The Drop

We feed them and give them a bed. But the only way they can stay is if they follow our rules. We work closely with the Department of Probation and Parole and our recidivism rate is lower than the national average.”
    “Which means it’s not perfect,” Bosch said. “For many of them, once a predator always a predator.”
    “For some that is true. But what choice do we have but to try? When people have completed their sentences, they must be released into society. This program may be one of the best last chances of preventing future crimes.”
    Bosch realized that Stone was insulted by their questions. They had made their first false move. He didn’t want this woman working against them. He wanted her cooperation.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I am sure the program is worthwhile. I was just thinking about the details of the crime we’re investigating.”
    Bosch stepped over to the front window and looked out into the courtyard.
    “Which one is Clayton Pell?”
    Stone came up next to him and pointed.
    “The man with the shaved head, on the right. That’s him.”
    “When did he shave his head?”
    “A few weeks ago. When was the attack you’re investigating?”
    Bosch turned and looked at her.
    “Before that.”
    She looked at him and nodded. She got the message. He was here to ask questions, not be asked.
    “You said he has a job. Doing what?”
    “He works for the Grande Mercado up near Roscoe. He works in the parking lot, collecting the shopping carts and emptying trash cans, that sort of thing. They pay him twenty-five dollars a day. It keeps him in cigarettes and potato chips. He’s addicted to both.”
    “What are the hours he works?”
    “They vary by the day. His schedule is posted at the market. Today he went to work early and just got back.”
    It was good to know about the schedule being available at the market. It would help if they later wanted to pick up Pell away from the Buena Vista facility.
    “Dr. Stone, is Pell one of your patients?”
    She nodded.
    “I have sessions with him four times a week. He works with other therapists here, too.”
    “What can you tell me about him?”
    “I can’t tell you anything about our sessions. The doctor-patient confidentiality bond exists even in this sort of situation.”
    “Yeah, I get that but the evidence in our case indicates he abducted, raped and then strangled a nineteen-year-old girl. I need to know what makes the man sitting out there in that circle tick. I need—”
    “Wait a minute. Just wait.”
    She put up her hand in a stop gesture.
    “You said a nineteen-year-old girl? ”
    “That’s right and his DNA was found on her.”
    Again, not a lie, but not the whole truth.
    “That’s impossible.”
    “Don’t tell me it’s impossible. The science isn’t wrong. His—”
    “Well, it is this time. Clayton Pell didn’t rape a nineteen-year-old girl. First of all, he is a homosexual. And he’s a pedophile. Almost all of the men here are. They are predators convicted of crimes against children. Second, two years ago he was assaulted in prison by a group of men and he was castrated. So there is no way that Clayton Pell is your suspect.”
    Bosch heard a sharp intake of breath from his partner. He, like Chu, was shocked by the doctor’s revelation as well as how it echoed the thoughts he’d had as he entered the facility.
    “Clayton’s sickness is that he is obsessed with prepubescent boys,” Stone continued. “I would have thought you’d do a little homework before you came here.”
    Bosch stared at her for a long moment as the burn of embarrassment colored his face. Not only had the ruse he had planned been disastrously wrong but there was now even further evidence that something was seriously amiss in the Lily Price case.
    Struggling to move away from his gaffe, he blurted out a question.
    “Prepubescent . . . you’re talking about eight-year-olds? Ten-year-olds? Why that age?”
    “I can’t go into it,” Stone said. “You’re crossing into confidential territory.”
    Bosch walked back to the window and looked out at Clayton Pell in the circle session. He was sitting up straight in his chair and looked to be closely following the conversation. He wasn’t one of those who hid his face, and there was no outward show of the trauma he had suffered.
    “Does everybody in the circle know?”
    “Only I know, and I made a serious breach telling you. The group sessions are of great therapeutic value to most of our residents.