Michael Connelly: The Drop

“One-four-nine-two.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do those numbers mean anything to you? One-four-nine-two — fourteen ninety-two?

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

She seemed genuinely confused. Bosch had meant to keep her off balance by asking questions in a nonsequential manner.

“Your husband’s property — his wallet and phone and wedding ring — were in the hotel safe. That was the combination that was entered to lock it. Is there any significance to those numbers to your husband or you?”

“I can’t think of any.”

“Okay. Did your husband have a familiarity with the Chateau Marmont? Had he stayed there before?”

“We had been there before together, but like I said, I didn’t really know where he went when he went on his drives. He could’ve been going there. I don’t know.”

Bosch nodded.

“How would you describe your husband’s state of mind when you last saw him?”

She thought for a long moment before shrugging and saying that her husband seemed normal, not burdened or upset as far as she could tell.

“How would you describe the state of your marriage?”

She dropped her eyes to the floor for a moment before bringing them up to his.

“We would have reached our twentieth anniversary in January. Twenty years is a long time. A lot of highs and lows but many more highs than lows.”

Bosch noted that she did not answer the question he had asked.

“What about right now? Were you in a high or a low?”

She paused a long moment before answering.

“Our son — our only child — left in August for college. It has been a difficult adjustment.”

“Empty nest syndrome,” Chu said.

Both Bosch and Deborah Irving looked at him but he added nothing else and looked a little foolish for interrupting.

“What day in January was your anniversary?” Bosch asked.

“The fourth.”

“So you were married on January fourth, nineteen ninety-two?”

“Oh, my god!”

She brought her hands to her mouth in embarrassment over not recognizing the hotel room safe combination. Tears rolled out of her eyes and she pulled tissues from the box.

“How stupid of me! You must think I’m a complete—”

“It’s okay,” Bosch offered. “I said it like a year, not a full date. Do you know if he used that number as a combination or password before?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“ATM password?”

“No we used our son’s birthday — five-two-ninety-three.”

“What about on his cell phone?”

“That’s Chad’s birthday, too. I’ve used George’s phone.”

Bosch wrote the new date down in his notebook. The cell phone had been logged into evidence by the SID team and was on its way downtown. He would be able to unlock it and access its call records at the PAB. He had to consider what this meant. On the one hand, use of the Irving’s anniversary date tended to indicate that it had been George Irving who had set the combination on the room safe. But a wedding date could be found in court records with a computer. Once again it was information that did not exclude either suicide or murder.

He decided to move in a new direction again.

“Deborah, what exactly did your husband do for a living?”

She responded with a more detailed version of what Irvin Irving had already told him. George had followed in his father’s footsteps, joining the LAPD at twenty-one. But after five years in patrol he left the department for law school. After earning his JD, he went to work for the City Attorney’s Office in the contracts department. That was where he stayed until his father ran for city council and won. George quit working for the city and opened up shop as a consultant for hire, using his experience and connections to his father and others in local government and bureaucracy to give his clients access to the halls of power.

George Irving had a wide range of clients, including towing firms, taxi licensees, concrete suppliers, building contractors, city office cleaners and code-enforcement litigators. He was a man who could plant the request in the right ear at the right time. If you wanted to do business with the city of Los Angeles, a man like George Irving was the one to see. He had an office in the shadow of City Hall, but the office was not where the work was done. Irving roamed the administrative wings and council offices of City Hall. That was where his work was done.

The widow Irving reported that her husband’s work brought them a very nice living. The house in which they sat was valued at more than $1 million, even factoring in the downturn in the economy. The work also had the propensity to bring him enemies. Unhappy clients, or those competing for the same contracts as his clients — George Irving didn’t operate in a world above contention.

“Did he ever speak about any business or person in particular being upset with him or holding a grudge?”

“No one that he spoke to me about. He has an office manager, though. I guess I should say he did have an office manager. She would probably know more about this area than I would. George didn’t share a lot of that with me. He didn’t want me to worry about it.”

“What is her name?”

“Dana Rosen. She’s been with him a long time — going back to the City Attorney’s Office.”

“Have you spoken with her today?”

“Yes, but not since I learned. .”

“You spoke with her before learning your husband was deceased?”

“Yes, when I got up I realized he had not come home last night. He wasn’t answering his cell, so at eight o’clock I called the office and talked to Dana to see if she had seen him yet. She said no.”

“Did you call her back after you learned of your husband’s death?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Bosch wondered if there was a problem or jealousy between the two women. Could Dana Rosen be the woman Deborah thought her husband took drives at night to meet?

He wrote the name down and then closed his notebook. He thought he had plenty to start with. He hadn’t covered all the details but this was not the time for a long Q&A session. He was confident that he would be coming back to Deborah Irving. He stood up and Chu followed suit.

“I think this is enough for now, Deborah. We know it is a difficult time and you want to be with family. Have you told your son?”

“No, Dad did. He called him. Chad’s flying down tonight.”

“Where’s he going to school?”

“USF — the University of San Francisco.”

Bosch nodded. He had been hearing about the school because his daughter was already thinking about the next level of education and had mentioned it as a possibility. He also remembered that it was where Bill Russell had played college ball.

Harry knew he would want to talk to the son but didn’t mention it to Deborah. There was no need to have her thinking about it.

“What about friends?” he asked.

“Was he close to anyone?”

“Not really. He really only had one close friend and they hadn’t seen much of each other lately.”

“Who was that?”

“His name is Bobby Mason. They knew each other since the police academy.”

“Is Bobby Mason still a cop?”

“Yes.”

“Why hadn’t they seen each other lately?”

“I don’t know. They just hadn’t, I guess. I’m sure it was just a temporary lull in the relationship. I assume that’s the way men are.”

Bosch wasn’t sure what her last words were meant to convey about men. He didn’t have anyone in his life he would consider a best friend but he always thought he was different. That most men had male friends, even best friends. He wrote Mason’s name down, then gave Deborah Irving a business card with his cell phone number on it and invited her to call anytime. He said he would be in touch as the investigation progressed.