The Drop

it.”
    “Okay, that’s good, Harry.”
    “What’s the other thing you wanted to talk about?”
    He knew what it was but it was her call. She had to ask it.
    “Us . . . Harry, I know I messed things up with my issues about my son. I am sorry about that and I hope it didn’t completely spoil things. I like you a lot and I hope we can see each other again.”
    Bosch pulled to a stop in front of his house. His daughter had left the porch light on. He stayed in the car.
    “Hannah . . . the truth is, all I’ve been doing is working. I’ve got two cases here and I’m trying to work them both. Why don’t we see how we feel over the weekend or early next week? I’ll call you then or you can call me if you want.”
    “Okay, Harry. We’ll talk next week.”
    “Yes, Hannah. Good night and have a good weekend.”
    Bosch opened the car door and practically had to roll out of the car. He was tired. The burden of knowledge was heavy. And all he wanted was to crash into a black dream where nothing could find him.

31

    B osch got in to the squad room late Friday morning because his daughter had been late in getting ready for school. By the time he entered and headed toward his cubicle, the rest of the Open-Unsolved Unit was in place. He could tell they were watching him without watching him and this told him that the story he had told David Chu to feed to Emily Gomez-Gonzmart had been published that morning in the Times . As he entered his cubicle, Harry threw a casual glance toward the lieutenant’s office and noted that the door was closed and the blinds were down. She was either late herself or hiding.
    A copy of the Times was waiting for Bosch on his desk, courtesy of his partner.
    “You see it yet?” Chu asked from his seat.
    “No, I don’t get the Times .”
    Bosch sat down, putting his briefcase on the floor next to his chair. He didn’t have to hunt through the newspaper for the story. It was on the bottom left corner of the front page. The headline was all he needed to read.

    LAPD: Councilman’s Son’s Death Ruled Suicide

    He noted that the byline was shared by Emily Gomez-Gonzmart and another reporter, Tad Hemmings, whom Bosch had never heard of. He was about to read the story when his desk phone buzzed. It was Tim Marcia, the squad whip.
    “Harry, you and Chu have a forthwith from the chief’s office. The lieutenant’s already up there and they’re waiting for you.”
    “I was hoping to get a cup of coffee but I guess we’d better go up.”
    “Yeah, I would. Good luck up there. I heard the councilman was in the building.”
    “Thanks for the heads-up.”
    Bosch stood and turned to Chu, who was on the phone. Bosch pointed toward the ceiling, meaning they were going upstairs. Chu got off his call and stood up, grabbing his sport coat off the back of his chair.
    “The chief’s office?” he asked.
    “Yeah. They’re waiting for us.”
    “How do we play this?”
    “You talk as little as possible. Let me answer the questions. If you don’t agree with something I say, don’t show it or say it. Just agree with it.”
    “Whatever you say, Harry.”
    Bosch noted his partner’s sarcasm.
    “Yeah. Whatever I say.”
    There was no need for further discussion. They took the elevator up in silence and when they entered the OCP, they were immediately whisked into a meeting room where the chief of police waited. It was the fastest Bosch had ever been able to gain an audience with a member of the department’s command staff, let alone the chief himself.
    The boardroom looked like it belonged in a downtown law firm. Long polished table, glass wall of views across the civic center. Seated at the head of the table was the chief of police and to his right was Kiz Rider. The three seats going down one side of the table were taken by Councilman Irvin Irving and two members of his staff.
    Across from them sat Lieutenant Duvall, with her back to the city view, and she signaled Bosch and Chu to the seats next to her. Eight people in a meeting about one suicide, Bosch noted. And nobody in the entire building who gave a shit about Lily Price being dead for twenty years or Chilton Hardy being free for just as long.
    The chief did the talking first.
    “All right, everybody’s here. I’m sure everybody’s seen the Times today or read it online. I think everybody is a bit surprised by the public turn this case has taken and—”
    “More than surprised,” Irving cut in. “I want to know why the L.A.