The Harry Bosch Novels Vol Ii Part 54

"What?"

"That's what they said. At least for now. Until we find something they might be interested in."

Bosch wondered if Edgar even believed he had made the call.

"That doesn't figure, Harry."

"Yeah, well, all we can do is our job. You hear from Kiz?"

"Not yet. Who'd you talk to over at Organized Crime?"

"Guy named Carbone. He was on call."

"Never heard of him."

"Well, neither had I. I gotta go, Jerry. Let me know what you know."

As soon as Bosch hung up, the door to the shed opened and in stepped Lieutenant Grace Billets. She quickly scanned the room and saw Donovan working in the car. She asked Bosch to step outside and that was when he knew she was unhappy.

She closed the door after he stepped out. She was in her forties and had as many years on the job as Bosch, give or take a couple, but they had never worked together before her a.s.signment as his commanding officer. She was of medium build, with reddish-brown hair she kept short. She wore no makeup. She was dressed entirely in black- jeans, T-s.h.i.+rt and blazer. She also wore black cowboy boots. Her only concession to femininity was the pair of thin gold hoop earrings. Her manner was no concession to anything.

"What's going on, Harry? You moved the body in in the car?" the car?"

"Had to. It was either that or dump it out of the car with about ten thousand people watching us instead of the fireworks they were supposed to see."

Bosch explained the situation in detail and Billets listened silently. When he was done, she nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know the details. It looks like it was your only choice."

Bosch liked that about her. She wasn't always right and she was willing to admit it.

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

"So what do we have?"

When Bosch and Billets stepped back into the shed, Donovan was at one of the worktables working with the leather jacket. He had hung it on a wire inside an empty one-hundred-gallon aquarium and then dropped in a Hard Evidence packet. The packet, when broken open, emitted cyanoacrylate fumes which would attach to the amino acids and oils of fingerprints and crystallize, thereby raising the ridges and whorls and making them more visible and photo-ready.

"How's it look?" Bosch asked.

"Real good. We're going to get something off this. Howdy, Lieutenant."

"h.e.l.lo there," Billets said.

Bosch could tell she didn't remember Donovan's name.

"Listen, Art," he said, "when you get those together, get them over to the print lab and then call me or Edgar and tell us. We'll get somebody over there to do them code three."

Code three was a patrol response code meaning lights and siren authorized. Bosch needed the prints to be handled quickly. So far, they were the best lead.

"Will do, Harry."

"What about the Rolls? Can I get in it yet?"

"Well, I'm not quite through with it. You can go in. Just be careful."

Bosch began searching the interior of the car, checking the door and seat pockets first and finding nothing. He checked the ashtray and found it empty, not even an ash. He made a mental note that the victim apparently didn't smoke.

Billets stood nearby, watching but not helping. She had risen to detective bureau commander primarily on the success of her skills as an administrator, not as an investigator. She knew when to watch and not get in the way.

Bosch checked under the seats and found nothing of interest. He opened the glove compartment last and a small square piece of paper fell out. It was a receipt for an airport valet company. Holding it by the corner, Bosch walked it over to the workbench and told Donovan to check it for prints when he got the chance.

He went back to the glove compartment and found the lease agreement and registration of the car, its service records and a small tool kit with a flashlight. There was also a half-used tube of Preparation H, a hemorrhoid medication. It seemed like an odd place to keep it, but Bosch guessed that maybe Aliso kept the tube handy for long drives.

He bagged all of the items from the compartment separately and while doing so noticed an extra battery in the tool kit. It struck him as odd because the flashlight obviously took two batteries. Having one extra would not do much good.

He pressed the flashlight's on/ off switch. It was dead. He unscrewed the cap and one battery slid out. Looking into the barrel, Bosch saw a plastic bag. He used a pen to reach in and pull the bag out. It contained about two dozen brown capsules.

Billets stepped closer.

"Poppers," Bosch said. "Amyl nitrate. Supposed to help you get it up and keep it there. You know, improve your o.r.g.a.s.m."

He suddenly felt the need to explain his knowledge was not based on personal experience.

"It's come up in other cases before."

She nodded. Donovan walked over with the valet ticket in a clear plastic envelope.

"A couple smudges. Nothing we can work with."

Bosch took it back. He then carried the various plastic evidence bags he had to the counter.

"Art, I'm taking the receipt, the poppers and the car's service records, okay?"

"You got it."

"I'll leave you the plane ticket and the wallet. You are also going to put some speed on the prints from the jacket and what else? Oh yeah, those sparkles. What do you think?"

"Hopefully tomorrow. The rest of the fiber stuff I'll take a look at, but it's probably going to be exclusionary."

That meant most of the material they had collected would sit in storage after a quick examination by Donovan, and come into play only if a suspect was identified. It would then be used either to tie that suspect to the crime scene or to exclude him.

Bosch took a large envelope off a shelf over the counter, put all the pieces of evidence he was taking into it, then put it in his briefcase and snapped it closed. He headed for the curtain with Billets.

"Good to see you again, Art," she said.

"Likewise, Lieutenant."

"You want me to call OPG to come get the car?" Bosch asked.

"Nah, I'm going to be here a while," Donovan said. "Gotta use the vac and I might think of something else to do. I'll take care of it, Harry."

"Okay, man, later."

Bosch and Billets stepped through the curtain and then through the door. Outside he lit a cigarette and looked up at the dark, starless sky. Billets lit one of her own.

"Where to?" she asked.

"Next of kin. You want to come? It's always a fun thing."

She smiled at his sarcasm.

"No, I think I'll pa.s.s on that. But before you leave, what's your gut on this, Harry? I mean, OCID pa.s.sing without taking a look, that kind of bothers me."

"Me, too." He took a long drag and exhaled. "My gut is that this one's going to be tough. Unless something good comes out of those prints. That's our only real break so far."

"Well, tell your people that I want everybody in at eight for a roundtable on what we've got so far."

"Let's make it nine, Lieutenant. I think by then we should have something back from Donovan on the prints."

"Okay, nine then. I'll see you then, Harry. And from now on, when we're talking like this, you know, informally, call me Grace."

"Sure, Grace. Have a nice night."

She expelled her smoke in a short burst that sounded like the start of a laugh.

"You mean, what's left of it."

On the way up to Mulholland Drive and Hidden Highlands Bosch paged Rider and she called back from one of the houses she was visiting. She said it was the last of the houses overlooking the clearing where the Rolls was parked. She told him the best she could come up with was a resident who remembered seeing the white Rolls-Royce from the back deck of his home on Sat.u.r.day morning about ten. The same resident also believed the car had not been there on Friday evening when he was out on the deck to watch the sunset.

"That fits with the time frame the ME's looking at and the plane ticket. I think we're zeroing in on Friday night, sometime after he got in from Vegas. Probably on his way home from the airport. n.o.body heard any shots?"

"Not that I've found. There's two houses where I got no answer. I was going to go back and try them now."

"Maybe you can catch them tomorrow. I'm heading up to Hidden Highlands. I think you should go with me."

They made arrangements to meet outside the entrance to the development where Aliso had lived, and Bosch closed the phone. He wanted Kiz along when he told Aliso's next of kin he was dead because it would be good for her to learn the grim routine and because the percentages called for whoever that next of kin was to be considered a possible suspect. It was always good to have a witness with you when you first spoke to the person who later could become your quarry.

Bosch looked at his watch. It was nearly ten. Taking care of the notification meant they probably wouldn't be getting to the victim's office until midnight. He called the communications center and gave the operator the address on Melrose and had her look it up in the cross directory. It came back to Archway Pictures, as Bosch had guessed. He knew they had caught a bit of a break. Archway was a midsize studio that largely rented offices and production facilities to independent filmmakers. As far as Bosch knew, it hadn't made its own films since the 1960s. The break was that he knew someone in security over there. Chuckie Meachum was a former Robbery-Homicide bull who had retired a few years earlier and taken a job as a.s.sistant director of security at Archway. He would be useful in smoothing their way in. Bosch considered calling ahead and arranging for Chuckie Meachum to meet them at the studio but decided against it. He decided he didn't want anyone to know he was coming until he got there.

He got to Hidden Highlands fifteen minutes later. Rider's car was parked on the shoulder off Mulholland. Bosch pulled up and she got in his car. Then he pulled into the entrance lane next to the gatehouse. It was a small brick structure with a single guard inside. Hidden Highlands was maybe a little richer but not that different from many of the other small, wealthy and scared enclaves nestled in the hills and valleys around Los Angeles. Walls and gates, guardhouses and private security forces were the secret ingredients of the so-called melting pot of southern California.

A guard in a blue uniform stepped out of the gatehouse carrying a clipboard and Bosch had his badge wallet out and open. The guard was a tall, thin man with a worn, gray face. Bosch didn't recognize him, though he had heard in the station that most of the guards working here were off-duty uniforms from Hollywood Division. In the past he had seen postings for part-time jobs on the bulletin board outside the roll call room.

The guard gave Bosch a once-over in a laconic manner, avoiding a look at the badge on purpose.

"Kenahepyou?" he finally said.

"I need to go to the home of Anthony Aliso."

He gave the address on Hillcrest that had been on the victim's driver's license.

"Your names?"

"Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD. Says it right here. This is Detective Kizmin Rider."

He proffered the badge wallet, but it was still ignored. The guard was writing on his clipboard. Bosch saw his name tag said Nash. He also saw that the tin badge said CAPTAIN CAPTAIN across it. across it.

"They expecting you at the Aliso place?"

"I don't think so. It's police business."

"Okay, but I've got to call ahead. It's the development's rules, you know."

"I prefer you didn't do that, Captain Nash."

Bosch hoped his use of the security guard's t.i.tle would win him over. Nash thought a moment.

"Tell you what," he said. "You go on ahead and I'll come up with a reason for delaying making the call a few minutes. I'll just say I'm up here by myself t'night and I got kind of busy, if there's a complaint."

He stepped back and reached in the open door of the gatehouse. He pressed a b.u.t.ton on the inside wall and the crossguard went up.

"Thanks, Captain. You work out of Hollywood?"

Bosch knew he didn't. He could tell Nash wasn't even a cop. He didn't have the cold eyes of a cop. But Bosch was playing to him, just in case he became a useful source of information later on.

"Nah," Nash said. "I'm full-time. That's why they made me captain of the watch. Everybody else is part-time out of Hollywood or West Hollywood sheriffs. I run the schedule."

"Then how'd you get stuck on the night s.h.i.+ft on Sunday night?"

"Everybody can use some OT now and then."

Bosch nodded.

"You're right about that. Hillcrest, where's that?"

"Oh, yeah, forgot. Take your second left. That's Hillcrest. The Aliso place is about the sixth house on the right. Nice view of the city from the pool."

"Did you know him?" Rider asked, leaning down so she could see Nash through Bosch's window.

"Aliso?" Nash said, bending further to look in at her. He thought a moment. "Not really. Just like I know people when they come through here. I'm just the same to them as the pool man, I guess. I notice you asked did did I know him. Am I not going to get the chance?" I know him. Am I not going to get the chance?"

"Smart man, Mr. Nash," Rider said.

She straightened up, finished with the conversation. Bosch nodded his thanks and drove through the gate to Hillcrest. As he pa.s.sed the broad, manicured lawns surrounding houses the size of apartment buildings, he filled Rider in on what he had learned at the print shed and from Edgar. He also admired the properties they were pa.s.sing. Many of them were surrounded by walls or tall hedges that looked as though they were trimmed into sharp edges every morning. Walls within walls, Bosch thought. He wondered what the owners did with all of their s.p.a.ce besides fearfully guard it.

It took them five minutes to find the Aliso house on a cul-de-sac at the top of the hill. He pa.s.sed through the open gates of an estate with a Tudor-style mansion set behind a circular driveway made of gray paver stones. Bosch got out with his briefcase and looked up at the place. It was intimidating in its size, but its style was not much to speak of. He wouldn't want it, even if he had the money.

After getting to the door and pus.h.i.+ng the doorbell b.u.t.ton, he looked at Rider.