The Drop hb-17

by Michael Connelly

  “Does that part need to be in there?”

  “I think it does, Clayton. Because we found the photo you told us Hardy took. We found the shoebox. So we want it in your statement because the photo corroborates what you say.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You mean ‘corroborate’? It means like it confirms your story. It verifies it. You say this is what the guy made you do and then here’s the picture that proves it.”

  “So people are going to see the picture?”

  “Very few people. It will not be released to the media. It’s just an element that helps build the case.”

  “Besides that,” Stone interjected, “there is nothing to be ashamed about, Clay. You were a child. He was an adult. You were under his command and control. He victimized you and there was nothing you could do about it.”

  Pell nodded, more to himself than Stone.

  “Are you willing to sign the statement?” Bosch asked.

  It was put-up or shut-up time.

  “I’ll sign it but what happens next?”

  “We take it back to the DA and it goes in the file and is backup on the charges he’ll file this afternoon.”

  “No, I mean to him. To Chill. What happens next with him?”

  Bosch nodded. Now he understood.

  “He’s being held right now without bail in the Metropolitan Detention Center. If the DA’s Office files the charges today, he’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning in superior court. He’ll probably get a bail hearing, too.”

  “They’re giving him bail?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. He’s entitled to a bail hearing. Everybody is. But you don’t have to worry, this guy’s not going anywhere. Hardy will never breathe free air again.”

  “Could I go to that and talk to the judge?”

  Bosch looked at Pell. He immediately understood the request but was surprised by it, anyway.

  “Uh, I don’t think that would be smart, Clayton. You being a potential witness. I’ll check with the DA’s Office if you want but I think they’ll say no. I think they want to hold you back and spring you at the trial. Not have you sitting in court, especially when Hardy is there.”

  “All right. I just thought I’d ask, is all.”

  “Sure.”

  Bosch motioned with the witness statement toward his briefcase.

  “You want to sign it on top of this? Might be the best way to do it. Only flat surface we’ve got.”

  “Yeah.”

  The small man hopped out of his chair and came over to Bosch. Harry reached in his pocket for a pen and handed it to him. He bent down, his face very close to Bosch’s and poised with the pen over the document. When he spoke, Bosch could feel his hot breath on his face.

  “You know what should be done to this guy, don’t you?”

  “Who? Hardy?”

  “Yeah, Hardy.”

  “What should be done?”

  “They should hang him by his balls for what he did to that girl and to me and all the others. I saw the TV last night. I know what he’s done. They should bury him ass up and ten feet deep. Instead they’ll put him on Sixty Minutes and make him a star.”

  Bosch shook his head once. Pell was making some big leaps.

  “I’m not so sure what you mean about making him a star but my guess is that they’ll go for the death penalty and they’ll get it.”

  Pell laughed derisively.

  “That’s a fucking joke. If you’re going to have the death penalty, then you’ve got to use it. Not dance around it for twenty years.”

  This time Bosch nodded in agreement but said nothing further. Pell scratched his name on the document and proffered the pen toward Bosch. When Harry took it, Pell held on to it. They looked at each other for a moment.

  “You don’t like it any more than I do,” Pell whispered. “Do you, Detective Bosch?”

  Pell finally released the pen and Bosch put it into one of his inside coat pockets.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  Pell backed away then and they were finished.

  Five minutes later Bosch and Chu were heading out through the iron gate when Bosch suddenly stopped. Chu turned and looked back at him and Bosch tossed him the keys to the car.

  “Get it started,” he said. “I forgot my pen.”

  Bosch went back to Hannah Stone’s office. She seemed to be expecting him. She was standing in the reception area, waiting.

  “Come on back, Detective.”

  They went back into the interview room and she closed the door. When she turned around, the first thing she did was kiss him. Bosch got embarrassed.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think we should be mixing things like this.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. But you did come back—just like I guessed you would.”

  “Yeah, well . . .”

  He smiled at being caught in the inconsistency.

  “Look, how about tomorrow night?” he asked. “After Hardy’s arraigned. It sounds odd to say I want to celebrate but it’s like, when you put another one down . . . it feels good, you know?”

  “I think so. And I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Bosch left her then. Chu had pulled the car up directly out front and Harry jumped into the passenger seat.

  “So,” Chu said. “Did you get her number?”

  “Just drive,” Bosch said.

  41

  On Wednesday morning Bosch and Chu decided they would go to court to witness the first step of the judicial process involving Chilton Hardy. Though they were not needed for the proceedings involving Hardy’s first appearance on the murder charge, Bosch and his partner wanted to be there. It was rare in homicide work that an investigator brought to ground one of the true monsters in the world, and Hardy was one of them. They wanted to see him shackled and displayed, brought before the People.

  Bosch had checked with the MDC and knew that Hardy was on the bus that transported white inmates. It was the second bus scheduled for departure. This would put off his appearance in court until at least ten. It gave Harry time to drink a coffee and glance at the stories the investigation had generated in the morning papers.

  The phones in the cubicle kept ringing unanswered as journalists and producers left a series of messages seeking comment or inside access to the ongoing investigation. Bosch decided to get away from the noise and head over to the courthouse. As he and Chu stood and put their jackets on—without conferring they had both come dressed in their A suits—Harry could feel the eyes of the squad room on them. He went over to Tim Marcia’s desk and told him where they were going. He said that they would be back directly after Hardy’s appearance unless the prosecutor assigned to the case wanted to talk to them.

  “Who got the case?” Marcia asked.

  “Maggie McPherson,” Bosch said.

  “Maggie McFierce? I thought she was up in the Valley.”

  “She was. But now she’s in major crimes. It’s a good break for us.”

  Marcia agreed.

  They took the elevator down and there were reporters waiting outside the PAB. A few of them recognized Bosch and that started the stampede. Bosch brushed them off with no comment and he and Chu headed to the sidewalk. They crossed First and Bosch pointed to the monolithic Times Building.

  “Tell your girlfriend she did a good job with the story in today’s paper.”

  “I told you, she’s not my girlfriend,” Chu protested. “I made a mistake with her and it’s been corrected. I didn’t read the story but whatever she got, she got without my help.”

  Bosch nodded and decided he would finally let up on Chu about it. It was behind them now.

  “So how’s your girlfriend?” Chu asked, jabbing back at Bosch.

  “My girlfriend? Uh, as soon as I meet her I’ll ask how she’s doing and let you know.”

  “Come on, Harry. You gotta go for that. I saw the look, man.”

  “Didn’t y
ou just fall in and out of the shit by allowing a work relationship to become something more than a work relationship?”

  “Your situation is something totally different.”

  Bosch’s cell buzzed and he pulled it and looked at the screen. Speak of the devil, it was Hannah Stone. Bosch pointed to the phone as he answered it so Chu would know not to say anything in background.

  “Dr. Stone?”

  “I guess that means you’re not alone.”

  There was stress in her voice.

  “No, but what’s up?”

  “Um, I don’t know if it means anything but Clayton Pell didn’t come back to the facility last night, and it turns out that he didn’t go to work when he left here after signing the statement for you.”

  Bosch stopped on the sidewalk and took a moment to compute this.

  “And he’s still not back?”

  “No, I just found out when I came in.”

  “Did you call his work?”

  “Yes, I talked to his boss. He said Clayton called in sick yesterday and never showed. But he left here right after you left. He said he was going to work.”

  “Okay, what about his PO? Was he informed last night?”

  “Not last night. I just called him before calling you. He said he hadn’t heard anything but would do some checking. Then I called you.”

  “Why did you wait until this morning? He’s gone almost twenty-four hours now.”

  “I told you; I just found out. Remember, this is a voluntary program. We have rules and everyone must abide by them when they’re here, but when someone takes off like that, there’s really very little you can do about it. You wait and see if they come back and you inform Probation and Parole that he’s left the program. But because of what happened this week and him being a witness in the case, I thought you should know.”

  “Okay, I get it. So any idea where he would have gone? Does he have friends or family around?”

  “No, he’s got nobody.”

  “Okay, I’ll make some calls. Let me know if you hear anything.”

  Bosch closed the phone and looked at Chu. An uneasy feeling was rising in his chest. He thought he might know where Pell was.

  “Clayton Pell is in the wind. He apparently took off right after we talked to him yesterday.”

  “He’s probably . . .”

  But Chu didn’t finish because he didn’t have a good answer.

  Bosch thought he did. He called the communications center and asked an operator to run the name Clayton Pell through the computer to see if he’d had any recent interaction with the justice system.

  “Okay,” the operator said. “We have a Clayton Pell arrested yesterday on a two-forty-three felony class.”

  Bosch didn’t need a translation on California Penal Code 243. Every cop knew it. Battery on a peace officer.

  “What agency?” he asked.

  “It was us. But I don’t have the details other than that he was taken into custody at the PAB.”

  Bosch had been out of the PAB for most of Tuesday running down the final details for the prosecutor, but when he’d gotten back at the end of the day he’d heard some squad room chatter about a cop having been attacked in the plaza right out front. It was completely unprovoked. The cop suffered a broken nose when the attacker stopped him to ask a question and then inexplicably head-butted him in the face. But the attacker was dismissed in the banter as a crazy and his name was never mentioned.

  Bosch now knew what had happened. Pell had made his way downtown and to the PAB with the purpose of getting arrested. This would ensure that he would be booked into the nearby Metropolitan Detention Center, where he knew Hardy was being held. Anyone arrested in downtown by the LAPD would be booked into the MDC, as opposed to any of the other city and county jails that served as regional booking locations.

  Bosch disconnected the call, then went to the recent call list on his phone and picked the number of the MDC watch office. It was the number he had called earlier to check on Hardy’s schedule.

  “What is it, Harry?” Chu asked.

  “Trouble,” Bosch said.

  His call was answered.

  “Metro Detention, Sergeant Carlyle, can I put you on—”

  “No, don’t put me on hold. This is Bosch, LAPD, we spoke a little while ago.”

  “Bosch, we’re kind of busy at the moment. I need—”

  “Listen, I think there is going to be an attempt on Chilton Hardy’s life. The guy I called about.”

  “He’s already gone, Bosch.”

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

  “We put him on the sheriff’s bus. He’s headed to the courthouse for arraignment.”

  “Who else is on the bus? Can you check a name? Clayton Pell. That’s Paul-Edward-Lincoln-Lincoln.”

  “Hold on.”

  Bosch looked at Chu and was about to update him when the watch sergeant came back on the line, unmistakable urgency in his voice.

  “Pell is on the bus with Hardy. Who is this guy, and why weren’t we informed that these two had an issue?”

  “We can talk about all of that later. Where’s the bus?”

  “How would we know? It just left.”

  “Do you know the route? Which way does it go?”

  “Uh . . . I think it’s San Pedro to First and then up to Spring. The garage is on the south side of the courthouse.”

  “Okay, get on the phone to the sheriff’s office, tell them what they’ve got and stop the bus. Keep Pell away from Hardy.”

  “If it’s not too late.”

  Bosch disconnected without reply. He turned and started back toward the PAB.

  “Harry, what’s happening?” Chu called out as he followed.

  “Pell and Hardy are on the jail bus. We have to stop it.”

  Bosch pulled his badge off his belt and held it up as he stepped into the intersection of Spring and First. He raised his hands to stop traffic and moved diagonally across the intersection. Chu followed.

  Once they were safely across, Bosch ran to a row of three black-and-whites parked in front of the PAB plaza. A uniformed cop was leaning against the front fender of the first car and busy looking at his phone. Bosch slapped his hand on the roof as he ran up. He was still holding his badge out.

  “Hey! Need your car. We’ve got an emergency.”

  Bosch opened the front passenger door and jumped in. Chu got in the back.

  The uniform jumped off the fender but didn’t go toward the driver’s side door.

  “Can’t, man, we’re waiting on the chief. He’s got a homeowner’s mee—”

  “Fuck the chief,” Bosch said.

  He saw that the officer had left the keys in the ignition and the car running. He raised his legs out of the foot well and slid into the driver’s seat, moving around the shotgun rack and the mobile computer terminal.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” the cop yelled.

  Bosch dropped the car into drive and bolted away from the curb. He reached up to hit the siren and lights and then sped down First. He went three blocks in ten seconds and then took a wide left turn onto San Pedro, keeping as much speed as he could hold on the curve.

  “There!” Chu yelled.

  A sheriff’s bus was lumbering down the street and coming toward them. Bosch realized the driver hadn’t gotten the message relayed from Carlyle at MDC. He pinned the accelerator and moved on a direct line toward the bus.

  “Harry?” Chu called out from the back. “What are you doing? That’s a bus!”

  At the last moment, Bosch hit the brakes and yanked the wheel left, bringing the car into a sideways skid and stopping it in the direct path of the bus. The bus lurched into a skid as well and came to a stop four feet from Chu’s door.

  Bosch jumped out and moved toward the front door of the bus, holding his badge high. He hammered the heel of his palm hard on the steel door.

  “LAPD! Open up. This is an emergency.”

  The door was cranked open and Bosch was looking at t
he business end of a shotgun held by a uniformed sheriff’s deputy. Behind him, the driver—also a uniformed deputy—held his sidearm aimed at Bosch as well.

  “Let’s see some ID to go with that badge.”

  “Call your dispatch. MDC put through a stop order.”

  He threw his ID case up to the driver.

  “You got a guy on there who’s going to try to take out another.”

  Bosch had no sooner said it than he heard sounds of a commotion erupt from the back of the bus, followed by shouts of encouragement.

  “Do it! Do it! Kill that motherfucker!”

  Both deputies turned back to look but froze.

  “Let me on!” Bosch yelled.

  The driver finally yelled, “Go! Go! Get in there!”

  He slapped his hand down on a red button that unlocked the cage door leading to the rear of the bus. The deputy with the shotgun went through and Bosch ran up the steps into the bus to follow.

  “Get backup!” he yelled as he passed the driver and followed the other deputy into the back.

  Almost immediately the deputy went down as he was tripped somehow by a prisoner able to extend his shackled feet into the aisle. Bosch didn’t stop. He jumped over the deputy’s back and moved farther toward the rear of the bus. The attention of every prisoner on the bus was directed to the rear right side, where Bosch saw Clayton Pell standing and leaning over the seat in front of him. He had wrapped a chain around Chilton Hardy’s neck and was strangling him from behind. Hardy’s face was purple and his eyes bugged. He could do nothing to defend himself because his wrists were shackled at his waist.

  “Pell!” Bosch yelled. “Let him go!”

  His shout was lost in the chorus of men shouting for Pell to do the opposite. Bosch took two more steps and launched his body into Pell, knocking him back from Hardy but not away. Bosch realized that Pell was cuffed to the chain that was around Hardy’s neck. It was the chain that was supposed to be around Pell’s waist.

  Bosch moved his hands toward the chain, shouting at Pell to let it go. The deputy soon recovered but couldn’t take his hands off the shotgun to help. Chu moved past him and tried to grab the chain pulled tightly against Hardy’s throat.

  “No, pull his hand,” Bosch yelled.

  Chu worked one of Pell’s hands while Bosch worked the other and they soon overpowered the smaller man. Bosch pulled the chain off Hardy’s neck and he collapsed forward, his face hitting the back of the seat in front of him before his body fell into the aisle at Chu’s feet.