The Black Box

said.
    Banks pulled out of the lot and headed toward the 99 entrance ramp. Bosch looked over at Drummond, who still had his gun in his hand.
    “How’d you know?” he asked.
    In the darkness he could see Drummond’s contented smirk.
    “You mean, how did I know you were sniffing around up here? Well, you made a few mistakes, Detective. First of all, you left muddy tracks across the helipad at Carl Cosgrove’s place last night. He saw them this morning and called me up. He said he had a prowler, and I sent out a couple of my guys to check it out.
    “Then I get a call from Frank Dowler tonight telling me that our boy Reggie here is having drinks at the post with aguy looking to buy an IRG pistol, and the confluence of these things got me to thinking—”
    “Drummer, this guy was conning me,” Banks said from the front seat, his eyes looking for Drummond’s in the mirror. “I didn’t know, man. I thought he was legit, so I called Frank to see if he wanted to sell his gun. Last time I talked to him he was looking for money.”
    “I figured as much, Reggie. But Frank knows a few things you don’t know—plus he was nervous because his wife said a stranger had come by the house yesterday asking about him.”
    He glanced at Bosch and nodded at him as if to say he knew he was the visitor.
    “Frank put two and two together and was wise enough to call me. Then I made some calls, and pretty soon I hear that a name I know from a night long in the past is on the registry at the Blu-Lite. That was another mistake, Detective Bosch. Putting the room in your name.”
    Bosch didn’t respond. He looked out the window into the dark and tried to cheer himself with the knowledge that he had sent the audio file of the Banks interview to his partner. Chu would find it when he checked his email in the morning.
    He knew he could use that knowledge in some way now to possibly bargain for his freedom, but he felt it was too risky. He had no idea what people or connections Drummond had down in L.A. Bosch couldn’t risk his partner or the recording. He had to be content to know that no matter what happened to him this night, the story would get to Chu, and Anneke Jespersen would be avenged. Justice would be done. Harry could count on that.
    They went south and soon crossed the line into StanislausCounty. Banks asked when he’d be able to get his car and Drummond told him not to worry about it, that they’d pick it up later. Banks put the turn signal on as the exit for Hammett Road approached.
    “Going to see the boss, huh?” Bosch said.
    “Something like that,” Drummond said.
    They exited and headed through the almond grove toward the grand entrance to the Cosgrove estate. Drummond told Banks to pull forward so he could push the button on the call box from the backseat.
    “Yes?”
    “It’s me.”
    “Everything all right?”
    “Everything’s fine. Open up.”
    The gate opened automatically and Banks drove through. They followed the entrance road through the grove toward the château, traversing in two minutes what had taken Bosch an hour to cover the night before. Bosch leaned against the side window and looked up. It seemed darker than the night before. Cloud cover had blotted out the canopy of stars.
    They came out of the grove and Bosch saw that the mansion’s exterior lights were off. Maybe there wasn’t enough wind to turn the turbine behind the house. Or maybe Cosgrove just wanted a blackout for the business at hand. The headlights washed across the black helicopter sitting on its pad, ready to go.
    A man was waiting in the circle in front of the château. Banks pulled up and the man got in the front seat. In the overhead light, Bosch saw that it was Carl Cosgrove. Big and barrel-chested with a full head of wavy gray hair. He recognizedhim from the photos. Drummond said nothing to him, but Banks was excited to see his old pal from the Guard.
    “Carl, long time no see, man.”
    Cosgrove glanced over at him, clearly not as jazzed about their reunion.
    “Reggie.”
    That was all he said. Drummond instructed Banks to drive around the circle and onto a service road that wrapped around behind the château and went past a freestanding garage and back into the hillside to the rear of the property. Soon they came to an old A-frame barn that was surrounded by cattle pens but looked unused and abandoned.
    “What are we doing?” Banks asked.
    “We?” Drummond said. “We are taking care of Detective Bosch because