Bosch just looked at him.
"I meant that," the chief said. "I studied you and I think I know something about you. You are on this earth for one thing, Detective Bosch. And you now have the opportunity to do that, to continue to carry out your mission. After that, does anything else matter?"
Bosch held his eyes for a long time before answering.
"I guess what I really wanted to ask is about what you said the other day. When you said all of that about the ripples and the voices, did you mean it? Or were you just winding me up to go after Irving for you?"
Fire quickly spread across the police chief's cheeks. His eyes dropped from Bosch's as he composed his answer. Then he looked back up at Bosch and it was his eyes that held Bosch's this time.
"I meant every word of it. And don't you forget it. You go back to room five oh three and you close cases, Detective. That's what you are here for. Close them out or I'll find reason to close you out. Do you understand?"
Bosch didn't feel threatened. He liked the chief's answer. It made him feel better. He nodded.
"I understand."
The chief raised his hand and took Bosch by the upper arm.
"Good. Then let's go over here and get a picture taken with some of these young people who have joined our family today. Maybe they can learn something from us. Maybe we can learn something from them."
As they moved into the crowd Bosch looked off in the direction Irving had taken. But he was long gone.
44
BOSCH LOOKED for Robert Verloren for three of the next seven nights but didn't find him until it was too late.
One week after the academy graduation, Bosch and Rider were sitting across from each other at their desks while putting the finishing touches on the case against Gordon Stoddard. The accused murderer had been arraigned in San Fernando Municipal Court earlier in the week and had pleaded not guilty. Now the legal dance had begun. Bosch and Rider had to put together a comprehensive charging document that outlined the case against Stoddard. It would be given to the prosecutor and used in negotiations with Stoddard's defense attorney. After meeting with Muriel Verloren as well as Bosch and Rider, the prosecutor set a case strategy. If Stoddard elected to go to trial the state would seek the death penalty under the lying-in-wait statute. The alternative was for Stoddard to avoid risking death and plead guilty to first-degree murder in a plea agreement that would send him to prison for life without the possibility of parole.
Either way, the case summary Bosch and Rider were composing would be of key importance because it would show Stoddard and his lawyer just how strong the evidence was. It would force their hand, make Stoddard choose between the grim alternatives of life in a jail cell or gambling his life on the slim possibility of beating the case with a jury.
It had been a good week until that point. Rider bounced back from her near miss from Stoddard's bullet and showed full command of her skills in putting together the case summary. Bosch had spent all of Monday going over the investigation with an Internal Affairs investigator and was cleared the next day. The "no action taken" verdict from IAD meant he was clear within the department, even though the ongoing stories about the case in the media continued to call into question the department's actions in using Roland Mackey as bait.
Bosch was ready to move on to the next investigation. He had already told Rider he wanted to check into the case of the lady he found tied up and drowned in her bathtub on his first day on the job. They would take it up as soon as they put the paper case on Stoddard to rest.
Abel Pratt came out of his office and stepped into their alcove. He had an ashen look on his face. He nodded toward Rider's computer screen.
"Is that Stoddard you're working on?" he asked.
"Yes," Rider said. "What's up?"
"You can spike it. He's dead."
Nobody said anything for a long moment.
"Dead?" Rider finally asked. "What do you mean, dead?"
"Dead in his cell in Van Nuys jail. Two puncture wounds to the neck."
"He did it himself?" Bosch asked. "I didn't think he had it in him."
"No, somebody did it for him."
Bosch sat up straight.
"Wait a minute," he said. "He was on the high-power floor and on keep-away status. Nobody could've -"
"Somebody did this morning," Pratt said. "And that's the bad part."
Pratt raised a small notebook in his hand. Notes had been scribbled on it. He read from it.
"On Monday night a man was arrested on Van Nuys Boulevard on a drunk and disorderly. He also assaulted one of the cops who hooked him up. He was routinely fingerprinted and booked into Van Nuys jail. He had no ID and gave the name Robert Light. The next day at arraignment he pleaded guilty to all charges and the judge gave him a week in Van Nuys jail. The prints had still not been run through the computer."
Bosch felt a deep tug in his gut. He felt dread. He knew where this was going. Pratt continued, using his notes to construct the story.
"The man who called himself Robert Light was assigned to kitchen duty at the jail because he claimed and also demonstrated that he had restaurant experience. This morning he traded jobs with one of the others in the kitchen and was pushing the wagon that was carrying food trays to the custodies on high power. According to two guards who witnessed it, when Stoddard went to the slide window on his cell door to accept the food tray, Robert Light reached through the bars and grabbed him. He then stabbed him repeatedly with a shiv made from a sharpened spoon. He got two punctures into the neck before the guards subdued him. But the guards were too late. Stoddard's carotid artery was slashed and he bled out in his cell before they could get help to him."
Pratt stopped there but Bosch and Rider asked no questions.
"Coincidentally," Pratt began again, "Robert Light's fingerprints were finally entered into the database at about the same time that he was killing Stoddard. The computer kicked out a bogie-a custody who gave a false name. The real name, as I am sure you have already guessed, was Robert Verloren."
Bosch looked across at Rider but couldn't hold her eyes for long. He looked down at his desk. He felt as though he had been punched. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands. He felt that it was in some way his fault. Robert Verloren had been his responsibility in the investigation. He should have found him.
"How's that for closure?" Pratt said.
Bosch dropped his hands and stood up. He looked at Pratt.
"Where is he?" he asked.
"Verloren? They still have him there. Van Nuys homicide is handling it."
"I'm going up there."
"What are you going to do?" Rider asked.
"I don't know. Whatever I can."
He walked out of the alcove, leaving Rider and Pratt behind. Out in the hallway he punched the elevator button and waited. The heaviness in his chest wasn't going away. He knew it was the feeling of guilt, the feeling that he had not been ready for this case and that his mistakes had been so costly.
"It's not your fault, Harry. He did what he had waited seventeen years to do."
Bosch turned. Rider had come up behind him.
"I should have found him first."
"He didn't want to be found. He had a plan."
The elevator door opened. It was empty.
"Whatever you're doing," Rider said, "I'm going with you."
He nodded. Being with her would make it easier. He motioned her into the elevator and then followed. On the way down he felt a resolve rise inside him. A resolve to carry on the mission. A resolve never to forget Robert and Muriel and Rebecca Verloren along the way. And a promise always to speak for the dead.
Acknowledgments THE AUTHOR would like to gratefully acknowledge those who helped with the research and writing of this novel. They include Michael Pietsch, Asya Muchnick, Jane Wood and Peggy Leith Anderson as well as Jane Davis, Linda Connelly, Terrill Lee Lankford, Mary Capps, Judy Couwels, John Houghton, Jerry Hooten and Ken Delavigne. Very special thanks go to detec
tives Tim Marcia, Rick Jackson and David Lambkin of the Los Angeles Police Department, as well as Sergeant Bob McDonald and Police Chief William Bratton.
About the Author MICHAEL CONNELLY is a former journalist and the author of the bestselling series of Harry Bosch novels, along with the bestselling novels The Narrows, Chasing the Dime, Void Moon, Blood Work, and The Poet. Connelly has won numerous awards for his journalism and novels, including an Edgar Award. He is the former president of Mystery Writers of America.
Michael Connelly, The Closers
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