Michael Connelly: The Drop

“Sure.”

Bosch turned forward again and dropped the car into drive. He made a U-turn and headed back to Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Chu desperately tried to change the subject.

“Was there anything on the call logs worth looking at?”

“No calls coming in. Irving called down to the garage about midnight and that was it.”

“What was that about?”

“We have to talk to the midnight man — he got out of there before we could hold him. They keep a log in the office down there and it says Irving called to ask him to see if he left his phone in his car. We found the phone in the safe, so either Irving was mistaken or the phone was left in the car and brought up to his room.”

They were silent for a moment as they considered the call to the garage. Finally, Chu spoke.

“Did you check out the car?”

“I did. There was nothing there.”

“Damn. I guess that would have made it easier, if there had been a note or something.”

“Yeah. But there wasn’t.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

They rode the rest of the way to George Irving’s home in silence.

When they got to the address that was on their victim’s driver’s license, Bosch saw a familiar Lincoln Town Car parked at the curb. The same two men were in the front. It meant Councilman Irving was on the premises. Bosch got ready for another face-to-face with the enemy.

Councilman Irving answered the door of his son’s home. He opened it just as wide as his own body, and it was clear before he said anything that he did not want to allow Bosch and Chu admittance.

“Councilman,” Bosch said, “we’d like to ask your son’s wife a few questions.”

“Deborah’s taken this very hard, Detective. It would be better if you could come back at another time.”

Bosch looked around on the doorstep, even glanced behind him and down at Chu on the lower step, before turning back to Irving and answering.

“We’re conducting an investigation, Councilman. Her interview is important and we can’t put it off.”

They stared at each other, neither yielding.

“You asked for me and you told me to proceed with urgency,” Bosch finally said. “This is what I’m doing. Are you going to let us come in or not?”

Irving relented and stepped back, opening the door wider. Bosch and Chu entered a vestibule with a table for dropping off keys and packages.

“What did you learn from the crime scene?” Irving said quickly.

Bosch hesitated, not sure whether to discuss the case with him this soon.

“So far not a lot. A case like this, a lot will ride on the autopsy.”

“When will that be?”

“It hasn’t been scheduled.”

Bosch checked his watch.

“Your son’s body only got to the morgue a couple hours ago.”

“Well, I hope you insisted that they schedule it quickly.”

Bosch tried to smile but it didn’t work out that way.

“Can you take us to your daughter-in-law now?”

“So that means you did not insist on any urgency.”

Bosch looked over Irving’s shoulder and saw the room opened into a larger room with a winding staircase. There was no sign of anyone else in the house.

“Councilman, don’t tell me how to run the investigation. If you want to take me off it, then fine, call the chief and have me pulled. But as long as I’m on the case, then I’m going to run the investigation the way I see best.”

Irving backed off.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll go get Deborah. Why don’t you and your partner wait in the living room.”

He led them into the house and directed them to the living room. He then disappeared. Bosch looked at Chu and shook his head at the same moment Chu was about to ask a question that Harry knew was going to be about Irving’s meddling in the investigation.

Chu held his tongue and just then Irving returned, leading a stunningly beautiful blond woman into the room. Bosch guessed she was in her midforties. She was tall and thin but not too tall and thin. She looked grief stricken but that didn’t take much away from the beauty of a woman who was aging as gracefully as a fine wine. Irving led her by the arm to a seat across a coffee table from a couch. Bosch moved into the seating arrangement but did not sit down. He waited to see what move Irving made, and when it became clear the councilman planned on staying for the interview, Harry objected.

“We’re here to talk to Mrs. Irving and we need to do that alone,” he said.

“My daughter-in-law wants me to be with her at this time,” Irving responded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s fine. If you can be here somewhere in the house in case she needs you, that will be most helpful. But I need you to allow us to talk with Mrs. Irving alone.”

“Dad, it’s okay,” Deborah Irving said, defusing the situation. “I’ll be fine. Why don’t you make yourself something to eat in the kitchen?”

Irving looked at Bosch for a long moment, probably second-guessing his demand that Harry be put on the case.

“Just call if you need me,” he said.

Irving then left the room and Bosch and Chu sat down, Harry making their introductions.

“Mrs. Irving, I want—”

“You can call me Deborah.”

“Deborah, then. We want you to know that you have our condolences for the loss of your husband. We also appreciate your willingness to talk to us at this difficult time.”

“Thank you, Detective. I am more than willing to talk. It’s just that I don’t think I have any answers for you and the shock of this is more than. .”

She looked around and Bosch knew what she was looking for. The tears were coming again. Harry signaled to Chu.

“Find her some tissues. Check the bathroom.”

Chu got up. Bosch intently watched the woman across from him, looking for signs of genuine emotion and loss.

“I don’t know why he would have done this,” she said.

“Why don’t we start with the easy questions? The ones where there are answers. Why don’t you tell me when you last saw your husband?”

“Last night. He left the house after dinner and didn’t come back.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No, he said he needed air, that he was going to put the top down and take a drive up on Mulholland. He told me not to wait up for him. I didn’t.”

Bosch waited but nothing else came.

“Was that unusual, him going out for a drive like that?”

“He had been doing it a lot lately. I didn’t think he was really out driving, though.”

“You mean he was doing something else?”

“Connect the dots, Lieutenant.”

“I’m a detective, not a lieutenant. Why don’t you connect the dots for me, Deborah. Do you know what your husband was doing?”

“No, I don’t. I’m just telling you that I didn’t think he was just riding around on Mulholland. I thought he was probably meeting someone.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“No. I was going to but I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was just waiting.”

Chu came back with a box of tissues and handed it to her. But the moment had passed and her eyes looked cold and hard now. Even so, she was beautiful, and Bosch found it hard to believe a husband would take to late-night drives when the woman waiting at home was Deborah Irving.

“Let’s go back a second. You said he left after you two had dinner. Was that at home or had you been out?”

“We were home. Neither of us was very hungry. We just had sandwiches.”

“Do you remember what time dinner was?”

“It would’ve been about seven thirty. He left at eight thirty.”

Bosch took out his notebook and wrote a few things down about what had been said so far. He remembered that Solomon and Glanville had reported that someone — presumably George Irving — had made the reservation at the Chateau at eight fifty, twenty minutes after Deborah said her husband had left their home.