Майкл Коннелли - Two Kinds of Truth

Everyone stood in front of the screen in a semicircle to watch. On the screen José Esquivel Sr. was standing behind the counter, his fingers on the computer keyboard. A customer stood on the other side of the counter, a young woman holding a baby. There was a white prescription bag on the counter.

While the customer transaction was taking place, a man entered the store through the front door. He was wearing a black golf shirt and sunglasses and had a goatee. Bosch immediately recognized him as the man he and Lourdes had seen driving the van from the clinic to Whiteman Airport that morning. The capper. He went along two of the aisles and idly perused the shelves as if he were looking for something.

But it was clear he was waiting.

Esquivel finished his computer work and handed what appeared to be an insurance card back to the woman holding the baby. He then handed her the prescription bag and nodded as the interaction was completed. The woman turned and left the store and then the man in the black shirt stepped up to the counter.

There was no sign of José Jr. in the store. The playback was without sound, but it was clear from the body language and hand gestures that the man in black was angry and began to confront Esquivel. The pharmacist took a step back from the counter to put some space between himself and the angry visitor. The visitor first held a finger up like he was saying one more thing or one last time. He then pointed it at Esquivel’s chest and leaned across the counter to drive home the point.

That was when Esquivel apparently made a mistake. He gestured with his own hands in defense and started to say something. It appeared that he was engaging in the argument, verbally pushing back. Suddenly the visitor’s arm shot out and he grabbed Esquivel by the lapel of his lab coat. He jerked the pharmacist forward and half over the counter. He then got right in his face, their noses inches apart. Esquivel went up on his toes, his thighs braced against the edge of the counter. He instinctively raised his hands to show contrition and that he was not resisting. The visitor held him in the awkward position and continued to talk, his head jerking in a paroxysm of anger.

And then came the moment Sisto wanted everybody to see. The visitor raised his left hand and formed a gun, forefinger pointing and thumb up. He put the finger against Esquivel’s temple and pantomimed shooting him in the head, his hand even jerking back to show the recoil. He then pushed the pharmacist back over the counter and released his hold. Without another word he turned and walked through the pharmacy and out the front door. José was left disheveled and trying to pull himself together.

Sisto raised the remote to stop the playback.

“Wait,” Bosch said. “Let’s watch him.”

On the screen the pharmacist paced for a moment behind the counter. He rubbed his face with both hands and then looked up as if asking the heavens for guidance. His face was clear on the overhead camera angle, and José Esquivel Sr. seemed like a man carrying a tremendous burden. He then put his hands on the edge of the counter and leaned down.

Everything about his face and body language said What am I going to do?

Finally straightening up, he opened a drawer in the counter. He took out a pack of cigarettes and a throwaway lighter. He pushed through the half door to the back hallway and out of sight, presumably going to the back alley to smoke and calm his nerves.

“Okay,” Sisto said. “Then there’s this.”

He fast-forwarded the video playback for twenty seconds and then returned to normal play. Bosch checked the time counter as Sisto narrated.

“This is two hours later on the same day,” the young detective said. “Watch when the son comes in.”

On the screen José Sr. was standing behind the pharmacy counter, looking at the computer’s screen. His son entered the business through the front door and walked behind the pharmacy counter. As he pulled his pharmacist’s coat from a hook, José Sr. looked up from the screen and waited for his son to turn around.

An argument ensued between the father and son, with the father making pleading gestures — hands clasped together as if in prayer — and the son looking away, even shaking his head. It ended with the son removing the coat he had just put on — and days later would be murdered in — and throwing it into the air as he stormed out of the store. Once again the father was left leaning against the counter, supporting himself by both hands and shaking his head in dismay.

“He saw it coming,” Luzon said.

They all took seats at the big table to talk about what they had seen and what it meant. Lourdes looked at Harry and they exchanged nods, a silent communication that they were on the same page.

“We think we know who the guy in the black shirt and shades is,” she began.

“Who?” Trevino asked.

“He’s what they call a capper. He works for a clinic operating as a pill mill. We saw him today driving people around. People who take illegitimate prescriptions to pharmacies like the Esquivel family’s. We think the father was neck-deep in the whole thing and the son was probably trying to get them out of it.”

Trevino made a low whistling sound and told Lourdes to fill in the story. With Bosch pitching in here and there, she proceeded to bring the team up-to-date on their activities during the day, including the Whiteman angle and the visit with Edgar downtown at the Reagan Building. Trevino, Sisto, and Luzon asked few questions and seemed duly impressed by the progress Lourdes and Bosch had made on the case.

Halfway through the session, Chief Valdez entered the war room, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the end of the table. Trevino asked if he wanted Bosch and Lourdes to start at the top and Valdez demurred, saying he was just trying to catch some of the update.

When Lourdes concluded her report, Bosch asked Sisto if he could put a freeze-frame of the capper on the screen next to a freeze-frame of the killers in the pharmacy. It took Sisto a few minutes to accomplish this and then everyone stood in front of the screens to compare the man who had threatened José Esquivel Sr. to the men who had killed him and his son. The conclusion based on body size was unanimous: neither of the killers was the man who had threatened José Sr. Additionally, Lourdes noted, the capper had used his left hand to pantomime shooting José Sr., while the two shooters had held their weapons in their right hands.

“So,” Trevino said. “Next moves?”

Bosch held back, letting Lourdes take the lead, but she hesitated.

“Search warrant,” Bosch said.

“For what?” Trevino asked.

Bosch pointed to the man in black on the video screen.

“My read is that he threatened to kill Esquivel and then those two guys were brought in to actually do the job,” he said, pointing to the second screen. “What we’re hearing is that this organization is operating south of here and uses planes to move people around. We get a search warrant to look at video at Whiteman going back maybe twenty-four hours from our shooting. We see if they flew the shooters in.”

The police chief nodded and that made Trevino follow suit.

“I’ll write the warrant,” Lourdes said. “We can take it over there tonight before O’Connor leaves.”

“Okay,” Bosch said. “Meantime, I’ll try to make contact with Edgar’s guy at the DEA. Maybe they already have a line on our shooters.”

“Can we trust the DEA with this?” Valdez asked.

“The medical board guy happens to be my old partner,” Bosch said. “He vouched for the guy, so I think we’re good.”

“Good,” the chief said. “Then let’s do it.”

After the meeting ended, Bosch walked out to the parking lot before heading over to his desk in the old jail. He grabbed the copy of the Skyler case file out of his car and carried it with him across the street. It was time to go back to work on it.