly at the camera. In other cases the depiction was of a person looking in fear and sometimes pain at the camera.

  Photos that had individual identifiers were placed in a priority category. These were victims who wore distinctive jewelry or had tattoos or facial moles. These markers would help the investigators seek identities later in the investigation.

  Bosch could feel his insides being hollowed by the process. The eyes of the victims were the most difficult. So many of them looked at the camera with eyes showing that they knew they were not going to live. It tapped into a deep well of helpless rage in Bosch. For years Hardy had cut a bloody trail across the landscape and no one had seen it. Now they were left to make piles out of photographs.

  At one point there was a knock on the door and Teddy Baker came in, holding a file.

  “I thought you might want to see this,” she said. “They took it at MDC during booking.”

  She opened the file and put an 8 × 10 photo down on the table. It depicted a man’s back. Spread from shoulder blade to shoulder blade was a depiction of a cemetery with black crosses across the landscape. Some of the crosses were old and
faded, the ink having spread with the skin. Some of the crosses were sharply drawn and looked new. In a black script beneath the image were the words Bene Decessit.

  Bosch had seen RIP tattoos before, but usually they were on gangbangers trying to keep track of the body counts of their own homies. This was new and yet not surprising. It also didn’t come as a surprise that Hardy had found a tattoo artist who apparently didn’t think the cemetery image was suspicious enough to contact authorities.

  “That’s your boy,” Baker said.

  “And did you count the crosses?” Bosch asked.

  “Yeah. There’s thirty-seven of them.”

  Bosch had not told her or the others that Hardy had said his number was thirty-seven. He had only told Kiz Rider that. He ran his finger below the words on Hardy’s back.

  “Yeah,” Baker said. “We Googled it. It’s Latin. Means ‘died well.’ Like they all died well.”

  Bosch nodded.

  “Sweet,” Chu said. “The guy’s fucked up.”

  “Can we put the photo in the package?” Bosch asked.

  “It’s all yours.”

  Bosch put the photo to the side of the table. He would include it in the charging package he would take to the DA.

  “Okay. Thanks, Teddy,” he said.

  He was dismissing her. He wanted to get back to the photo work. He needed to find Lily.

  “Do you guys need some help?” Baker said. “Gandle didn’t give us a piece of anything. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.”

  She and Kehoe had been driving Hardy to the MDC for booking when Gandle had given out assignments. It was quickly becoming the kind of case everyone wanted a part of.

  “I think we got this, Teddy,” Bosch said quickly before his partner could tell her to join them. “Maybe the others could use a hand with the videos.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll check with them.”

  Bosch interpreted her tone to mean that she thought he was being a selfish prick. She went to the door but then turned back to them.

  “You know what’s weird so far?” she asked.

  “What’s weird?” Bosch responded.

  “No bodies. There’s DNA in that town house. But where are all the bodies? Where did he hide them?”

  “Some were found,” Bosch said. “Like Lily Price. Others he hid. That’s his last chit. By the time we’re finished with this, that’s all Hardy will have left to trade. He gives up the bodies, we give up the death penalty.”

  “Think the DA will go for it?”

  “I hope not.”

  She left the room then and Bosch got back to work with the photos.

  “Harry, what’s up?” Chu said. “We’ve got about a thousand photos still to look through.”

  “I know that,” Bosch said.

  “So, why couldn’t we use her? She and Kehoe are part of OU. They’re just looking for something to do.”

  “I don’t know. I just think that if Lily Price is in here somewhere, then we should find her. Know what I mean?”

  “I guess so.”

  Bosch relented.

  “Go get her. Bring her back.”

  “No, that’s okay. I understand.”

  They went back to work, silently looking and sorting and stacking. Such a grim duty and so many victims. If not of murder or rape, then of Hardy’s manipulations and inhumanity. Bosch had to admit to himself that it was another reason he didn’t want to bring Teddy Baker in. It didn’t matter that she was a veteran investigator who had seen everything there was to see on the underside of life. And it didn’t matter that Hardy was a predator who targeted weakness, whether the victim be male or female. Bosch would never be comfortable viewing the photos in the company of a woman. It was just the way he was.

  Only twenty minutes later Bosch saw Chu stop his routine motion of checking a photo and then holding it up over his head while considering the stack he would place it on. He looked over. Chu was studying a Polaroid.

  “Harry, I think . . .”

  Bosch took the photo from him and looked at it. It was a shot of a young girl lying naked on a dirty blanket. Her eyes were closed and it was impossible to determine if she was alive or dead. The photo had faded over time. Bosch held it next to the yearbook photo of the smiling face of Lily Price, taken eighteen months before her death.

  “You think?” Chu asked.

  Bosch didn’t answer. He kept shifting his eyes from photo to photo, studying them and making minute comparisons. Chu handed him a magnifying glass he had brought from the cubicle but neither had used. Bosch put both photos down on the table and compared them under magnification. Finally he nodded and answered.

  “I think you found her. We take this over to photo for digital analysis and see what they say.”

  Chu pounded his fist on the table.

  “We got this guy, Harry. We got him!”

  Bosch put the magnifier down on the table and leaned back in his chair.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think we do.”

  He then leaned forward and pointed to the stacks of photos that still had not been checked.

  “Let’s keep going,” he said.

  “You think there’s more?” Chu asked.

  “Who knows? Maybe. But there’s also another one we should try to find.”

  “Who?”

  “Clayton Pell. He said Hardy took his picture, too. If he saved it, then it should be in here.”

  39

  Bosch gathered himself, took a final breath and punched in the number. He wasn’t even sure if the phone number would still be good after so many years. He checked one of the overhead clocks and did the math again. Three hours ahead in Ohio. It would be well after dinner but they would still be awake.

  A woman picked up after three rings.

  “Mrs. Price?” Bosch asked.

  “Yes, who am I speaking to?”

  There was an urgent tone in her voice and Bosch guessed that she had caller ID on her phone. She knew it was the police calling. Reaching across time and distance.

  “Mrs. Price, this is Detective Bosch with the Los Angeles Police Department. I’m calling because there have been some developments in the investigation of your daughter’s death. I need to talk with you.”

  Bosch heard the catch in her breath. Then she covered the receiver and spoke to someone else. He could not tell what she was saying.

  “Mrs. Price?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I told my husband. Lily’s father. He went upstairs to get on the other line.”

  “Okay, we can wait for—”

  “Is this about what they’re showing on TV? We were watching the Fox channel and I had to wonder if that man they said is known as Chill was the one who took Lily.”

  She was crying before she finished the question.

  “Mrs. Price, can we—”

  There was a click and they were joined on the line by her husband.

  “This is Bill Price.”

  “Mr. Price, I was telling your wife, my name is Harry Bosch. I’m a detective with the LAPD. I need to inform you about developments in the investigation of your daughter’s death.”

  “Lily,” Mr. Price said.

  “Yes, sir, your daughter Lily. I work in the Open-Unsolved Unit, which handles cold case homicide investigations. Last week we got a good break in the case. DNA from blood found on Lily’s body was connected to a man named Chilton Hardy. It was not his blood but it was blood that belonged to someone who knew Hardy and could connect him to the crime. I’m calling to tell you that we arrested Chilton Hardy today and we will be charging him with your daughter’s murder.”

  There was only the sound of Mrs. Price weeping.

  “I don’t know if there is any more to say at this point,” Bosch finally said. “The investigation is still unfolding and I will keep you posted on developments as we go forward with the prosecution. Once it is revealed that this man has been charged with your daughter’s murder, you may be contacted by the news media. It is up to you whether you w
ant to talk to them or not. Do you have any questions for me?”

  Bosch tried to imagine them in their home in Dayton. On different floors, connected by an open phone line to a man they had never met. Twenty-two years ago they had sent their daughter to Los Angeles to go to college. She never came home.

  “I have a question,” Mrs. Price said. “Hold on, please.”

  Bosch heard the phone being put down and then her weeping in the background. Her husband finally spoke.

  “Detective, thank you for not forgetting about our daughter. I’m going to hang up now so I can go downstairs and be with my wife.”

  “I understand, sir. I am sure we will be talking soon. Good-bye.”

  When Mrs. Price came back on the line, she had composed herself.

  “On the cable news they said that the police were looking at pictures and videos of the victims. They’re not going to show those on TV, are they? They’re not going to show Lily, are they?”

  Bosch closed his eyes and pressed the phone hard against his ear.

  “No, ma’am, that won’t happen. The photos are evidence and they won’t be released. There may come a time when they will be used in the trial. But if that happens, the prosecutor assigned to the case will discuss it with you. Or I will. You will be kept informed about everything involved in the prosecution. I’m sure of that.”

  “Okay, Detective. Thank you. I never thought this day would come, you know.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know it’s been a long time.”

  “Do you have children, Detective?”

  “I have a daughter.”

  “Keep her close.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will. I’ll get back to you soon.”

  Bosch hung up the phone.

  “How’d that go?”

  Bosch swiveled in his seat. Chu had come back into the cubicle without his noticing.

  “About how they all go,” he said. “Just two more victims . . .”

  “Yeah. Where are they?”

  “Dayton. What’s happening with the others?”