The Drop

search warrant for what?”
    “Irving’s office. I want to have a warrant before we go in and start looking at files.”
    “They’re his files and he’s dead. What do we need a warrant for?”
    “Because the guy was a lawyer and I don’t want to trip over any attorney-client privilege bullshit when we go in there. I want everything clean on this.”
    “You know, it’s going to be hard for me to write up a warrant with you keeping me in the dark about shit.”
    “No, it’s going to be easy. You say you are conducting an open-ended investigation into this man’s death. You say that there were signs of a possible struggle—the button torn from the shirt, the antemortem wound on the back—and you want access to his business papers and product so you can determine if there was any bad blood involving clients or adversaries. Simple. If you can’t do it, I’ll write it up when I get back.”
    “No, I can do it. I’m the writer.”
    It was true. In their usual division of labor and responsibilities, Chu always did the warrant work.
    “Okay, then go do it and stop moping about it.”
    “Hey, Harry, fuck you. I’m not moping. You wouldn’t like it if this was how I was treating you.”
    “I’ll tell you what, Chu. If I had a partner who had a lot more years and experience than me and who said trust me on this until the time is right, then I think I would. And I would thank him for watching out for me.”
    Bosch let that sink in for a moment before dismissing Chu.
    “I’ll see you back there. I gotta go.”
    They started walking to their separate cars. Bosch glanced back at his partner and saw him walking with his head down, a hangdog expression on his face. Chu didn’t understand the complexities of high jingo. But Bosch did.
    By the time he was behind the wheel, Harry had Kiz Rider on the phone.
    “Meet me at the academy in fifteen minutes. In the video room.”
    “Harry, there’s no way. I’m about to go into a budget meeting.”
    “Then don’t complain to me about not knowing what’s going on with the Irving case.”
    “Can’t you just tell me?”
    “No, you have to be shown. When can you meet?”
    There was a long pause before she responded.
    “Not before one. Go get yourself something to eat and I’ll meet you then.”
    Bosch was reluctant to slow things down but it was important that Rider know the direction the case was heading.
    “See you then. By the way, did you put somebody on Irving’s office like I asked you yesterday?”
    “Yes, I did. Why?”
    “Just wanted to be sure.”
    He disconnected before she rebuked him for his lack of confidence in her.
    It took Bosch fifteen minutes to get over to Elysian Park and the police academy complex. He stopped in at the café in the Revolver and Athletic Club and took a stool at the counter. He ordered a coffee and a Bratton Burger, named after the prior chief of police, and spent the next hour going over his notes and adding to them.
    After paying the tab and checking out some of the police memorabilia hanging on the café wall, he walked through the old gymnasium, the place where he had received his badge on a rainy day more than thirty years before, and into the video room. There was a library here that contained all the training videos used by the department for as long as there had been video. He told the civilian custodian what he was looking for and waited while the man searched for the old tape.
    Rider arrived a few minutes later and right on time.
    “Okay, Harry, I’m here. As much as I hate daylong budget meetings, I really need to get back as soon as I can. What are we doing here?”
    “We’re going to look at a training tape, Kiz.”
    “And what does it have to do with Irving’s son?”
    “Maybe everything.”
    The custodian brought Bosch the tape. He and Rider went over to a viewing cubicle. Bosch put the video in the machine and started the playback.
    “This is one of the old training tapes for the controlled bar hold,” he said. “More commonly known in the world as the LAPD choke hold.”
    “The infamous choke hold,” she said. “It’s been banned since before I even got here.”
    “Technically, the bar hold is banned. The controlled carotid hold is still approved in use of deadly force situations. But good luck with that.”
    “So like I said, what are we doing here, Harry?”
    Bosch gestured toward the screen.
    “They used to use these tapes to teach what to do. Now they’re used to teach what not