Michael Connelly - The Drop

“I guess we’re not having dinner,” he said.

“Why not? Your daughter?”

“No, she’s at her friend’s. But I just thought. . I mean, I’m fine to have dinner. I just need to take my partner to his car in Studio City. You still want to meet at the restaurant?”

“Sure, but let’s not wait till eight. After that ride. . I think I’m finished for the day.”

“All right. I’ll drop Chu off and then head over there and meet you. That okay or do you want me to come back here?”

“No, I’ll meet you there. Perfect.”

They got into the restaurant more than a half hour before their reservation time and were given a quiet booth in a back room near a fireplace. They ordered pastas and a Chianti Hannah chose. Through the dinner the food was good and the talk small — until Stone put Bosch directly on the spot.

“Harry, why couldn’t you comfort Clayton in the car today? I saw you. You couldn’t touch him.”

Bosch took a long drink of wine before attempting an answer.

“I just didn’t think he wanted to be touched. He was upset.”

She shook her head.

“No, Harry, I saw. And I need to know why a man like you could not have any sympathy for a man like him. I need to know that before I could. . before anything could move forward between you and me.”

Bosch looked down at his plate. He put his fork down. He felt tense. He had met this woman only two days ago yet he couldn’t deny his attraction to her or that some sort of connection had been established. He didn’t want to spoil this chance but he didn’t know what to say.

“Life is too short, Harry,” she said. “I can’t waste my time and I can’t be with someone who doesn’t understand what I do and have a basic human compassion for people who are victims.”

He finally found his voice.

“I have compassion. My job is to speak for victims like Lily Price. But what about Pell’s victims? He’s damaged people as badly as he has been damaged. Am I supposed to pat him on the back and say, There, there, it’s going to be okay? It’s not okay now and it’s never going to be okay. And the thing is, he knows it.”

He made an open-palms gesture, as if to say, This is me, this is the truth.

“Harry, do you believe there is evil in the world?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have a job if there wasn’t.”

“Where does it come from?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your job. You confront evil almost every day. Where does it come from? How do people become evil? Is it in the air? Do you catch it like you catch a cold?”

“Don’t patronize me. It’s a little more complicated than that. You know that.”

“I’m not patronizing you. I am trying to figure out how you think so that I can make a decision. I like you, Harry. A lot. Everything I’ve seen I like except what you did in the backseat of that car today. I don’t want to start something only to find out I was wrong about you.”

“So what’s this, like a job interview?”

“No. It’s me trying to get to know you.”

“It’s too much like those speed-dating things they have. You want to know everything before anything even happens. There’s something else here you’re not telling me.”

She didn’t respond right away and that told Bosch he had hit on something.

“Hannah, what is it?”

She ignored his question and insisted on her own.

“Harry, where does evil come from?”

Bosch laughed and shook his head.

“This is not what people talk about when they are trying to get to know each other. Why do you care what I think about that?”

“Because I just do. What’s your answer?”

He could see the seriousness in her eyes. This was important to her.

“Look, all I can tell you is that nobody knows where it comes from, okay? It’s just out there and it is responsible for truly awful things. And my job is to find it and take it out of the world. I don’t need to know where it comes from to do that.”

She composed her thoughts before responding.

“Well said, Harry, but not good enough. You’ve been at this for a long time. From time to time you must have thought about where the darkness in people comes from. How does the heart turn black?”

“Is this the nature-versus-nurture discussion? Because I—”

“Yes, it is. How do you vote?”

Bosch wanted to smile but somehow knew it would not be received well.

“I don’t vote because it doesn’t—”

“No, you have to vote. You really do. I want to know.”

She was leaning across the table, talking to him in an urgent whisper. She leaned back as the waiter came to the table and started to clear their plates. Bosch welcomed the interruption because it gave him time to think. They ordered coffee but no dessert. Once the waiter was gone, it was time.

“Okay, what I think is that certainly evil can be nurtured. No doubt that is what happened with Clayton Pell. But for every Pell who acts out and damages somebody, there is someone who has had the exact same childhood who never acts out and never hurts anybody. So there is something else. Another part to the equation. Are people born with something that lies dormant and comes to the surface only under certain circumstances? I don’t know, Hannah. I really don’t. And I don’t think anybody else does either. Not for sure. We only have theories, and none of it really matters in the long run because it is not going to stop the damage.”

“You mean my work is useless?”

“No, but your work — like mine — comes into play after the damage is done. Sure, your efforts will hopefully prevent a lot of these people from going out and doing it again. I do believe that and I told you so the other night. But how is it going to identify and stop the individual who has never acted out or broken a law or done anything before that warns of what’s to come? Why are we even talking about this, Hannah? Tell me what you’re not telling me.”

The waiter came back with the coffee. Hannah told him to bring their check. Bosch took this as a bad sign. She wanted to get away from him. She wanted to go.

“So that’s it. We get the check and you run away without answering the question?”

“No, Harry, that’s not it. I asked for the check because I want you to take me home with you now. But there is something you need to know about me first.”

“Then tell me.”

“I have a son, Harry.”

“I know. You said he’s up in the Bay Area.”

“Yes, I go up there to visit him in prison. He’s in San Quentin.”

Bosch couldn’t say he hadn’t expected a secret like this. But he hadn’t expected it to be her son. Maybe a former husband or partner. But not her son.

“I’m sorry, Hannah.”

It was all he could think to say. She shook her head as if to ward off his sympathy.

“He did something terrible,” she said. “Something evil. And to this day I can’t fathom where it came from or why.”

Holding the bottle of wine under his arm, Bosch unlocked the front door and held it open for her. He was acting calm but he wasn’t. They had talked about her son for almost another hour. Bosch had mostly listened. But in the end all he could do was once more offer her sympathy. Are parents responsible for the sins of their children? Often yes but not always. She was the therapist. She knew that better than he.

He hit the light switch next to the door.

“Why don’t we have a glass on the back deck?” he said.

“That sounds lovely,” she said.

He walked her through the living room to the sliding door to the deck.

“This is a great place, Harry. How long have you lived here?”

“I guess it’s almost twenty-five years. It just hasn’t seemed that long. I rebuilt it once. After the earthquake in ’ninety-four.”