Michael Connelly - Trunk Music

“Okay, Mrs. Aliso. Do you remember anything else about the telephone conversation? Anything else that was said?”

“No. Just what I told you.”

“It might help us with the court case, as far as questions of premeditation go, if we could isolate this call. Are you sure it was Wednesday?”

“Yes, because he left the next day.”

“What time did the call come in?”

“It was late. We were watching the news on Channel 4. So it was after eleven and before eleven-thirty. I don’t think I can narrow it down any further.”

“Okay, Mrs. Aliso, that’s good.”

Bosch looked over at Edgar and raised his eyebrows. Edgar just nodded. He was ready to go. They stood up and Veronica Aliso led them to the door.

“Oh,” Bosch said before he got to the door. “There was a question that came up about your husband. Do you know, did he have a regular doctor that he went to?”

“Yes, on occasion. Why?”

“Well, I wanted to check to see if he suffered from hemorrhoids.”

She looked like she was about to laugh.

“Hemorrhoids? I don’t think so. I think Tony would’ve complained loud and often if he did.”

“Really?”

Bosch was standing in the doorway now.

“Yes, really. Besides, you just told me that the autopsy was completed, wouldn’t that doctor be able to tell you the answer to that question?”

Bosch nodded. She had him there.

“I guess so, Mrs. Aliso. The only reason I ask is that we found a tube of Preparation H in his car. I was wondering why it was there if, you know, he didn’t need it.”

She smiled this time.

“Oh, that’s an old performer’s trick.”

“A performer’s trick?”

“You know, actresses, models, dancers. They use that stuff.”

Bosch looked at her, waiting for more. She didn’t say anything.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do they use it?”

“Under their eyes, Detective Bosch. You know, shrinks the swelling? Well, you put it under your eyes and the bags from all that hard living get shrunk, too. Probably half the people who buy that stuff in this town use it under their eyes, not what it’s supposed to be used for. My husband…he was a vain man. If he was going to Las Vegas to be with some young girl, I think he would have done this. It was just like him.”

Bosch nodded. He thought of the unidentified substance under Tony Aliso’s eyes. You learn something new every day, he thought. He would have to call Salazar.

“How do you think he would have known about that?” he asked.

She was about to answer but hesitated, then she just hiked her shoulders.

“It’s a not-so-secret Hollywood secret,” she said. “He could’ve learned it anywhere.”

Including from you, Bosch thought but didn’t say. He just nodded and stepped through the door.

“Oh, one last thing,” he said before she closed it. “This arrest is probably going to hit the media today or tomorrow. We’ll try to contain it as much as possible. But in this town, nothing’s ever sacred or secret for long. You should be prepared for that.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“You might want to think about a small funeral. Something inside. Tell the director not to give information out over the phone. Funerals always make good video.”

She nodded and closed the door.

On the way out of Hidden Highlands, Bosch lit a cigarette and Edgar didn’t object.

“She’s a cold piece of work,” Edgar said.

“That she is,” Bosch answered. “What do you think of the phone call from Lucky?”

“It’s just one more piece. We got Lucky by the balls. As far as he’s concerned, it’s over.”

Bosch took Mulholland along the crest of the mountains until it wound down to the Hollywood Freeway. They passed without comment the fire road down which Tony Aliso had been found. At the freeway, Bosch turned south so he could pick up the IO in downtown and head east.

“Harry, what’s up?” Edgar asked. “I thought we were leavin’ outta Burbank.”

“We’re not flying. We’re driving.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I only reserved the flights in case somebody checked. When we get to Vegas, we let on that we flew in and that we’re flying out right after the hearing with Goshen. Nobody has to know we’re driving. You okay with that?”

“Yeah, sure, fine. I get it. Precautions, settin’ a smoke screen in case somebody checks. I can dig it. You never know with the mobsters, do you?”

“Or with the cops.”

AVERAGING OVER NINETY miles an hour, including a fifteen-minute stop at a McDonald’s, they got to Las Vegas in four hours. They drove to McCarran International Airport, parked in the garage and took their briefcases and overnighters out of the trunk. While Edgar waited outside, Bosch went into the terminal and rented a car at the Hertz counter.

It was almost four-thirty by the time they got to the Metro building. As they walked through the detective bureau, Bosch saw Iverson sitting at his desk and talking to Baxter, who stood nearby. A thin smile played on Iverson’s face but Bosch ignored it and went straight to Felton’s office. The police captain was behind his desk doing paperwork. Bosch knocked on the open door and then entered.

“Bosch, where ya been?”

“Taking care of details.”

“This your prosecutor?”

“No, this is my partner, Jerry Edgar. The prosecutor isn’t coming out until the morning.”

Edgar and Felton shook hands but Felton continued to look at Bosch.

“Well, you can call him and tell him not to bother.”

Bosch looked at him a moment. He knew now why Iverson had smiled. Something was going on.

“Captain, you’re always full of surprises,” he said. “What is it this time?”

Felton leaned back in his chair. He had an unlit cigar, one end soggy with saliva, on the edge of the desk. He picked it up and clenched it between two fingers. He was playing it out, obviously trying to get a rise out of Bosch. But Bosch didn’t bite and the captain finally spoke.

“Your boy, Goshen, is packing his bags.”

“He’s waiving extradition?”

“Yeah, he got smart.”

Bosch took the chair in front of the desk and Edgar took one to the right. Felton continued.

“Fired that mouthpiece Mickey Torrino and got his own guy. Not that much of an improvement, but at least the new guy’s got Lucky’s best interest in mind.”

“And how did he get smart?” Bosch asked. “You tell him about the ballistics?”

“Sure, I told him. Brought him over, told him the score. I also told him how we broke his alibi down to shit.”

Bosch looked at him but didn’t ask the question.

“Yeah, that’s right, Bosch. We haven’t been exactly sitting over here on our asses. We went to work on this guy and we’re helping to pound him into the ground for you. He said he never left his office Friday night until it was time to go home at four. Well, we went over and checked that office out. There’s a back door. He could’ve come in and gone out. Nobody saw him from the time Tony Aliso left until four, when he came out to close the club. That gave him plenty of time to go out there, take down Tony and hop the last flight back. And here’s the kicker. Girl that works over there goes by the name of Modesty. She got into it with another dancer and went to the office to complain to Lucky. She said nobody answered when she knocked. So she tells Gussie she wants to see the boss and he tells her the boss ain’t in. That was about midnight.”

Felton nodded and winked.

“Yeah, and what did Gussie say about that?”

“He isn’t saying shit. We don’t expect him to. But if he wants to get on the stand and back up Lucky’s alibi, you can tear him apart easy. He’s got a record goin’ back to the seventh grade.”