The Black Box

place to cuff him so he could in turn use the bathroom before the five-hour drive. He settled on the bars that were part of the design of the bed’s headboard.
    Bosch hurriedly started packing, basically throwing his clothes into his suitcase without care. When Banks flushed the toilet and came out of the bathroom, Bosch walked him over to the bed and made him sit while he cuffed him to the headboard.
    “What the hell is this?” Banks protested.
    “Just making sure you don’t change your mind while I’m taking a leak.”
    Bosch was standing over the toilet and just finishing his own business when he heard the front door crash open. He quickly zipped up and ran into the bedroom, prepared to chase Banks down, when he saw that Banks was still cuffed to the headboard.
    His eyes moved to the open door and the man standing there with a gun. Even without the uniform or the Hitler mustache that had been drawn on his campaign poster, Bosch easily recognized J.J. Drummond, sheriff of Stanislaus County. He was big and tall and handsome with an angular jaw. A campaign manager’s dream.
    Drummond entered the room alone, careful to keep the gun aimed at Bosch’s chest.
    “Detective Bosch,” he said. “You’re a little ways out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”

32
    D rummond told Bosch to raise his hands. He came over and removed Bosch’s gun from its holster and put it into the pocket of his green hunting jacket. Then he signaled with his own gun toward Banks.
    “Uncuff him.”
    Bosch pulled his keys from his pocket and released Banks from the headboard.
    “Take the cuffs off him and put one on your left wrist.”
    Bosch did as he was told and put his keys back in his pocket.
    “Now, Reggie, cuff him up. Behind the back.”
    Bosch put his hands behind his back and let Banks cuff him. Drummond walked over to him then, close enough that he could touch him with the muzzle of his gun if he wanted to.
    “Where’s your phone, Detective?”
    “Right front pocket.”
    As Drummond dug the phone out, he locked eyes with Bosch from a foot away.
    “Should have left things alone, Detective,” he said.
    “Maybe,” Bosch said.
    Drummond reached into Bosch’s other pocket and took out the keys. He then patted Bosch’s pockets to make sure there was nothing else. Stepping over to the bed, he picked up Bosch’s jacket and felt through it until he came up with Bosch’s badge wallet and the keys to the rental car. He put everything he had confiscated into the other pocket of his jacket. He then reached under his jacket to his back and came out with another gun. He handed it to Banks.
    “Watch him, Reggie.”
    Drummond walked over to the table and flipped open the case file with a fingernail. He bent over to look down at the photographs of the camera models Anneke Jespersen had carried.
    “So, what are we doing here, gentlemen?” he asked.
    Banks blurted out an answer, as if he had to get on record ahead of Bosch.
    “He was trying to get me to talk, Drummer. Talk about L.A. and the boat. He knows about the boat. He fucking kidnapped me. But I didn’t tell him shit.”
    Drummond nodded.
    “That’s good, Reggie. Real good.”
    He continued to look at the file, turning some of the pages, again just using a fingernail. Bosch knew he wasn’t really looking at the file. He was trying to assess what he had walked into and what he needed to do about it. Finally, he closed the file and put it under his arm.
    “I think we’re going to take a little ride,” he said.
    Bosch finally spoke, making a pitch he knew wasn’t going to go anywhere.
    “You know you don’t have to do this, Sheriff. I’ve got nothingbut my hunches and if you put them and a buck together, you won’t even be able to buy a cup of coffee at Starbucks.”
    Drummond smiled without humor.
    “I don’t know. I think a guy like you operates on a little more than his hunches.”
    Bosch returned the humorless smile.
    “You’d be surprised sometimes.”
    Drummond turned and surveyed the room, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.
    “Okay, Reg, grab Detective Bosch’s jacket. We’re going to take that drive now. We’ll use the detective’s car.”
    The parking lot was deserted when they walked Bosch out to his rented Crown Vic. Bosch was put in the backseat and then Drummond gave Banks the keys and told him to drive. Drummond got in the back, behind Banks and next to Bosch.
    “Where are we going?” Banks asked.
    “Hammett Road,” Drummond