Michael Connelly: The Drop

He didn’t mind the three-block walk to and from work. It was right through the heart of the civic center and a good length for prepping for the day ahead or decompressing after it.

Bosch was on Main Street, crossing behind City Hall, when he noticed the black Town Car cruise quietly up in the bus lane and stop at the curb twenty feet in front of him.

Even as he saw the rear window glide down, he acted like he had not noticed and kept walking, his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him.

“Detective Bosch.”

Bosch turned to see Irvin Irving’s face framed in the open rear window of the Lincoln.

“I don’t think we have anything to say to each other, Councilman.”

He kept walking and soon enough the Town Car pulled forward and started moving next to him, matching his speed. Bosch might not have wanted to talk to Irving but Irving certainly wanted to talk to him.

“You think you’re bulletproof, Bosch?”

Bosch waved him off.

“You think this big case you just scored makes you bulletproof? You’re not bulletproof. Nobody is.”

Bosch had had enough. He suddenly veered toward the car. Irving pulled back from the window as Bosch put his hands on the sill and leaned in. The car came to a slow stop. Irving was alone in the backseat.

“I had nothing to do with that story in the paper yesterday, okay? I don’t think I’m bulletproof. I don’t think I’m anything. I was doing my job, that’s all.”

“You blew it, that’s what you did.”

“I didn’t blow anything. I told you I had nothing to do with it. You have a problem, go talk to the chief.”

“I’m not talking about a newspaper article. I don’t give a good goddamn about the L.A. Times . Fuck them. I’m talking about you. You blew it, Bosch. I counted on you and you blew it.”

Bosch nodded and dropped down to his haunches, still holding on to the car’s windowsill.

“Actually, I got the case right and you and I both know it. Your son jumped, and more than anybody, you know why. The only mystery left is why you asked for me. You know my history. I don’t lie down on cases.”

“You fool. I wanted you for exactly that reason. Because I knew that if they got even the slimmest chance, they would turn this into a play on me, and I thought you would have enough integrity to stand up against it. I didn’t realize you had your nose so far up your former partner’s ass that you couldn’t see the setup she was running.”

Bosch laughed and shook his head as he stood up.

“You’re good, Councilman. The right outrage, judicious use of off-color language, the planting of seeds of distrust and paranoia. You might be able to convince somebody with all of that. But not me. Your son jumped and that’s all there is to it. I feel bad for you and his wife. But the one I feel most sorry for is his son. He didn’t deserve this.”

Bosch stared down at Irving and watched the old man attempt to modulate his rage.

“I have something here for you, Bosch.”

He turned away to reach across the seat and Bosch had a fleeting thought of Irving turning back and pointing a gun at him. He thought Irving’s ego and arrogance were such that he could actually bring himself to do it and believe he could get away with it.

But when Irving turned back, he proffered a piece of paper through the window.

“What is it?” Bosch asked.

“It’s the truth,” Irving said. “Take it.”

Bosch snapped the document out of his hand and looked at it. It was a photocopy of a phone message form dated May 24 and addressed at the top to someone named Tony. There was a return number with a 323 area code and a handwritten message that read, Gloria Waldron complained that she got into a B&W cab at Musso-Frank last night and driver was obviously drunk. She had him pull over so she could get out. Could smell alcohol in the cab, etc. Please call for follow up .

Bosch looked from the photocopy back to Irving.

“What am I supposed to do with this? You could’ve written it up this morning.

“I could have but I didn’t.”

“So what happens if I call this number? This Gloria Waldron swears to me she called in this complaint and then you happened to mention it to Bobby Mason at Chad Irving’s party? It doesn’t wash, Councilman.”

“I know it doesn’t. It’s a dead line. Now. My community outreach officer Tony Esperante remembers calling her and getting the details. And I passed them on to Mason. But the line is disconnected now and look at the date, Detective.”

“I did. May twenty-fourth. What’s it mean?”

“May twenty-fourth was a Tuesday. She said she got into the cab at Musso’s the night before.”

Bosch nodded.

“Musso’s is closed Mondays,” he said. “The call — if there was a call — was bogus.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you trying to tell me you were set up, Councilman? By your own son? That you innocently passed information on to Mason without knowing you were doing your son’s bidding?”

“Not by my son, but by someone.”

Bosch held up the photocopy.

“And this, this is your proof?”

“I don’t need proof. I know. Now you do, too. I was used by someone I trusted. I admit that. But so were you. Up there on the tenth floor. You gave them the means to take the shot at me. They used you to get to me.”

“Well, that’s an opinion.”

“No, it’s the truth. And someday you’ll know it. You watch, they’ll come to you at some point and you’ll see it. You’ll know.”

Bosch handed the photocopy back but Irving didn’t take it.

“You keep it. You’re the detective.”

Irving turned and said something to his driver and the Town Car started to pull away from the curb. Bosch watched the smoked window glide up into place as the car moved back into the traffic lane. He stood there for a long moment, considering what had been said. He folded the photocopy and put it in his pocket.

It was almost 11:30 by the time Bosch and Chu got to the Buena Vista apartments on Tuesday morning. Bosch had called ahead and talked to Hannah Stone. She told him Clayton Pell was scheduled to report to work at the market at noon but she agreed to hold him at the facility until the detectives arrived.

At the front gate they were buzzed through without delay. Stone came to greet them in the entranceway. It was awkward because Bosch was with his partner and it was all business. He extended his hand and they shook. Chu did the same.

“Okay, we have you set up in one of the interview rooms, if that’s all right.”

“That’s perfect,” Bosch said.

He had talked to her on the phone for more than an hour the evening before. It was late, after his daughter had gone to bed. Bosch had been too keyed up from the day’s events to sleep. He had called Hannah and sat on the deck with the phone until close to midnight. They talked about many things but mostly the Hardy case. She was now more informed than anyone who had watched the news or read the Los Angeles Times .

Stone led Bosch and Chu into a small room with two stuffed chairs and a couch.

“I’ll go get him,” she said. “Should I sit in again?”

Bosch nodded.

“If it will make him more comfortable and get him to sign the document.”

“I’ll ask him.”

She left them there and Chu looked at Bosch with raised eyebrows.

“When I interviewed him last week, he would only talk to me if she was in the room,” Bosch said. “He trusts her. He doesn’t trust cops.”

“Got it. And by the way, Harry, I think she digs you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The way she was looking at you with that smile. I’m just saying. I think it’s there if you want it.”