The Drop

You’re the boss.”
    As the conversation continued, Bosch opened a drawer and took out a three-hole punch. He started punching holes in the reports he had printed and sliding them onto the prongs of the blue binder. There was something calming about putting the murder book together while dealing with Solomon.
    “Okay, first of all, on this guy Mitchell who saw the man on the fire escape, did he give a good reason why the guy just disappeared? I mean, he sees him between the fifth and sixth floors and then when he goes to the telescope, the guy is gone. What happened to floors one through four?”
    “That’s simple. He said by the time he swung the scope around and got it in focus, the guy was gone. He could’ve gone all the way down or he could’ve gone inside on one of the landings.”
    Bosch almost asked him why that wasn’t in the report but he knew why, just as he knew that George Irving’s death would have been written off as a suicide with Crate and Barrel in charge.
    “How do we know it wasn’t Irving?” Bosch asked.
    It was a curve ball and it took Solomon a moment to respond.
    “I guess we don’t. But what would Irving be doing out there on the ladder?”
    “I don’t know. Was there any description? Clothes, hair, race?”
    “He was too far away to be sure about any of that. He thought it was a white guy and his impression was that it might’ve been a maintenance man. You know, working for the hotel.”
    “At midnight? What made him think that?”
    “He said his pants and shirt matched color. You know, like a uniform.”
    “What color?”
    “Light gray.”
    “Did you check at the hotel?”
    “Check what at the hotel?”
    That false tone of confusion was back in his voice.
    “Come on, Solomon, drop the stupid act. Did you check if there was any reason for someone in the hotel or working in the hotel to be on that fire escape? Did you ask them what color uniform their maintenance men wear?”
    “No, I didn’t, Bosch. There was no need to. The guy was going down the fire escape a good two to four hours before our guy took the high dive. They are unrelated matters. You sending us up that street was a complete waste of our time. That was what was stupid.”
    Bosch knew that if he lost his temper with Solomon, the detective would be completely useless for the rest of the investigation. He wasn’t ready to lose him yet. Once again, he moved on.
    “Okay, on the other report, your interview with this writer, Thomas Rapport. You have any more details on why he’s in L.A.?”
    “I don’t know, he’s some kind of a big screenwriter. The studio put him up in one of those bungalows in the back where Belushi died. That’s two grand a night and he said he was in town for the whole week. He said he’s doing rewrites on a script.”
    At least that answered one question before Bosch had to ask it. How long would they have local access to Rapport if they needed him?
    “So did the studio pop for a limo? How’d he get to the hotel?”
    “Uh . . . no, he took a cab in from the airport. His plane landed early and the studio car wasn’t there yet, so he grabbed a cab. He said that’s why Irving got in front of him at the check-in. They arrived at the same time but Rapport had to wait for the cab driver to print out a receipt and it took forever. He was sort of pissed about that. He was on East Coast time and dead tired. He wanted to get into his bungalow.”
    Bosch felt a brief stirring in his gut. It was a mixture of instinct and knowing that there was an order of things in the world. The truth was revealed to the righteous. He often felt it at the moment things started to tumble together on a case.
    “Jerry,” he said, “did Rapport tell you which cab company brought him to the hotel?”
    “You mean what kind?”
    “Yeah, you know, Valley Cab, Yellow Cab, which company? It says it on the door of the taxi.”
    “He didn’t say but what’s that got to do with anything?”
    “Maybe nothing. Did you get a cell phone for this guy?”
    “No, but he’s there at the hotel for a week.”
    “Right. I got that. I tell you what, Jerry, I want you and your partner to go back over to the hotel and ask about the man on the fire escape. Find out if they had anybody working that night who could have been the man on the ladder. And find out about the uniforms they wear.”
    “Come on, Bosch. It was at least two hours before Irving went down. Most likely longer.”
    “I don’t care if it was two