Michael Connelly - The Drop

“You’re working the Chateau case with Irvin Irving’s kid, right?”

It sounded odd to Bosch to call George Irving a kid.

“That’s right.”

“What kind of arrests are we talking about?”

“Three deuces.”

“What do three deuces have to do with the Chateau?”

Bosch was silent for a moment, hoping the hesitation would send a message to Witcomb that he was seeking information, not looking to distribute it.

“It’s just an angle,” he finally said. “What have you heard about Mason? Is he doing okay?”

Bosch was largely talking in code, trying to find out if Mason had a reputation one way or the other in terms of being bent or corrupt in any way.

“What I heard was that he was upset yesterday,” Witcomb said.

“About what?”

“About the Chateau. I guess he was old pals with the councilman’s son. I heard they were in the same academy class, even.”

Bosch moved his car into the exit lane for Lankershim Boulevard. The plan was to pick up Chu in the commuter lot next to the Metrolink station in Studio City.

He played it cool with Witcomb, not wanting to reveal the importance of things.

“Yeah, I heard they knew each other back then,” he said.

“Looks that way,” Witcomb said. “But that’s all I know, Harry. Like I said, Mason’s nights and I’m days. Speaking of which, I’m just about out of here. You got anything else?”

This was Witcomb’s way of saying he didn’t want to get further involved in discussions about a fellow cop. Bosch didn’t really blame him.

“Yeah, you know which basic Mason usually works?”

Hollywood Division was geographically broken into eight basic car areas or patrol zones.

“I can look it up here pretty quick. I’m in the watch office.”

Bosch waited and Witcomb quickly came back.

“This deployment he’s in six-Adam-sixty-five so I’d say that’s where he usually works.”

A deployment period was twenty-eight days. The first “six” was for the Hollywood Division designation. “Adam” referred to his patrol unit and “sixty-five” was his zone. Bosch couldn’t remember the geographic delineations in Hollywood Division but he took a flyer.

“Sixty-five, is that the La Brea corridor?”

“You got it, Harry.”

Bosch asked Witcomb to keep their conversation private, thanked him and ended the call.

Harry considered things and saw that Irvin Irving had an out. If Mason was pulling over B&W drivers in an effort to help tilt the franchise toward Regent, then he could have been doing it solely at the request of his former friend and academy classmate, George Irving. It would be hard to prove that Councilman Irvin Irving had anything to do with it.

Bosch pulled into the commuter lot and circled, looking for his partner. When it became apparent that he had arrived ahead of Chu, he pulled to a stop in the main lane and waited. Palm on the wheel, he drummed his fingers on the dashboard and realized he was disappointed by the acknowledgment that Irvin Irving’s actions might not have precipitated his son’s death. If the councilman were ever accused of selling his influence on the taxi franchise decision, Bosch had already found the makings of reasonable doubt. Irving could argue that the whole scheme was cooked up and carried out by his dead son, and Bosch didn’t think he would be above doing that.

He lowered the car window to let in some fresh air. To rid himself of his unease he jumped over to the other case and started thinking about Clayton Pell and how they were going to handle him. He then thought about Chilton Hardy and realized that he did not want to put off possibly getting a look at the man who was the ultimate target of the Lily Price investigation.

The passenger door opened and Chu slipped into the seat. Bosch had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had not seen him enter the lot in his Miata and park.

“Okay, Harry.”

“Okay. Hey, I changed my mind about going to Woodland Hills. I want to ski Hardy’s place, maybe even get a look at him if we’re lucky.”

“‘Ski’?”

“As in schematic . I want to see the lay of the land for when we do come back for real. We’ll do that and then go see Pell. That all right with you?”

“I’m good.”

Bosch left the lot and drove back to the 101. Traffic was heavy going west to Woodland Hills. Twenty minutes later he exited on Topanga Canyon Boulevard and headed north.

The DMV address for Chilton Hardy was a two-story apartment building a half mile north of the big mall that anchored the West Valley. The apartment complex was large, running from sidewalk to back alley with an underground parking garage. After driving by it front and back, Bosch parked at the curb out front and he and Chu got out. Assessing the address, Bosch was struck by a familiarity he couldn’t place. The complex had gray siding and white trim for a Cape Cod look, with navy-and-white-striped awnings over the windows on the front side.

“You recognize this place?” Bosch asked.

Chu studied the building for a moment.

“No. Should I?”

Bosch didn’t answer. He walked to the security gate, where there was a call box. The names of the building’s forty-eight tenants were listed along with their apartment numbers. Bosch scanned the list and didn’t see Chilton Hardy’s name. According to the DMV computer, Hardy was supposed to be living in apartment 23. The name next to 23 was Phillips. Again, Bosch was hit with a feeling of déjà vu. Had he been here before?

“What do you think?” Chu asked.

“When was the driver’s license issued?”

“Two years ago. He could’ve been here then. He could’ve come and gone.”

“Or never been here.”

“Yeah, he picks a random address to hide his trail.”

“Maybe not so random.”

Bosch turned around and looked about as he considered whether to risk exploring this further and possibly alerting Hardy — if he was here — that he had drawn the attention of the police. He saw the sign planted near the curb.

ARCADE LUXURY APARTMENTS

APT. FOR RENT

TWO BEDROOM/TWO BATH

FIRST MONTH FREE

INQUIRE WITHIN

Bosch decided he would not call apartment 23 yet. Instead, he punched the number 1 into the call box. It was listed as Manager.

“Yes?”

“We’re here to look at the apartment for rent.”

“You must have appointment.”

Bosch looked at the call box and for the first time saw the camera lens next to the speaker. He realized the manager was probably looking at him and didn’t like the vibe he was getting.

“We’re here now. Do you want to rent it or not?”

“Must have appointment. Sorry.”

Fuck it, Bosch thought.

“Open up. It’s the police.”

He pulled his badge and held it up to the camera. A moment later the security gate buzzed and Bosch pushed through.

The gate led to a central area where there was a bank of mailboxes and a bulletin board with notices about the complex. Almost immediately they were approached by a small, dark man of what appeared to be South Asian descent.

“Police,” he said. “How can I do for you?”

Bosch identified himself and Chu and the man introduced himself as Irfan Khan and said he was the manager. Bosch told him they were conducting an investigation in the area and were looking for a man who may have been the victim of a crime.

“What crime?” Khan asked.

“We can’t tell you that at the moment,” Bosch said. “We need to simply know if this is where the man lives.”

“What is name?”

“Chilton Hardy. He may use the name Chill.”

“No, not here.”