The Black Box

have so fucked yourself.”
    Bosch stared at him without speaking. The seconds went by. Banks tensed his muscles and Bosch heard the cuffs rattling against the chair’s support bars. But the effort failed. Banks leaned forward in defeat.
    “Are you going to say something or not?” he yelled.
    Bosch took out his phone and put it down on the table. He took another drink of water and then cleared his throat. He finally spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. He used a variation on the opener he’d used the week before with Rufus Coleman.
    “This moment is the most important moment of your life. The choice you are about to make is the most important choice of your life.”
    “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
    “Yes, you do. You know all about it. And if you want to save yourself, you will tell me everything. That is the choice, whether to save yourself or not.”
    Banks shook his head like he was trying to clear a dream.
    “Oh, man . . . this is so fuckin’ crazy. You’re not a cop, are you? That’s it. You’re some kind of nut goin’ around doing this. If you’re a cop, show me your badge. Let me see it, asshole.”
    Bosch didn’t move, except to take another drink of water. He waited. Car lights from the parking lot raked across the front window and Banks started yelling.
    “Hey! Help! I’m in—”
    Bosch grabbed the cup and threw the rest of the water in Banks’s face to shut him up. He moved quickly into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. When he came out, Banks wascoughing and sputtering, and Bosch used the towel to gag him, and then tied it behind his head. Grabbing his hair and jerking his head at an angle, he said into Banks’s ear, “You yell again and I won’t be so gentle.”
    Bosch walked to the window and split the blinds with a finger. He could only see the two cars that were already in the lot when they arrived. Whoever had just driven into the lot had apparently turned around and then driven out. He turned back to check on Banks, then took his jacket off and threw it on the bed, exposing the pistol holstered on his hip. He sat back down across from Banks.
    “Okay, where were we? Right, the choice. You have a choice to make tonight, Reggie. The immediate choice is whether to speak to me or not. But that decision has great implications for you. It’s really a choice between spending the rest of your life in prison, or ameliorating your situation with your cooperation. You know what ameliorate means? It means ‘make better.’”
    Banks shook his head, but not to say no. It was more of an I-can’t-believe-what-is-happening-to-me shake of the head.
    “Now I’m going to take the gag off, and if you try to yell out again, then . . . well, then there are going to be consequences. But before I do that, I want you to concentrate on what I tell you here for the next few minutes because I want you to really understand the position you’re in. You understand?”
    Banks dutifully nodded and even tried to voice his agreement through the gag, but it came out as an unintelligible sound.
    “Good,” Bosch said. “Here’s the deal. You are part of a conspiracy that has lasted more than twenty years. It is a conspiracythat started on a boat called the Saudi Princess and it has lasted until this very moment.”
    Bosch watched Banks’s eyes grow large and fearful as he processed what was said. There was now a growing look of terror in them.
    “You’re either going to prison for a very long time or you are going to cooperate and help us break open the conspiracy. If you cooperate, then you have a shot at some leniency, a chance to avoid spending the rest of your life in a prison. Can I take the gag away now?”
    Banks nodded vigorously. Bosch reached across the table and roughly pulled the towel off his head.
    “There,” he said.
    Bosch and Banks stared at each other for a long moment. Then Banks spoke with unadulterated desperation in his voice.
    “Please, mister, I don’t know what the hell you are talking about with conspiracies and shit. I sell tractors. You know that. You saw me, man. That’s what I do. If you want to ask me questions about a John—”
    Bosch slammed his palm down hard on the table.
    “Enough!”
    Banks held quiet and Bosch got up. He went to the case file that was in his backpack and brought it back to the table. He had stacked the deck that morning, preparing the file so that it could be opened and photos and documents could be presented in