City Of Bones

said.
    “Yeah. We found him.”
    Delacroix’s eyes dropped from Bosch’s and seemed to leave the trailer as he studied a far-off memory. In his look was knowledge. Bosch saw it. His instincts told him that what they would tell Delacroix next he would already know. He glanced over at Edgar to see if he had seen it. Edgar gave a single short nod.
    Bosch looked back at the man on the couch.
    “You don’t seem very excited for a father who hasn’t seen his son in more than twenty years,” he said.
    Delacroix looked at him.
    “I guess that’s because I know he’s dead.”
    Bosch studied him for a long moment, his breath holding in his lungs.
    “Why would you say that? What would make you think that?”
    “Because I know. I’ve known all along.”
    “What have you known?”
    “That he wasn’t coming back.”
    This wasn’t going the way of any of the scenarios Bosch had imagined. It seemed to him that Delacroix had been waiting for them, expecting them, maybe for years. He decided that they might have to change the strategy and arrest Delacroix and advise him of his rights.
    “Am I under arrest?” Delacroix asked, as if he had joined Bosch in his thoughts.
    Bosch glanced at Edgar again, wondering if his partner had sensed how their plan was now slipping away from them.
    “We thought we might want to talk first. You know, informally.”
    “You might as well arrest me,” Delacroix said quietly.
    “You think so? Does that mean you don’t want to talk to us?”
    Delacroix shook his head slowly and went into the long-distance stare again.
    “No, I’ll talk to you,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
    “Tell us about what?”
    “How it happened.”
    “How what happened?”
    “My son.”
    “You know how it happened?”
    “Sure I know. I did it.”
    Bosch almost cursed out loud. Their suspect had literally just confessed before they had advised him of his rights, including the right to avoid giving self-incriminating statements.
    “Mr. Delacroix, we’re going to cut this off right here. I am going to advise you of your rights now.”
    “I just want to-”
    “No, please, sir, don’t say anything else. Not yet. Let’s get this rights thing taken care of and then we’ll be more than happy to listen to anything you want to tell us.”
    Delacroix waved a hand like it didn’t matter to him, like nothing mattered.
    “Jerry, where’s your recorder? I never got mine back from IAD.”
    “Uh, in the car. I don’t know about the batteries, though.”
    “Go check.”
    Edgar left the trailer and Bosch waited in silence. Delacroix put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Bosch studied his posture. It didn’t happen often, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had scored a confession during his first meeting with a suspect.
    Edgar came back in with a tape recorder but shook his head.
    “Batteries are dead. I thought you had yours.”
    “Shit. Then take notes.”
    Bosch took out his badge case and took out one of his business cards. He’d had them made with the Miranda rights advisory printed on the back, along with a signature line. He read the advisory statement and asked Delacroix if he understood his rights. Delacroix nodded his head.
    “Is that a yes?”
    “Yes, it’s a yes.”
    “Then sign on the line beneath what I just read to you.”
    He gave Delacroix the card and a pen. Once it was signed, Bosch returned the card to his badge wallet. He stepped over and sat on the edge of the recliner chair.
    “Now, Mr. Delacroix, do you want to repeat what you just said to us a few minutes ago?”
    Delacroix shrugged like it was no big deal.
    “I killed my son. Arthur. I killed him. I knew you people would show up someday. It took a long time.”
    Bosch looked over at Edgar. He was writing in a notebook. They would have some record of Delacroix’s admission. He looked back at the suspect and waited, hoping the silence would be an invitation for Delacroix to say more. But he didn’t. Instead, the suspect buried his face in his hands again. His shoulders soon began shaking as he started to cry.
    “God help me… I did it.”
    Bosch looked back at Edgar and raised his eyebrows. His partner gave a quick thumbs-up sign. They had more than enough to move to the next stage; the controlled and recorded setting of an interview room at the police station.
    “Mr. Delacroix, do you have a cat?” Bosch asked. “Where’s your cat?”
    Delacroix peeked his wet eyes through his