Michael Connelly - Angels Flight

“That’s the password. V-S-L-A-P-D. As in Elias versus the LAPD.”

“How do you know that?”

“The secretary wrote it down on the underside of her blotter. Guess she’s got to use the computer, too.”

Bosch studied Chastain for a moment.

“Harry?” Rider said. “Should I?”

“Give it a shot,” Bosch said, still looking at Chastain. He then turned and watched as his partner typed in the password. The hourglass blinked on and then the screen changed and icon symbols began appearing on a field of blue sky and white clouds.

“We’re in,” Rider said.

Bosch glanced back at Chastain.

“Good one.”

He then looked back at the screen and watched as Rider hit keys and maneuvered through the icons, files and programs, all of it meaning little to Bosch and reminding him that he was an anachronism.

“You really ought to learn this stuff, Harry,” Rider said, seeming to know his thoughts. “It’s easier than it looks.”

“Why should I when I’ve got you? What are you doing anyway?”

“Just having a look around. We’ll have to talk to Janis about this. There are a lot of file names corresponding with cases. I don’t know if we should open them before – ”

“Don’t worry about it for now,” Bosch interjected. “Can you get on the Internet?”

Rider made a few more moves with the mouse and then typed the user name and password into blanks on the screen.

“I’m running lawyerlink,” she said. “Hopefully the same passwords work and we’ll be able to go to that naked lady’s web page.”

“What naked lady?” Chastain said.

Bosch picked the file off the desk and handed it unopened to Chastain. He opened it, glanced at the photo and smirked.

Bosch looked back at the screen. Rider was on lawyerlink, using Elias’s user name.

“What’s that address?”

Chastain read it off to her as she typed. She then hit the enter key and they waited.

“What this is is a singular web page address within a larger web site,” she said. “What we’ll get here is the Gina page.”

“You mean that’s her name? Gina?”

“Looks like it.”

As she said this the photo from the printout appeared on the screen. Beneath it was information on what the woman in the photo provided and how to contact her.

I am Mistress Regina. I am a lifestyle dominatrix providing elaborate bondage, humiliation, forced feminization, slave training and golden blessings. Other torments available upon request. Call me now.

Below the block of information there was a phone number, a pager number and an E-mail address. Bosch wrote these down in a notebook he took from his pocket. He then looked back at the screen and saw there was also a blue button with the letter A on it. He was about to ask Rider what the button meant when Chastain made a disdainful sound with his mouth. Bosch turned and looked at him and the Internal Affairs man shook his head.

“The bastard was probably getting his rocks off on his knees with this broad,” Chastain said. “I wonder if Reverend Tuggins and his pals down at the SCCA knew about that.”

He was referring to an organization called the South Central Churches Association, a group which Tuggins headed and which always seemed to be at Elias’s beck and call when he needed to show the media an image of South Central outrage in regard to alleged police misconduct.

“We don’t know that he ever even met the woman yet, Chastain,” Bosch said.

“Oh, he met her. Why else did he have this laying around? I tell you, Bosch, if Elias was into rough trade like that, there’s no telling where that could’ve led. It’s a righteous avenue of investigation and you know it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be checking everything out.”

“You’re damn right we will.”

“Uh,” Rider said, interrupting. “There’s an audio button.”

Bosch looked at the screen. Rider had the arrow poised over the blue button.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I think we can actually hear Mistress Regina.”

She clicked the arrow on the button. The computer then downloaded an audio program and started playing it. A dark and heavy voice came from the computer’s speaker.

“This is Mistress Regina. If you come to me I will find the secret of your soul. Together, we will reveal the true subservience through which you will know your rightful identity and attain the release you can find nowhere else. I will mold you into my own. I will own you. I am waiting. Call me now.”

They were all silent for a long moment. Bosch looked at Chastain.

“Does it sound like her?”

“Like who?”

“The woman on tape at the apartment.”

Chastain suddenly realized the possibility and was silent as he thought about this.

“What tape?” Rider asked.

“Can you play it again?” Bosch asked.

Rider clicked the audio button again and asked about the tape once more. Bosch waited until the replay was over.

“A woman left a message on the phone at Elias’s apartment. It wasn’t his wife. But I don’t think it was this voice either.”

He looked at Chastain once more.

“I don’t know,” Chastain said. “Could be. We’ll be able to do a comparison in the lab if we need to.”

Bosch hesitated, studying Chastain for any indication that he knew the phone message had been erased. He saw nothing.

“What?” Chastain said, uneasy under Bosch’s stare.

“Nothing,” Bosch said.

He turned back and looked at the computer screen.

“You said this was part of a larger web site,” he said to Rider. “Can we look at that?”

Rider didn’t answer. She just went to work on the keyboard. In a few moments the screen changed and they were looking at a graphic which showed a woman’s stocking-clad leg bent at the knee and reaching across the screen. Below this it said:

WELCOME TO GIRLAWHIRL, a directory of intimate, sensual and erotic services in Southern California

Below this was a table of contents by which the user could choose listings of women offering a variety of services, from sensual massage to evening escort to female domination. Rider clicked the mouse on this last offering and a new screen was revealed featuring boxes with the names of mistresses followed by an area code prefix.

“It’s a goddamn Internet whorehouse,” Chastain said. Bosch and Rider said nothing. Rider moved the arrow onto the box marked Mistress Regina.

“This is your directory,” she said. “You choose which page you want and click.”

She clicked the mouse and the Regina page appeared again.

“He chose her,” Rider said.

“A white woman,” Chastain said. There was glee in his voice. “Golden blessings from a white woman. I bet they aren’t going to be too pleased about that on the South Side, either.”

Rider turned around and looked sharply at Chastain. She was about to say something when her eyes widened and looked past the IAD detective. Bosch noticed this and turned. Standing in the doorway of the office was Janis Langwiser. Next to her was a woman Bosch recognized from her newspaper photos and television appearances. She was an attractive woman with the smooth coffee-and-cream skin of mixed races.

“Wait a minute,” Bosch said to Langwiser. “This is a crime investigation. She can’t come in here and – ”

“Yes, Detective Bosch, she can,” Langwiser said. “Judge Houghton just appointed her special master on the case. She’ll be reviewing the files for us.”

With that the woman Bosch recognized stepped fully into the room, smiled, but not warmly, and held her hand out to him in order to shake his.

“Detective Bosch,” she said. “It’s good to meet you. I hope we will be able to work together on this. I’m Carla Entrenkin.”