The Drop

might’ve just passed it but I’m not sure.”
    “You want us to turn around?”
    “Is that all right?”
    “Sure. Which side were you looking at?”
    “My side.”
    Bosch nodded. Now things were looking good.
    “Detective Chu,” he said. “Rather than turn around let’s go right and go around so it’s on Clayton’s side again.”
    “Got it.”
    Chu turned right at the next block, then took his first right and drove three blocks down. He then turned right and came back to Cahuenga at the corner where the day-care center was. He turned right again and they were only a block and a half from the address.
    “Yeah, right up here,” Pell said.
    Chu drove well below the speed limit. A car blasted its horn from behind and then passed them. Everyone in the police car ignored it.
    “This is it,” Pell said. “I think.”
    Chu pulled to the curb. It was the right address. Everyone was silent while Pell looked out the window at the Camelot Apartments. It was a two-story stucco affair with rounded faux turrets at the two front corners. It was typical of the urban-blight apartments that sprouted in the city in the boom times of the fifties. They were designed and built to last thirty years and were going on twice that now. The stucco was cracked and discolored, the roof line was no longer straight and the flap of a blue plastic tarp was tied over the top of one of the turrets as a makeshift remedy for a leaking roof.
    “It was nicer back then,” Pell said.
    “Are you sure it’s the right place?” Bosch asked.
    “Yeah, this is it. I remember it sort of looking like a castle and I was excited about living here. Except I didn’t know . . .”
    His voice trailed off and he just looked at the building. He had turned halfway in his seat so his back was to Bosch. Harry saw Pell lean his forehead against the window. His shoulders then began to shake and there was a low sound almost like a whistle as he began to cry.
    Bosch raised a hand and reached over to Pell’s shoulder, but then he stopped. He hesitated and pulled his hand back. Stone had been turning in her seat and she saw the move. In that split second, Bosch saw her disgust with him.
    “Clayton,” she said. “It’s all right. It’s good to see this, to confront the past head-on.”
    She reached over the seat and put her hand on Pell’s shoulder, doing what Bosch could not. She didn’t look at Bosch again.
    “It’s all right,” she said again.
    “I hope you catch the fucking bastard,” Pell said, his voice strangled with emotion.
    “Don’t worry,” Bosch said. “We will.”
    “I hope he dies. I hope he puts up a fight and you kill his ass.”
    “Come on, Clayton,” Stone said. “Let’s not think about those kinds of—”
    He slapped her hand off his shoulder.
    “I want him to die!”
    “No, Clayton.”
    “Yes! Look at me! At what I am! It’s all because of him.”
    Stone turned back in her seat and sat down.
    “I think Clayton has been through enough here,” she said in a clipped tone. “Can we go back now?”
    Bosch reached forward and tapped Chu on the shoulder.
    “Let’s go,” he said.
    Chu pulled away from the curb and headed north. The car was silent the whole way back and it was dark by the time they got back to the Buena Vista. Chu stayed in the car while Bosch walked Pell and Stone to the front gate.
    “Clayton, thank you,” Bosch said as Stone used her key to open the passage. “I know that was tough on you. I appreciate your willingness to do it. It’s going to help the case.”
    “Doesn’t matter if you have a case. Are you going to catch him?”
    Bosch hesitated and then nodded.
    “I think so. We still have some work to do but we’ll get it done and then we’ll go find him. I promise you that.”
    Pell walked through the open gate without another word.
    “Clayton, you should go to the kitchen and see if there’s dinner,” Stone instructed.
    Pell raised a hand and waved, indicating he had heard her, as he walked off into the center courtyard. Stone turned to close the gate but Bosch was standing there. She looked up at him and Harry could read the disappointment.
    “I guess we’re not having dinner,” he said.
    “Why not? Your daughter?”
    “No, she’s at her friend’s. But I just thought . . . I mean, I’m fine to have dinner. I just need to take my partner to his car in Studio City. You still want to meet at the restaurant?”
    “Sure, but let’s not wait till eight. After that ride . . .