The Drop

There was a handle on the top of it. Bosch grabbed it and tipped it forward. There were two wheels on the bottom and he rolled it out into the hallway. The case felt empty and Bosch wondered if it had contained a musical instrument.
    But then he saw a manufacturer’s plate on the side of the container. It said Golf+Go Systems and Bosch realized it was a case for transporting golf clubs on planes. He laid it down on the carpet and opened it, noting that the two latches could be locked with a key. It was empty but Bosch saw that there were three rough-edged holes the size of dimes cut into the top facing of the container.
    Bosch closed it, righted it and put it back in the closet to be found later during the official search. He shut the door and headed back downstairs.
    When he was halfway down the stairs, Bosch suddenly stopped and gripped the banister. He knew the dime-sized holes in the golf clubs carrier were to allow air into the case. And he knew a child or small person could fit inside. The inhumanity and depravity suddenly seized him. He could smell the blood. He could hear the muffled pleas. He knew the misery of this place.
    He put his shoulder against the wall for a moment and then slid down to a seated position on the steps. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He was hyperventilating and tried to slow down his breathing cycle. He ran a hand back through his hair and then held the hand across his mouth.
    He closed his eyes and remembered another time when he was in a place of death, huddled in a tunnel and far from home. He was really just a boy then and he was scared and trying to control his breathing. That was the key. Control your breathing and you control the fear.
    He sat there for no more than two minutes but it seemed like an entire night went by. Finally his breathing returned to normal and the memory of the tunnels faded.
    His phone buzzed and it brought him out of the dark moment. He pulled it and looked at the screen. It was Chu.
    “Yeah?”
    “Harry, you okay over there? You’re taking a long time.”
    “I’m cool. I’ll be over in a minute.”
    “Are we good?”
    Meaning did Bosch find what they needed in 6A.
    “Yeah, we’re good.”
    He disconnected and then called Tim Marcia’s direct number. He obliquely explained to the squad whip what was going on.
    “We’re going to need people down here,” Bosch said. “I think there’s going to be a lot of work to do. We are also going to need media relations and a liaison with the locals. We should set up a command post because we’re going to be here all week.”
    “Okay, I’m on it,” Marcia said. “I’ll talk to the lieutenant and we’ll start mobilizing. It sounds like we’re going to need to send everybody.”
    “That would be good.”
    “Are you all right, Harry? You sound weird.”
    “I’m all right.”
    Bosch gave him the address and hung up. He sat still for another two minutes and then made the next call, to Kizmin Rider’s cell.
    “Harry, I know why you’re calling and all I can tell you is that it was thought out very carefully. A decision was made that was best for the department and we’re never going to talk about it. It’s best that way for you, too.”
    She was talking about the Times story on Irving and the taxi franchise. The case seemed so distant to Bosch now. And so meaningless.
    “That’s not why I’m calling.”
    “Oh. Then, what’s up? You don’t sound right.”
    “I’m fine. We just took down a big one that I’m sure the chief’s going to want to get in on. You remember the Mandy Phillips case up in the West Valley about nine, ten years ago?”
    “No, refresh me.”
    “Thirteen years old, she got grabbed at a mall out there. Never found, nobody ever arrested.”
    “You got the guy?”
    “Yeah, and get this. When he got a driver’s license three years ago? He gave the girl’s address as his own.”
    Rider was silent as she registered Hardy’s audacity.
    “I’m glad you got him,” she finally said.
    “She’s not the only one. We’re down in Orange County putting it together. But it’s going to get big. The guy claims his number is thirty-seven.”
    “Oh, my god!”
    “He’s got a closet full of cameras and photos and tapes. There are VHS tapes, Kiz. This guy’s been at this a very long time.”
    Bosch knew he was taking a risk in revealing to Rider what he had found while jumping the warrant. They had been partners once but the bulletproof bond they shared