A Darkness More Than Night

”
    “Did you time your drive?”
    “Yes, I did. Both ways.”
    “And can you tell us those times? You can refer to your notes, if you wish.”
    Bosch opened the binder to a previously marked page. He took a moment to study the notations even though he knew them by heart.
    “From Mr. Storey’s house to Jody Krementz’s house it took eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds, driving within posted speed limits. Coming back it took eleven minutes and forty-eight seconds. The round trip was twenty-three minutes, ten seconds.”
    “Thank you, Detective.”
    That was it. Fowkkes passed again on cross-examination, reserving the right to call Bosch back to the stand during the defense phase. Judge Houghton recessed the trial for lunch and the crowded courtroom slowly drained into the outside hallway.
    Bosch was pushing and moving through the crowd of lawyers, spectators and reporters in the hallway and looking for Annabelle Crowe when a hand strongly grabbed his upper arm from behind. He swung around and looked into the face of a black man he didn’t recognize. Another man, this one white, came up to them. The two men had on almost identical gray suits. Bosch knew they were bureau men before the first man said his first word.
    “Detective Bosch, I’m Special Agent Twilley with the F-B-I. This is Special Agent Friedman. Can we talk to you somewhere privately?”

Chapter 38
    It took three hours to go carefully through the videotape. At the end of it McCaleb had nothing to show for his time except a parking ticket. Tafero had appeared nowhere in the video of the post office on the day the money order was purchased. Neither had Harry Bosch, for that matter. The missing forty-eight minutes of video, which had been taped over before McCaleb and Winston got there, now haunted him. If they had gone to the post office first and Hollywood station second, they might have had the killer on tape. Those forty-eight minutes might be the difference in the case, the difference in being able to clear Bosch or convict him.
    McCaleb was thinking about what-if scenarios when he got to the Cherokee and found the parking ticket under the wiper. He cursed and pulled it off and looked at it. He had been so absorbed in watching the tape he had forgotten he had parked in a fifteen-minute zone in front of the post office. The ticket would cost him $ 40 and that stung. With few fishing charters in the winter months, his family had been living mostly off Graciela’s small paycheck and his monthly pension from the bureau. There wasn’t a lot of leeway with expenses for the two kids. This, coupled with Saturday’s canceled charter, would hurt.
    He slipped the ticket back into place on the windshield and started walking down the sidewalk. He decided he wanted to go into Valentino Bonds, even if he knew Rudy Tafero would likely be up in Van Nuys in court. It was in keeping with his practice of viewing the target subject in comfortable surroundings. The target might not be there this time, but the surroundings where he felt safe would.
    As he walked he took out his cell phone and called Jaye Winston but got her machine. He hung up without leaving a message and paged her. Four blocks later, when he was almost to Valentino Bonds, she called back.
    “I got nothing,” he reported.
    “Nothing?”
    “No Tafero and no Bosch.”
    “Damn.”
    “It had to have been on that missing forty-eight minutes.”
    “We should have -”
    “Gone to the post office first. I know. My fault. The one thing I did get was a parking ticket.”
    “Sorry, Terry.”
    “Which at least gives me an idea. It was right before Christmas and crowded. If he was in a fifteen-minute zone he might have gone over while waiting in line. The parking enforcement goons in this city are like Nazis. They wait in the shadows. There’s always a chance there was a ticket. It should be checked.”
    “Son of Sam?”
    “Right.”
    She was referring to the New York City serial killer who was tripped up in the 1970 s by a parking ticket.
    “I’ll take a shot at it. See what I can do. What are you going to do?”
    “I’m about to check out Valentino Bonds.”
    “Is he there?”
    “He’s probably up in court. I’m going to go up there next, see if I can talk to Bosch about all of this.”
    “Better be careful. Your colleagues from the bureau said they were going up to see him at lunch. They might still be around when you get there.”
    “What, they’re expecting Bosch to be so