The Closers

beating a suspect with one of the heavy steel lights.
    Bosch pointed the beam at the truck’s rear gate, running it over the underside that had been cast in shadows by the bright glare from the spreader above.
    Blood reflected brightly on the dark steel. It could not be mistaken for oil. It was as red and real as life. Bosch squatted down and pointed the light beneath the truck. It had been dark here, too, made all the more impervious to vision by the bright lights above.
    He saw Mackey’s body crumpled against the rear axle differential. Fully one-half of his face was bathed in blood from a long and deep laceration that cut across the left side of his head. His blue uniform shirt was maroon down the front from blood from other unseen injuries. The crotch of his pants was stained with blood or urine or both. The one arm Bosch could see was bent oddly at the forearm and a jagged, ivory white bone protruded from the flesh. The arm was cradled against Mackey’s chest, which heaved with non-rhythmic gasps. He was still alive.
    “Oh God!” Rider called out from behind Bosch.
    “Get an ambulance!” Bosch ordered as he started to crawl under the truck.
    Hearing Rider’s feet crunch on the gravel as she ran back to her car and the radio, Bosch moved as close to Mackey as he could get. He knew he might be destroying a crime scene but he had to get close.
    “Ro, can you hear me? Ro, who did this? What happened?”
    Mackey seemed to stir at the sound of his name. His mouth started moving and that was when Bosch could tell his jaw was broken or dislocated. Its movements were uncoordinated. It was like Mackey was trying it out for the first time.
    “Take your time, Ro. Tell me who did this. Did you see him?”
    Mackey whispered something but a car speeding by on the entrance ramp drowned it out.
    “Tell me again, Ro. Say it again.”
    Bosch pushed forward and leaned his head down by Mackey’s mouth. What he heard was half gasp, half whisper.
    “… sworth…”
    He pulled back and looked at Mackey. He put the light into his face, hoping it might rouse him. He saw that the bone structure around Mackey’s left eye was also crushed and hemorrhaging. He wasn’t going to make it.
    “Ro, if you have something to say, say it now. Did you kill Rebecca Verloren? Were you there that night?”
    Bosch leaned forward. If Mackey said anything it was drowned in the noise of another car going by. When Bosch pulled back to look at him again he appeared to be dead. Bosch pushed two fingers into the bloodied side of Mackey’s neck and could not find a pulse.
    “Ro? Roland, are you still with me?”
    The one undamaged eye was open but at half-mast. Bosch moved the light in close and saw no pupil movement. He was gone.
    Bosch carefully crawled out from beneath the truck. Rider was standing there, her arms folded tightly in front of her.
    “Ambulance on the way,” she said.
    “Call ’em off.”
    He handed her back her flashlight.
    “Harry, if you think he’s dead, the paramedics should confirm it.”
    “Don’t worry, he’s dead. They’ll just get under there and ruin our crime scene. Call them off.”
    “Did he say anything?”
    “It sounded like he said ‘Chatsworth.’ That was it. Anything else, I couldn’t hear.”
    She seemed to be pacing now, in a small track, nervously moving back and forth.
    “Oh God,” she said. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
    “Then move back over there, away from the scene.”
    She walked off behind her car. Bosch felt sick to his stomach as well, but he knew he could keep it in. It wasn’t seeing Mackey’s torn and broken body that was causing the bile to rise in his throat. Bosch, like Rider, had seen far worse. It was the circumstances that were sickening. Instinctively he knew that this was no accident. This had been an assassination. And it was he who had put it all into motion.
    He was sick because he had just gotten Roland Mackey killed. And with the death he might have lost the last, best link to Rebecca Verloren’s killer.

Part Three.
DARKNESS WAITS

32
    THE TAMPA AVENUE entrance ramp to the Ronald Reagan Freeway was closed and traffic was routed down Rinaldi to the Porter Ranch Drive entrance. The entire freeway ramp was choked with official police vehicles. The LAPD’s Scientific Investigation Division, California Highway Patrol and the Medical Examiner’s Office were all represented, along with members of the Open-Unsolved Unit. Abel Pratt had made calls and had