The Drop

hand.
    “Okay, Hooch, what’s the name of the shift supervisor you had Sunday night?”
    “Mark McQuillen. He’s on the stick at night.”
    “The stick?”
    “He’s the dispatcher. But they call him the stick cause in the old days there was like a microphone or something on the desk. The stick. You know, somebody told me he’s an ex-cop.”
    Bosch looked at Rollins for a long moment as he fit the name McQuillen into the picture. Rollins was right about his being an ex-cop. And the feeling Bosch had had earlier about things tumbling together now returned. Only things weren’t tumbling anymore. They were cascading. Mark McQuillen was a name out of the past. Both Bosch’s and the department’s.
    Bosch finally came away from his thoughts and looked at Rollins.
    “What did McQuillen say when you told him you saw Irving?”
    “Nothing. I think he asked if the guy was checking in.”
    “And what did you tell him?”
    “That I thought he was. I mean, he was dumping his car at the garage. That garage is too small; they only let hotel guests park there. If you’re just going to the bar or something, you have to use the outside valet.”
    Bosch nodded. Rollins was right about that.
    “Okay, we’re going to take you back now, Hooch. If you tell anybody what we talked about here, I’m going to know. And I promise you if that happens, it’s not going to turn out good for you.”
    Rollins raised his hands in surrender.
    “I’m straight with that,” he said.

19

    A fter they dropped Rollins off they headed back toward downtown and the PAB.
    “So, McQuillen,” Chu said, as Bosch knew he would. “Who is he? I could tell the name meant something to you.”
    “Like Hooch said, a former cop.”
    “But you know him? Or knew him?”
    “I knew of him. I never met him.”
    “Well, what’s the story?”
    “He was a cop who was sacrificed to the gods of appeasement. He lost his job for doing it just the way they taught him.”
    “Stop talking in circles, Harry. What’s going on?”
    “What’s going on is that I have to go up to the tenth floor and talk to somebody.”
    “The chief?”
    “No, not the chief.”
    “And this is one of those times again where you’re not going to tell your partner what’s going on until you feel like it.”
    Bosch didn’t answer. He was grinding things down.
    “ Harry! I’m talking to you.”
    “Chu, when we get back, I want you to start a moniker search.”
    “Who?”
    “Somebody who went by the name Chill in the North Hollywood–Burbank area about twenty-five years ago.”
    “What the fuck? Are you talking about the other case now?”
    “I want you to find this guy. His initials are C. H. and people called him Chill. It’s got to be a variation on his first name.”
    Chu shook his head.
    “That’s it, man, I’m done after this. I can’t work this way. I’ll tell the lieutenant.”
    Bosch just nodded.
    “‘After this’? Does that mean you’ll do the moniker search first?”
    Bosch didn’t call ahead to Kiz Rider. He just took the elevator up to the tenth floor and entered the OCP suite without invitation or appointment. He was met by twin desks with twin adjutants behind them. He went to his left.
    “Detective Harry Bosch. I need to see Lieutenant Rider.”
    The adjutant was a young officer in a crisp uniform with the name R IVERA on his nameplate. He picked up a clipboard from the side of his desk and studied it for a moment.
    “I don’t have anything here. Is the lieutenant expecting you? She’s in a meeting.”
    “Yes.”
    Rivera seemed surprised by the answer. He had to check the clipboard again.
    “Why don’t you have a seat, Detective, and I’ll check on availability.”
    “You do that.”
    Rivera didn’t move. He waited for Bosch to go away. Harry walked over to some chairs arranged near a set of windows that looked out upon the civic center—the signature spire of City Hall took up most of the view. He stayed standing. When Harry was a safe distance from the desk, Rivera picked up his phone and made a call, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece when he spoke to someone on the other end. Soon he hung up but did not even glance in Bosch’s direction.
    Bosch turned back to the window and looked down. He saw a television camera crew set up on the steps of City Hall, waiting for a sound bite from some politician with something to sell. Bosch wondered if it would be Irving who would come out and descend the marble steps.
    “Harry?”
    He