The Concrete Blonde (hb-3)

case. As a reporter. From the start. It was your stories about the early cases that made the department form the task force. As a reporter you had access to the suspect intelligence, you probably had the autopsy reports. You also had sources like me and probably half the dicks on the task force and in the coroner’s office. What I am saying is you knew what the Dollmaker did. Right down to the cross on the toenail, you knew. Later, after the Dollmaker was dead, you used it in your book.”
    “Yeah, I knew. It means nothing, Bosch. A lot of people knew.”
    “Oh, it’s Bosch now. No more Harry? Have I suddenly become contemptible in your eyes? Or does the gun give you that sense that we are no longer equals?”
    “Fuck you, Bosch. You’re stupid. You’ve got nothing. What else you got? You know, this is great. It will definitely be worth a chapter in the book I do on the Follower.”
    “What else’ve I got? I’ve got the concrete blonde. And I’ve got the concrete. Did you know you dropped your cigarettes when you were pouring the concrete? Remember that? You were driving home, wanted a smoke and you reached into your pocket and there was nothing there.
    “See, just like Becky Kaminski, they were in there waiting for us. Marlboro soft pack. That’s your brand, Bremmer. That’s mistake number one.”
    “A lot of people smoke them. Good luck taking this to the DA.”
    “A lot of people are left-handed, too, like you and the Follower. And me. But there’s more. You want to hear it?”
    Bremmer looked away from him, toward the window, and said nothing. Maybe it was a trick, Bosch thought, that he wanted Bosch to go for the gun.
    “Hey, Bremmer!” he almost yelled. “There’s more.”
    Bremmer’s face snapped back into a stare at Bosch.
    “Today after the verdict you said I should be happy because the verdict would leave the city only two bucks light. But when we had a drink the other night, remember, you gave me the big rundown on how Chandler would be able to charge the city a hundred grand or so if she won even a dollar judgment from the jury. Remember? So it makes me think that when you told me this morning the verdict was only going to cost two dollars, you knew it was only going to cost two dollars because you knew Chandler was dead and couldn’t collect. You knew that because you killed her. Mistake number two.”
    Bremmer shook his head as if he were dealing with a child. His aim with the gun drooped to Bosch’s midsection.
    “Look, man, I was trying to make you feel good when I said that today, okay? I didn’t know if she was alive or dead. No jury is going to make that leap of faith.”
    Bosch smiled brilliantly at him.
    “So now at least you have me past the DA’s office and to a jury. I guess my story is improving, isn’t it?”
    Bremmer coldly smiled back, raised the gun.
    “Is that it, Bosch? Is that all you have?”
    “I saved the best stuff for last.”
    He lit a cigarette, never taking his eyes off Bremmer.
    “You remember before you killed Chandler, how you tortured her? You must remember that. You bit her. And burned her. Well, everyone was standing around in that house today wondering why the Follower was changing, doing all this new stuff-changing the mold. Locke, the shrink, he was the most puzzled of all. You really fucked with his mind, man. I kinda like that about you, Bremmer. But, you see, he didn’t know what I knew.”
    He let that sit out there for a while. He knew Bremmer would bite.
    “And what did you know, Sherlock?”
    Bosch smiled. He was in complete control now.
    “I knew why you did that to her. It was simple. You wanted your note back, didn’t you? But she wouldn’t tell you where it was. See, she knew she was dead whether she gave it to you or not, so she took it-everything you did to her, she took-and she didn’t tell you. That woman had a lot of guts and in the end she beat you, Bremmer. She’s the one who got you. Not me.”
    “What note?” Bremmer said weakly after a long moment.
    “The one you fucked up with. You missed it. It’s a big house to search, especially when you’ve got a dead woman lying in the bed. That’d be hard to explain if somebody happened to drop by. But don’t worry, I found it. I’ve got it. Too bad you don’t read Hawthorne. It was sitting there in his book. Too bad. But like I said, she beat you. Maybe there is justice sometimes.”
    Bremmer had no snappy comeback. Bosch looked at him and thought that he was