The Black Ice (hb-2)

how it would go. He’d seen the way IAD and people like Chastain operate. The letter set the stage, made the water murky enough so that when he turned up dead at the motel the department, meaning you, wouldn’t want to look too closely at it. You’re an open book, Chief. He knew you’d move quickly and efficiently to protect the department first, find out what really happened second. So he sent the letter. He used you, Chief. He used me, too.”
    Irving turned toward the grave site. The ceremony was about to begin. He turned back to Bosch.
    “Go ahead, Detective. Quickly, please.”
    “Layer after layer. Remember, you told me he had rented that room for a month. That was the first layer. If he hadn’t been discovered for a month decomp would’ve taken care of things. There would have been no skin left to print. That would leave only the latents he left in the room and he’d’ve been home free.”
    “But he was found a few weeks early,” Irving helpfully interjected.
    “Yeah. That brings us to the second layer. You. Moore had been a cop a long time. He knew what you would do. He knew you’d go to personnel and grab his package.”
    “That’s a big gamble, Bosch.”
    “You ask me, it was a better-than-even bet. Christmas night, when I saw you there with the file, I knew what it was before you said. So I can see Moore taking the gamble and switching the print cards. Like I said, he was gambling it would never come to that anyway. You were the second layer.”
    “And you? You were the third?”
    “Yeah, the way I figure it. He used me as a sort of last backup. In case the suicide didn’t wash, he wanted somebody who’d look at it and see a reason for Moore to have been murdered. That was me. I did that. He left the file for me and I went for it, thought he’d been killed over it. It was all a deflection. He just didn’t want anybody looking too closely at who was actually on the tile floor in the motel. He just wanted some time.”
    “But you went too far, Bosch. He never planned on that.”
    “I guess not.”
    Bosch thought about his meeting with Moore in the tower. He still hadn’t decided whether Moore had been expecting him, even waiting for him. Waiting for Harry to come kill him. He didn’t think he’d ever know. That was Calexico Moore’s last mystery.
    “Time for what?” Irving asked.
    “What?”
    “You said he just wanted some time.”
    “I think he wanted time to go down there, take Zorrillo’s place and then take the money and run. I don’t think he wanted to be the pope forever. He just wanted to live in a castle again.”
    “What?”
    “It’s nothing.”
    They were silent a moment before Bosch finished up.
    “Most of this I know you already have, Chief.”
    “I do?”
    “Yeah, you do. I think you figured it out after Chastain told you that Moore sent the letter himself.”
    “And how did Detective Chastain know that?”
    He wasn’t going to give Bosch anything. That was okay, though. Harry found that telling the story helped clarify it. It was like holding it up to inspect for holes.
    “After he got the letter, Chastain thought it was the wife who sent it. He went to her house and she denied it. He asked for her typewriter because he was going to make sure and she slammed the door in his face. But she didn’t do it before saying she didn’t even have a typewriter. So then, after Moore turns up dead, Chastain starts thinking about things and takes the machine out of Moore’s office at the station. My guess is he matched the keys to the letter. From that point, it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out the letter came from either Moore or somebody in the BANG squad. My guess is that Chastain interviewed them this week and concluded they hadn’t done it. The letter was typed by Moore.”
    Irving didn’t confirm any of it but didn’t have to. Bosch knew. It all fit.
    “Moore had a good plan, Chief. He played us like cheater’s solitaire. He knew every card in the deck before it was turned over.”
    “Except for one,” Irving said. “You. He didn’t think you’d come looking.”
    Bosch didn’t reply. He looked over at Sylvia again. She was innocent. And she would be safe. He noticed Irving turn his gaze on her, too.
    “She’s clear,” Bosch said. “You know it. I know it. If you make trouble for her, I’ll make trouble for you.”
    It wasn’t a threat. It was an offer. A deal. Irving considered it a moment and nodded his head once. A blunt