Michael Connelly - The Closers

“Okay, Dan, take it easy. Sometimes people make mistakes. Especially when you are going back all those years.”

“This is all I need, to be dragged into this. Man, I’ve got a family over here.”

“I said take it easy. You aren’t dragged into anything. This is just a phone call. Just a conversation, okay? Now, is there anything else you can tell me or want to tell me to help with this thing?”

“No. I told you all I know, which is nothing. And I have to go. I mean it this time.”

“So were you upset when Rebecca told you she was pregnant and it was obvious to you that it was with another guy?”

There was no answer at first so Bosch tried to turn the screw a bit.

“Especially since she would never have relations with you when you two were together.”

Bosch realized he had gone too far and tipped his hand. Kotchof realized that Bosch was playing good cop and bad cop with him all at once. When he responded, his voice was calm and modulated.

“She never told me that,” he said. “I never knew until it came out after.”

“Really? Who told you?”

“I can’t remember. One of my friends, I guess.”

“Really? Because Rebecca kept a journal. And you’re all over it, man. And she says she told you and you weren’t too happy about it.”

Now Kotchof laughed and Bosch knew he had really blown it.

“Detective, you are full of shit. You’re the one who’s lying. This is really weak, man. I mean, I watch Law and Order, you know.”

“Do you watch CSI ?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, we got the killer’s DNA. If we match it to somebody they’re going to take a fall. DNA is the ultimate closer.”

“Good. Check mine and maybe this can all be over for me.”

Bosch knew he was the one backpedaling now. He had to end the call.

“Okay then, Dan, we’ll let you know about that. Meantime, thank you for your help. One last question. What’s a hospitality manager?”

“You mean here at the hotel? I take care of large parties and conferences and weddings and things like that. I make sure it all runs smoothly when these big groups come in here.”

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to it. Have a good day.”

Bosch hung up and sat at the desk thinking about the call. He was embarrassed by how he had let the upper hand slip across the line to Kotchof. He knew his interviewing skills had largely been dormant for three years but that did not salve the burn. He knew he had to get better and it had to be soon.

Aside from that, there was a lot of content from the call to consider. He didn’t read much into Kotchof’s angry reaction to supposedly being seen in L.A. right before the murder. After all, Bosch had fabricated the witness and Kotchof’s angry response would certainly be justified. But what was notable was how Kotchof’s anger zeroed in on Grace Tanaka. Their relationship might be worth exploring further, maybe through Kiz Rider.

He also considered Kotchof’s statement about not knowing about Rebecca Verloren’s pregnancy. Bosch instinctively believed him. All in all it didn’t drop Kotchof from the suspect list, but it at least pushed him to a back burner. He would discuss all of Kotchof’s answers with Rider and see if she agreed.

The most interesting information gleaned from the call was in the conflicts between Kotchof’s memories and those of Muriel Verloren, the victim’s mother. Muriel Verloren had said Kotchof had called her daughter religiously, right up until the time of her death. Kotchof said he had done no such thing. Bosch didn’t see any reason for Kotchof to lie about it. If he hadn’t, then Muriel Verloren’s memory was wrong. Or it was her daughter who had lied about who called her every night before bed. Since the girl was hiding a relationship and the pregnancy that came from it, it seemed likely that the phone calls did come in every night but they were not from Kotchof. They were from someone else, someone Bosch started thinking of as Mr. X.

After looking up Muriel Verloren’s number in the murder book Bosch called the house. He apologized for intruding and said he had a few follow-up questions. Muriel said she was not bothered by the call.

“What are your questions?”

“I saw the phone on the table next to your daughter’s bed. Was that an extension of the house phone or did she have her own phone number?”

“She had her own number. A private line.”

“So when Daniel Kotchof called her at night she would be the one who answered the phone, right?”

“Yes, in her room. It was the only extension.”

“So the only way you know that Danny was calling was because she told you.”

“No, I heard the phone ring sometimes. He called.”

“What I mean, Mrs. Verloren, is that you never answered those calls and you never talked to Danny Kotchof, right?”

“That’s right. It was her private line.”

“So when that phone rang and she talked to somebody, the only way you would know who it was on the line was if she told you. Is that correct?”

“Uh, yes, I guess that is right. Are you saying it wasn’t Danny who called all of those times?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I talked to Danny in Hawaii and he said he stopped calling your daughter long before she was taken. He had a new girlfriend, you see. In Hawaii.”

This information was treated with a long pause. Finally, Bosch spoke into the void.

“Do you have any idea who it could have been that she was talking to, Mrs. Verloren?”

After another pause Muriel Verloren weakly offered an answer.

“Maybe one of her girlfriends.”

“It’s possible,” Bosch said. “Anybody else you can think of?”

“I don’t like this,” she responded quickly. “It’s like I’m learning things all over again.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Verloren. I will try not to hit you with these sorts of things unless it is necessary. But I am afraid this is necessary. Did you and your husband ever come to any conclusion about the pregnancy?”

“What do you mean? We didn’t know about it until after.”

“I understand that. What I mean is, did you think it came out of a hidden relationship or was it simply a mistake she made one day with, you know, someone she was not really in a relationship with?”

“You mean like a one-night stand? Is that what you are saying about my daughter?”

“No, ma’am, I am not saying anything about your daughter. I am simply asking questions. I do not want to upset you but I want to find the person who killed Rebecca. And I need to know all there is to know.”

“We could never explain it, Detective,” she responded coldly. “She was gone and we decided not to delve into it. We left everything to the police and we just tried to remember the daughter we knew and loved. You said you have a daughter. I hope you understand.”

“I think I do. Thank you for your answers. One last question-and there is no pressure on this-but would you be willing to talk to a newspaper reporter about your daughter and the case?”

“Why would I do that? I didn’t before. I don’t believe in putting it out there for the public.”

“I admire that. But this time I want you to do it because it might help us flush out the bird.”

“You mean it might make the person who did this come out from cover?”

“Exactly.”

“Then I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Verloren. I will let you know.”

ABEL PRATT CAME OUT of his office with his suit jacket on. He noticed Bosch sitting at his desk in the alcove, using two fingers to type up a report on his telephone conversation with Muriel Verloren. The finished reports on the phone interviews with Grace Tanaka and Daniel Kotchof were on the desk.