The Drop

pick my daughter up around five at the mall. I thought if you were off and had the day free, we could have lunch or something. I want to talk about things. You know, see if we can’t find a way to try this.”
    The truth was, Bosch couldn’t quite dismiss her. He had always been drawn to women hiding tragedy behind their eyes. He had been thinking about Hannah and believed that if they just set certain boundaries in regard to her son, then they might be able to carve out a chance for themselves.
    “That would be great, Harry. I want to talk, too. Do you want to come here?”
    Bosch checked the dash clock.
    “I’m in Century City. I think I can be there by about twelve to pick you up. Maybe you can think of a place to go on Ventura Boulevard. Hell, I’m even willing to try sushi.”
    She laughed and Bosch liked the sound of it.
    “No, I meant come here,” she said. “For lunch and to talk. We can just stay here and be private and I can just make something. Nothing fancy.”
    “Uh . . .”
    “And then we’ll just see what happens.”
    “You sure?”
    “Of course.”
    Bosch nodded to himself.
    “Okay, then I’m on my way.”

34

    D avid Chu was already in the cubicle when Bosch arrived for work Monday morning. When he saw Harry he swiveled in his chair and raised his hands in a hands-off manner as Bosch entered.
    “Harry, all I can say is that it wasn’t me.”
    Bosch put his briefcase down and checked his desk for messages and delivered reports. There was nothing.
    “What are you talking about?”
    “The Times story. Did you see it?”
    “Don’t worry. I know it wasn’t you.”
    “Then who was it?”
    Bosch pointed toward the ceiling as he sat down, meaning the story had come from the tenth floor.
    “High jingo,” he said. “Somebody up there decided this is the play.”
    “To control Irving?”
    “To move him out. Change the election. Anyway, it’s not our business anymore. We turned in the report and that one’s done. Today it’s Chilton Hardy. I want to find him. He’s been running free for twenty-two years. I want him in a cell by the end of the day.”
    “Yeah, you know, I called you Saturday. I came in to do some stuff and I was wondering if you wanted to take a ride down to see the father. But I guess you had daughter stuff. You didn’t answer.”
    “Yeah, I had ‘daughter stuff’ and you didn’t leave a message. What did you come in to do?”
    Chu turned back to his desk and pointed to his computer screen.
    “Just backgrounding Hardy as much as I can,” he said. “Not a lot there on him. More on his father buying and selling properties. Chilton Aaron Hardy Senior. He’s lived down there in Los Alamitos for fifteen years. It’s a condo and he owns it outright.”
    Bosch nodded. It was good intel.
    “I also tried to find a Mrs. Hardy. You know, in case there was a divorce and she’s living somewhere and could be a lead to Junior.”
    “And?”
    “And no go. Came up with an obituary from ’ninety-seven for Hilda Ames Hardy, wife of Chilton Senior and mother of Chilton Junior. Breast cancer. It listed no other children.”
    “So it looks like we go down to Los Alamitos.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Then let’s get out of here before the shit hits the fan on that story. Bring the file with the DMV photo of Pell.”
    “Why Pell?”
    “Because Senior may be predisposed not to give up Junior. I think we run a play on him and that’s where Pell comes in.”
    Bosch stood up.
    “I’ll go move the magnets.”
    It was a forty-minute drive south. Los Alamitos was at the northern tip of Orange County and one of a dozen or so small, contiguous bedroom communities between Anaheim on the east and Seal Beach to the west.
    On the way down Bosch and Chu worked out how they would handle the interview with Chilton Hardy Sr. They then cruised through his neighborhood off Katella Avenue and near the Los Alamitos Medical Center before stopping at the curb in front of a complex of town houses. They were built in sets of six with deep front lawns and double garages off rear alleys.
    “Bring the file,” Bosch said. “Let’s go.”
    There was a main sidewalk that led past a bank of mailboxes to a network of individual walkways to the front doors of the residences. Hardy Sr.’s home was the second one in. There was a screen door in front of a closed front door. Without hesitation Bosch pushed a doorbell button and then rapped his knuckles on the aluminum frame of the screen.
    They waited