Michael Connelly - A Darkness More Than Night

“Was a cause of death determined by Dr. Corazón during autopsy?”

“Yes, the cause of death was asphyxiation. She was strangled.”

“By ligature?”

“Yes.”

“Now doesn’t this contradict your theory that the death was not caused by autoerotic asphyxiation?”

“No, it confirmed it. The pose of autoerotic asphyxiation was used to cover the strangulation murder of the victim. The interior damage to both carotid arteries, to the muscular tissue of the neck and the hyoid bone, which was crushed, led Dr. Corazón to confirm that death was at the hand of another. The damage was too great to be knowingly self-inflicted.”

Bosch realized he was holding a hand to his neck as he described the injuries. He dropped it back down to his lap.

“Did the medical examiner find any independent evidence of homicide?”

He nodded.

“Yes, examination of the victim’s mouth determined that there was a deep laceration caused by biting on the tongue. Such injury is common in cases of strangulation.”

Langwiser flipped a page over on her tablet.

“Okay, Detective Bosch, let’s go back to the crime scene. Did you or your partners interview Jane Gilley?”

“Yes, I did. Along with Detective Rider.”

“From that interview were you able to ascertain where the victim had been in the twenty-four hours prior to the discovery of her death?”

“Yes, we first determined that she had met the defendant several days earlier at a coffee shop. He invited her to attend a premiere of a movie as his date on the night of October twelfth at the Chinese Theater in Hollywood. He picked her up between seven and seven-thirty that night. Ms. Gilley watched from a window in the house and identified the defendant.”

“Did Ms. Gilley know when Ms. Krementz returned that night?”

“No. Ms. Gilley left the house shortly after Ms. Krementz went on her date and spent the night elsewhere. Consequently, she did not know when her roommate returned home. It was when Ms. Gilley returned to the house at eleven A.M. on October thirteenth that she discovered Ms. Krementz’s body.”

“What was the name of the movie which was premiered the night before?”

“It was called Dead Point.”

“And who directed it?”

“David Storey.”

Langwiser waited through a long pause before looking at her watch and then up at the judge.

“Your Honor,” she said, “I am going to move into a new line of questioning now with Detective Bosch. If appropriate, this might be the best time to break for the day.”

Houghton pulled back the baggy black sleeve of his robe and looked at his watch. Bosch looked at his. It was a quarter to four.

“Okay, Ms. Langwiser, we’ll adjourn until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Houghton told Bosch he could step down from the witness stand. He then admonished the jurors not to read newspaper accounts or watch TV reports on the trial. Everyone stood as the jurors filed out. Bosch, who was now standing next to Langwiser at the prosecution table, glanced over at the defense side. David Storey was looking at him. His face betrayed no emotion at all. But Bosch thought he saw something in his pale blue eyes. He wasn’t sure but he thought it was mirth.

Bosch was the first to look away.

After the courtroom emptied, Bosch conferred with Langwiser and Kretzler about their missing witness.

“Anything yet?” Kretzler asked. “Depending on how long John Reason keeps you up there, we’re going to need her tomorrow afternoon or the next morning.”

“Nothing yet,” Bosch said. “But I’ve got something in the works. In fact, I better get going.”

“I don’t like this,” Kretzler said. “This could blow up. If she’s not coming in, there’s a reason. I’ve never been a hundred percent on her story.”

“Storey could have gotten to her,” Bosch offered.

“We need her,” Langwiser said. “It shows pattern. You have to find her.”

“I’m on it.”

He got up from the table to leave.

“Good luck, Harry,” Langwiser said. “And, by the way, so far I think you’re doing very well up there.”

Bosch nodded.

“The calm before the storm.”

On his way down the hall to the elevators Bosch was approached by one of the reporters. He didn’t know his name but he recognized him from the press seats in the courtroom.

“Detective Bosch?”

Bosch kept walking.

“Look, I’ve told everybody, I’m not commenting until the trial is over. I’m sorry. You’ll have to get -”

“No, that’s okay. I just wanted to see if you hooked up with Terry McCaleb.”

Bosch stopped and looked at the reporter.

“What do you mean?”

“Yesterday. He was looking for you here.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw him. You know Terry?”

“Yeah, I wrote a book a few years ago about the bureau. I met him then. Before he got the transplant.”

Bosch nodded and was about to move on when the reporter put out his hand.

“Jack McEvoy.”

Bosch reluctantly shook his hand. He recognized the name. Five years earlier the bureau had tracked a serial cop killer to L.A., where it was believed he was about to strike his next victim – a Hollywood homicide detective named Ed Thomas. The bureau had used information from McEvoy, a reporter for the Rocky Mountain News in Denver, to track the so-called Poet and Thomas’s life was never threatened. He was retired from the force now and running a bookshop down in Orange County.

“Hey, I remember you,” Bosch said. “Ed Thomas is a friend of mine.”

Both men appraised each other.

“You’re covering this thing?” Bosch asked, an obvious question.

“Yeah. For the New Times and Vanity Fair. I’m thinking about a book, too. So when it’s all over, maybe we can talk.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Unless you’re doing something with Terry on it.”

“With Terry? No, that was something else yesterday. No book.”

“Okay, then keep me in mind.”

McEvoy dug into his pocket for his wallet and then removed a business card.

“I mostly work out of my home in Laurel Canyon. Feel free to give me a call if you want.”

Bosch held the card up.

“Okay. I gotta go. See you around, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

Bosch walked over and pushed the button for an elevator. He looked at the card again while he waited and thought about Ed Thomas. He then put the card into the pocket of his suit jacket.

Before the elevator came he looked down the hallway and saw McEvoy was still in the hallway, now talking to Rudy Tafero, the defense’s investigator. Tafero was a big man and he was leaning forward, close to McEvoy, as if it was some sort of conspiratorial rendezvous. McEvoy was writing in a notebook.

The elevator opened and Bosch stepped on. He watched them until the doors closed.

Bosch took Laurel Canyon Boulevard over the hill and dropped down into Hollywood ahead of the evening traffic. At Sunset he took a right and pulled to the curb a few blocks into West Hollywood. He fed the meter and went into the small, drab white office building across Sunset from a strip bar. The two-story courtyard building catered to small production companies. They were small offices with small overheads. The companies lived from movie to movie. In between there was no need for opulent offices and space.

Bosch checked his watch and saw that he was right on time. It was quarter to five and the audition was set for five. He took the stairs up to the second floor and went through a door with a sign that said NUFF SAID PRODUCTIONS. It was a three-room suite, one of the biggest in the building. Bosch had been there before and knew the layout: a waiting room with a secretary’s desk, the office of Bosch’s friend, Albert “Nuff” Said, and then a conference room. A woman behind the secretary’s desk looked up at Bosch as he stepped in.