Lost Light

the forgery or maybe he knew about something else. But he knew enough to know. He went to Simonson and cut himself in.”
    I noticed that we were all nodding. The story worked.
    “Dorsey had money problems,” I added. “The insurance investigator on this did routine background checks on all the cops involved. Dorsey was in debt up to his neck, had two kids in college and two still to go.”
    “Everybody’s got money problems,” Rider said angrily. “It’s no excuse.”
    That made us all silent for a long moment and then I took up the story again.
    “There was just one problem at that point.”
    “Agent Gessler,” Rider said. “She knew too much. She had to disappear.”
    Rider didn’t know anything about Lindell’s relationship with Gessler, and Lindell did little to reveal it. He just sat quietly, his eyes down. I moved the story forward.
    “My guess is that Simonson and his guys played Dorsey along while they took care of the Gessler problem. Dorsey knew what they did, but what could he do or say about it? He was in too deep. Then Simonson took care of him in Nat’s. Cross and the bartender were window dressing.”
    Rider squinted her eyes and shook her head.
    “What?” Lindell asked.
    “Doesn’t work for me,” she said. “There’s a disconnect there. With Gessler, she’s gone without a trace. Very smooth. Three years later and who knows where the body is?”
    I was cringing for Lindell’s sake but tried not to show it.
    “But with Dorsey, it’s a shoot-out at the OK Corral. Dorsey, Cross, the bartender. Two completely different styles. One smooth as smoke, the other a blood bath.”
    “Well,” I said, “with Dorsey, they wanted it to look like a robbery gone wrong. If he just disappeared, then the obvious thing to do would be to go back over the old cases. Simonson didn’t want that. So he orchestrated the big blowout so the investigators would think robbery.”
    “I still don’t buy it. I think they’re different. Look, I don’t remember all the details but didn’t Marty Gessler disappear while driving home through the Sepulveda Pass?”
    “That’s right. Somebody bumped her and she pulled over.”
    “Okay, then here’s an armed and trained agent. Are you going to tell me Simonson and these guys got her to pull over by bumping her car and then they got the best of her? Uh-uh, guys. I say, no way. Not without a fight. Not without somebody seeing something. I think she stopped because she felt safe. She stopped for a cop.”
    She pointed at me and nodded when she said the last line. Lindell brought a fist down hard on the table. Rider had convinced him. I had defended my theory but now saw the cracks in it. I started thinking Rider might be right.
    I noticed Rider looking at Lindell. She was finally picking up the vibe.
    “You really knew her, didn’t you?” she asked.
    Lindell just nodded to the question. Then he brought his eyes up to stare angrily at me.
    “And you blew it, Bosch,” he said.
    “I blew it? What are you talking about?”
    “With your little stunt last night. Going in there like fucking Steve McQueen. What did you think, that they’d be so spooked they’d march right down to Parker Center and turn themselves in?”
    “Roy,” Rider said, “I think we -”
    “You wanted to provoke them, didn’t you? You wanted them to come after you.”
    “That’s crazy,” I said calmly. “Four against one? The only reason I’m alive right now and talking to you is because I saw them tailing me and because Milton distracted them long enough for me to get out of the house.”
    “Yeah, that’s just it. You saw the tail. You saw it because you were looking for it and you were looking for it because you wanted it. You blew it, Bosch. If that kid in the hospital doesn’t wake up with a working brain, then we’ll never know what happened to Marty or where -”
    He stopped before his voice lost it. He stopped speaking but didn’t stop staring at me.
    “Guys,” Rider said quietly, “let’s take a break here. Let’s stop questioning motives and accusing. We all want the same thing here.”
    Lindell slowly and emphatically shook his head.
    “No, not Harry Bosch,” he said quietly, his eyes still on mine. “It’s always just what he wants. He’s always been a private investigator, even when he carried a badge.”
    I looked from Lindell to Rider. She didn’t say anything but her eyes dropped away from mine, and in their movement was a tell. I saw her