The Drop

moment later the security gate buzzed and Bosch pushed through.
    The gate led to a central area where there was a bank of mailboxes and a bulletin board with notices about the complex. Almost immediately they were approached by a small, dark man of what appeared to be South Asian descent.
    “Police,” he said. “How can I do for you?”
    Bosch identified himself and Chu and the man introduced himself as Irfan Khan and said he was the manager. Bosch told him they were conducting an investigation in the area and were looking for a man who may have been the victim of a crime.
    “What crime?” Khan asked.
    “We can’t tell you that at the moment,” Bosch said. “We need to simply know if this is where the man lives.”
    “What is name?”
    “Chilton Hardy. He may use the name Chill.”
    “No, not here.”
    “You sure, Mr. Khan?”
    “Yes, sure. I manage building. He not here.”
    “Take a look at a picture of him.”
    “Okay, you show it.”
    Chu pulled out a photo from Hardy’s current driver’s license and showed Khan. He looked at it for a good five seconds and then shook his head.
    “See, I tell you. This man not here.”
    “Yeah, I got it. This man not here. How about you, Mr. Khan? How long have you been here?”
    “I work here three years now. I do very good job.”
    “And this guy never lived here? What about two years ago?”
    “No, I remember him if he live.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Okay, Mr. Khan. Thank you for your cooperation.”
    “I cooperate fully.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Bosch turned and headed back toward the gate. Chu followed. When they got to the car, Bosch looked over the car roof at the building for a long moment before ducking into the driver’s seat.
    “Do you believe him?” Chu asked.
    “Yeah,” Bosch said. “I guess I do.”
    “So then, what do you think?”
    “I think we’re missing something. Let’s go see Clayton Pell.”
    He turned the car on and pulled away from the curb. As he steered back toward the freeway, he had the navy-and-white-striped awnings in his mind’s eye.

22

    I t was one of the few times he let Chu drive. Bosch was in the backseat with Clayton Pell. He wanted to be close to him in case of a violent reaction. When Pell had seen the photo lineups earlier and picked Chilton Hardy’s photo out each time, he had disappeared behind a wall of controlled rage. Bosch could sense it and he wanted to be close in case he had to do something about it.
    Hannah Stone rode in the front passenger seat and from his position Bosch could watch both Pell and her. Stone had a concerned look on her face. The reopening of Pell’s old wounds was clearly weighing on her.
    Bosch and Chu had choreographed the drive before arriving at the Buena Vista to pick up Pell. From the halfway center they first drove to Travel Town in Griffith Park so that they could begin the tour with Pell seeing what appeared to be one of the places of good memories of his young life. Pell wanted to get out and watch the trains, but Bosch said no, they were on a schedule. The truth was, he didn’t want to allow Pell to watch the children on the train rides.
    Now Chu turned right onto Cahuenga and started heading north toward the address they had traced Chilton Hardy to during the time period Pell lived with him. By the prearranged plan, they would not point out the apartment building to Pell. They would simply see if he recognized it on his own.
    When they were two blocks away Pell showed the first stirring of recognition.
    “Yes, this is where we lived. I thought that place was a school and I wanted to go there.”
    He pointed out the window at a private day-care center that had a swing set in front behind a wire fence. Bosch could understand how an eight-year-old might think it was a school.
    They were coming up to the apartment building now. It was on Pell’s side. Chu took his foot off the gas pedal and started to coast, which Bosch thought was a giveaway, but they went right by the address without a word from Pell.
    It wasn’t a case catastrophe but Bosch was disappointed. He was thinking in terms of a prosecution. If he was able to testify that Pell pointed out the apartment building without any help, that would bolster Pell’s story. If they had to specifically point the place out to Pell, a defense attorney would be able to contend that Pell was manipulating the police and creating his testimony out of a revenge fantasy.
    “Anything yet?” Bosch asked.
    “Yeah, I think we