The Drop

without a suitcase. He asked for the top floor and a room with a balcony. He then goes up to his room, takes off his clothes, puts on the bathrobe they give you in a place like this and goes out on the balcony to contemplate the stars or something. He then takes off the bathrobe and falls face-fucking-first off the balcony by accident?”
    “And no scream,” Glanville added. “Nobody reported a scream—that’s why they didn’t find him till this morning. You don’t accidentally fall off a freakin’ balcony and not scream your lungs out.”
    “So maybe he wasn’t conscious,” Bosch suggested. “Maybe he wasn’t alone up here. Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”
    “Oh, man, is that what this is about?” Solomon said. “The councilman wants a murder investigation and you’re sent out to make sure he gets it.”
    Bosch gave Solomon a look that let him know he was making a mistake suggesting Harry was carrying out Irving’s bidding.
    “Look, nothing personal,” Solomon said quickly. “I’m just saying we don’t see that angle at all here. Suicide note or not, this scene adds up to only one thing. A high dive.”
    Bosch didn’t respond. He noticed the fire escape ladder at the other end of the balcony. It led up to the roof and down to the balcony below on the sixth floor.
    “Anybody go up on the roof?”
    “Not yet,” Solomon said. “We were awaiting further instructions.”
    “What about the rest of the hotel? Did you knock on any doors?”
    “Same thing. Further instructions.”
    Solomon was being an ass but Bosch ignored it.
    “How did you confirm ID on the body? The facial damage was extensive.”
    “Yeah, this one’s going to be closed casket,” Glanville said. “That’s for sure.”
    “We got the name off the hotel registration and the plate on the car in valet,” Solomon said. “This was before we got the room safe open and found the wallet. We figured we better be sure and we better be quick. I had patrol send over the division’s MPR and got it off the guy’s thumb.”
    Each of the department’s divisions had a mobile print reader that took a digital thumbprint and instantly compared it to the Department of Motor Vehicles database. It was primarily used in the station house jails to confirm IDs, as there had been several incidents in which felons sought on warrants had given false IDs upon arrest and were able to bail out before the jailers knew they’d had a wanted individual in custody. But the department was always looking for other applications of the equipment and this had been a smart use of the new technology by Crate and Barrel.
    “Good going,” Bosch said.
    He turned and looked at the bathrobe.
    “Anybody check that?”
    Solomon and Glanville looked at each other and Bosch saw the exchange. Neither had checked, thinking the other had.
    Solomon went to the robe and Bosch stepped back into the suite. As he did so he spotted a small object next to a leg of the coffee table in front of the couch. He squatted down to see what it was without touching it. It was a small black button that had blended in with the dark pattern of the carpet.
    Bosch picked the button up so he could look closely at it. He guessed that it had come off a men’s dress shirt. He put the button back in the place he had found it. He could tell one of the detectives had come in from the balcony and was behind him.
    “Where are his clothes?”
    “Folded and hung nice and neat in the closet,” Glanville said. “What’s that?”
    “A button, probably nothing. But get the photographer back up here to shoot it before we collect it. Anything in the bathrobe?”
    “The room key. That’s it.”
    Bosch headed down the hallway. The first room on the right was a small kitchen with a table for two against one wall. On the counter opposite was a display of alcoholic beverages and snacks available for purchase by the suite’s guest. Bosch checked the waste can in the corner. It was empty. He opened the refrigerator and found it stocked with more beverages—beer, champagne, sodas and fruit drinks. None of it looked disturbed.
    Harry moved on down the hall, checking out the bathroom before finally entering the bedroom.
    Solomon had been right about the bed. The spread was neat and pulled tight at the corners. No one had even sat on the bed since it had been made. There was a closet with a mirrored door. As Bosch approached it he could see Glanville in the room’s doorway behind him, watching.
    In the