The Drop

Bosch?”
    “Sorry to intrude so late, Mrs. Irving. I need to speak with you.”
    “Can it wait until tomorrow?”
    “I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
    “Of course. Come in.”
    She opened up and led him into the room and to the couch where he had sat before at the start of the case.
    “I saw you at the funeral today,” she said. “Chad said he spoke to you also.”
    “Yes. Is Chad still here?”
    “He’s staying through the weekend but he’s not home right now. He went to see an old girlfriend. It’s a very difficult time for him, as you can imagine.”
    “Yes, I understand.”
    “Can I get you a coffee? We have a Nespresso.”
    Bosch didn’t know what that meant but shook his head.
    “I’m fine, Mrs. Irving.”
    “Please call me Deborah.”
    “Deborah.”
    “Are you here to tell me you will be making an arrest in the case soon?”
    “Uh, no, I’m not. I’m here to tell you there’s not going to be an arrest.”
    She looked surprised.
    “Dad—uh, Councilman Irving—told me there was a suspect. That it had to do with one of the competitors George was dealing with.”
    “No, that was how it was looking because I went down the wrong path.”
    He checked her reaction. No giveaways. She still looked genuinely surprised.
    “You sent me down the wrong path,” he said. “You and the councilman and even Chad held back on me. I didn’t have what I needed and I went stumbling off after a murderer when there never was a murderer.”
    Now she was beginning to look indignant.
    “What do you mean? Dad told me there was evidence of assault and that George was choked. He said it was most likely a cop. Don’t tell me you are covering up for the cop who did this.”
    “That’s not the case, Deborah, and I think you know it. That day I came here, the councilman told you what to say, what to leave in and what to leave out.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Like that the room your husband rented was the room you two shared on the night you got married. Like that your son was already scheduled to come home Monday—before your husband even went out that night.”
    He let that sink in for a long moment, letting her come to realize what he had and what he knew.
    “Chad was coming home because you two had something to tell him, right?”
    “This is ridiculous!”
    “Is it? Maybe I should talk to Chad first, ask him what he was told when he was sent the airline ticket Sunday afternoon.”
    “You leave Chad alone. He’s going through a lot.”
    “Then talk to me, Deborah. Why’d you hide it? Can’t be money. We checked the insurance policies. They’re all mature, no suicide clauses. You get the money whether he jumped or not.”
    “He didn’t jump! I’m going to call Irvin. I’m going to tell him what you’re saying.”
    She started to stand up.
    “Did you tell George you were leaving him? Is that it? Is that why he put your anniversary date into the combination on the room safe? Is that why he jumped? His son was gone and now you were going, too. He had already lost his friend Bobby Mason and all he had left was a job working as a bagman for his father.”
    She tried what Bosch always viewed as the last best defense of a woman. She started crying.
    “You bastard! You’ll destroy a good man’s reputation. Is that what you want? Will that make you happy?”
    Bosch didn’t answer for a long time.
    “No, Mrs. Irving, not really.”
    “I want you to leave now. I buried my husband today and I want you out of my house!”
    Bosch nodded but made no move to get up.
    “I’ll leave when you give me the story.”
    “I don’t have the story!”
    “Then Chad does. I’ll wait for him.”
    “All right, look, Chad doesn’t know a thing. He’s nineteen years old. He’s a boy. If you talk to him you’ll destroy him.”
    Bosch realized that it was all about the son, about protecting him from knowing that his father had killed himself.
    “Then you have to talk to me first. Last chance, Mrs. Irving.”
    She gripped her chair’s armrests and bowed her head.
    “I told him our marriage was over.”
    “And how did he take it?”
    “Not well. He didn’t see it coming because he didn’t see what he had become. An opportunist, a taker, a bagman, like you said. Chad had gotten away and I decided I would, too. There was no one else. There was just no reason to stay. I wasn’t running to something. I was just running away from him.”
    Bosch leaned forward, elbows on his knees,