The Harry Bosch Novels Vol I Part 24

"Until the WestLand burglary. They go in, they hit the boxes until they find Binh's box. Or maybe they already knew which one was his. They must have followed him to plan the job and find out where he kept whatever was left of his share of the diamonds. We need to go back to the vault records and see if this Frederic B. Isley ever visited at the same time as Binh. I bet we find that he did. He saw which box was Binh's because he was in the vault with him at the same time.

"Then during the vault break-in, they hit his box and then all the others, taking everything as camouflage. The genius of it was that they knew Binh couldn't report what was taken from him because it did not exist, legally. They knew this. It was perfect. And what made it that way is them taking all the other stuff, to cover for the real target. The diamonds."

"The perfect crime," she said, "until Meadows p.a.w.ned the bracelet with the jade dolphins on it. That gets him killed. Which brings us back to the question we had a few days ago. Why? And another thing that makes no sense: why, if he had helped loot the vault, was Meadows living in that dump? He was a rich man not acting like a rich man."

Bosch walked in silence for a while. It was the question he had been formulating an answer to since halfway through the meeting with Ernst. He thought about Meadows's eleven-month lease, paid in advance. If he were alive, he would be moving out next week. As they walked through the garden of white stone, it all seemed to fit together. There was no sand left in the top of the hourgla.s.s. He finally spoke.

"Because the perfect crime was only half over. By p.a.w.ning the bracelet, he was giving it away too soon. So he had to go, and they had to get that bracelet back."

She stopped and looked at him. They were standing on the access road next to the World War II section. Bosch saw that the roots of another old oak had pushed some of the weathered stones out of alignment. They looked like teeth waiting for an orthodontist's hands.

"Explain that to me, what you just said," Eleanor said.

"They hit several of the boxes to cover that all they really wanted was what was in Binh's box. Okay?"

She nodded. They still weren't walking.

"Okay. So in order to keep that cover, what would be the thing to do? Get rid of the stuff from all the other boxes so it would never turn up again. And I don't mean fence it. I mean get rid of it, destroy it, sink it, bury it for good, somewhere it would never be found. Because the minute the first piece of jewelry or old coin or stock certificate turns up and the police find out about it, then they've got a lead and they'll come looking."

"So you think Meadows was killed because he p.a.w.ned the bracelet?" she said.

"Not quite because of that. There is some other current moving through all of this. Why, if Meadows had a share of Binh's diamonds, would he even bother with a bracelet worth a few thousand bucks? Why would he live the way he lived? Doesn't make sense."

"You're losing me, Harry."

"I'm losing myself. But look at it this way for a minute. Say they - Meadows and the others - knew where both Binh and the other police captain, Nguyen Tran, were, and where each of them had stashed what was left of the diamonds they had brought over here. Say there were two banks and the diamonds were in two safe-deposit boxes. And say they were going to hit them both. So first they rip off Binh's bank. And now they are going for Tran's."

She nodded that she was following along. Bosch felt excitement building.

"Okay. So these things take time to plan, to put the strategy together, to plan it for a time the bank is closed three days in a row because that's how much time they need to open enough boxes to make it look real. And then there is the time needed to dig the tunnel."

He'd forgotten to light a cigarette. He realized now and put one in his mouth, but started talking again before lighting it.

"You with me?"

She nodded. He lit the cigarette.

"Okay, then what would be the best thing to do after you have hit the first bank but before the second one is taken down? You lie low and you don't give a G.o.ddam hint away. You get rid of all the stuff taken as cover, all the stuff from the other boxes. You keep nothing. And you sit on the diamonds from Binh's box. You can't start to fence them, because it might draw attention to you and spoil the second hit. In fact, Binh probably had feelers out, looking for the diamonds. I mean, over the years, he was probably cas.h.i.+ng them in piecemeal and was familiar with the gem-fencing network. So, they had to watch out for him, too."

"So Meadows broke the rules," she said. "He held something back. The bracelet. His partners found out and whacked him. Then they broke into the p.a.w.nshop and stole the bracelet back." She shook her head, admiring the plan. "The thing would still be perfect if he hadn't done that."

Bosch nodded. They stood there looking at each other and then around at the grounds of the cemetery. Bosch dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. At the same moment they looked up the hill and saw the black walls of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

"What's that doing there?" she asked.

"I don't know. It's a replica. Half size. Fake marble. I think they move it around the country, in case somebody who wants to see it can't make it to D.C."

Eleanor's breath caught sharply and she turned to him.

"Harry, this Monday is Memorial Day."

"I know. Banks closed two days, some three. We've got to find Tran."

She turned to head back to the bureau. He took a last look at the memorial. The long sheath of false marble with all the names carved into it was embedded in the side of the hill. A man in a gray uniform was sweeping the walkway in front of it. There was a pile of violet flowers from a jacaranda tree.

Harry and Eleanor were silent until they were out of the cemetery and walking back across Wils.h.i.+re toward the Federal Building. She asked a question Bosch had been turning over in his mind and studying but had no good answer for.

"Why now? Why so long? It's been fifteen years."

"I don't know. Just might be the right time, that's all. People, things, unseen forces, sort of come together from time to time. That's what I believe. Who knows? Maybe Meadows forgot all about Binh and just saw him one day on the street and it all came to him. The perfect plan. Maybe it was someone else's plan or it really was hatched on that one day the three of them were together at Charlie Company. The whys you never really know. You just need the hows and the whos."

"You know, Harry, if they're out there, or I should say, under there, digging a new tunnel, then we have less than two days to find them. We have to put some crews underground and look for them."

He thought that putting a crew in the city's tunnels looking for a possible entrance to a bandit tunnel was a long shot. She had told him there were more than 1,500 miles of tunnels under L.A. alone. They might not find the bandits' tunnel if they had a month. The key would be Tran. Find the last police captain, then find his bank. There you find the bandits. And the killers of Billy Meadows. And Sharkey.

He said, "Do you think Binh would give Tran to us?"

"He didn't report his fortune was taken from the vault, so he doesn't seem like the type that's going to tell us about Tran."

"Right. I think we should try finding him ourselves before we go to Binh. Let's make Binh the last resort."

"I'll start on the computer."

"Right."

The FBI computer and the computer networks it could access did not divulge the location of Nguyen Tran. Bosch and Wish found no mention of him in DMV, INS, IRS or Social Security files. There was nothing in the fict.i.tious name filings in the Los Angeles County recorder's office, no mention of him in DWP records or the voter or property tax rolls. Bosch called Hector Villabona and confirmed that Tran entered the United States on the same day as Binh, but there was no further record. After three hours of staring at the amber letters on the computer screen, Eleanor turned it off.

"Nothing," she said. "He's using another name. But he hasn't legally changed it, at least in this county. n.o.body has the guy."

They sat there dejected and quiet. Bosch took the last swallow of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. It was after five and the squad room was deserted. Rourke had gone home, after being informed of the latest developments and deciding not to send anyone into the tunnels.

"You know how many miles of underground flood-control tunnels there are in L.A.?" he had asked. "It's like a freeway system down there. These guys, if they are really down there, could be anywhere. We would be stumbling around in the dark. They'll have the advantage and one of us could get hurt."

Bosch and Wish knew he was right. They gave him no argument and set to work finding Tran. And they had failed.

"So now we go to Binh," Bosch said after finis.h.i.+ng his coffee.

"You think he'll cooperate?" she said. "He'll know that if we want Tran, then we must know about their past. About the diamonds."

"I don't know what he'll do," he said. "I'll go see him tomorrow. You hungry?"

"We'll go see him tomorrow," she corrected and smiled. "And yes, I'm hungry. Let's get out of here."

They ate at a grill on Broadway in Santa Monica. Eleanor picked the place, and since it was near her apartment Bosch's spirits were high and he was relaxed. There was a trio playing in the corner on a wooden stage, but the place's brick walls made the sound harsh and mostly unnotable. Afterward, Harry and Eleanor sat in a comfortable silence while nursing espressos. There was a warmness between them that Bosch felt but couldn't explain to himself. He didn't know this woman who sat across from him. One look at those hard brown eyes told him that. He wanted to get behind them. They had made love, but he wanted to be in love. He wanted her.

Always seeming to know his thoughts, she asked, "Are you coming home with me tonight?"

Lewis and Clarke were on the second level of the parking garage across the street and down a half block from the Broadway Bar & Grill. Lewis was out of the car and crouched at the guardrail, watching through the camera. Its foot-long lens was steadied on a tripod and pointed at the front door of the restaurant, a hundred yards away. He was hoping the lights over the door, by the valet's stand, would be enough. He had high-speed film in the camera, but the blinking red dot in the viewfinder was telling him not to take the shot. There still wasn't enough light. He decided he would try anyway. He wanted a hand shot.

"You're not going to get it," Clarke said from behind him. "Not in this light."

"Let me do my work. If I don't get it, I don't get it. Who cares?"

"Irving."

"Well, f.u.c.k him. He tells us he wants more doc.u.mentation. He'll get it. I'm only trying to do what the man says."

"We should try to go down there by that deli, get a closer -"

Clarke shut up and turned around at the sound of footsteps. Lewis kept his eye to the camera, waiting for the shot at the restaurant. The steps belonged to a man in a blue security uniform.

"Can I ask you what you guys are doing?" the guard asked.

Clarke badged him and said, "We're on the job."

The guard, a young black man, stepped closer to look at the badge and ID and raised his hand to hold it steady. Clarke jerked it up out of his reach.

"Don't touch it, bro. n.o.body touches my badge."

"That says LAPD. You all check in with Santa Monica PD? They know you're out here?"

"Who the f.u.c.k cares? Just leave us alone."

Clarke turned around. When the guard didn't leave, he turned back and said, "Son, you need something?"

"This garage is my beat, Detective Clarke. I can be wherever I want to be."

"You can get the f.u.c.k outta here. I can -"

Clarke heard the camera shutter close and the sound of the automatic wind. He turned to Lewis, who stood up smiling.

"I got it - a hand shot," Lewis said as he stood up. "They're on the move, let's go."

Lewis collapsed the telescope legs of the tripod and quickly got in the pa.s.senger seat of the gray Caprice they had traded the black Plymouth for.

"See ya, bro," Clarke said to the guard. He got in behind the wheel.

The car backed out, forcing the security guard to jump out of the way. Clarke looked in the rearview mirror smiling as he drove toward the exit ramp. He saw the guard talking into a hand-held radio.

"Talk all you want, buddy boy," he said.

The IAD car pulled up to the exit booth. Clarke handed the parking stub and two dollars to the man in the booth. He took it but didn't lift the black-and-white-striped pipe that served as a gate.

"Benson said I have to hold you guys here," the man in the booth said.

"What? Who the f.u.c.k is Benson?" Clarke said.

"He's the security. He said hold it here a minute."

Just then, both IAD officers saw Bosch and Wish drive by the garage, heading up to Fourth Street. They were going to lose them. Clarke held out his badge to the booth attendant.

"We're on the job. Open that G.o.ddam gate. Now!"

"He'll be along. I gotta do what he say. Else I'll lose my job."

"You open that gate or you're going to lose it, p.e.c.k.e.rwood," Clarke yelled.

He put his foot down and revved the engine to show he meant to drive through it.

"Why you think we got a pipe 'stead a flimsy piece a wood. You go ahead. That pipe'll take out your winds.h.i.+eld, mister. You do what you want, but he's coming right along."

In the rearview, Clarke saw the security guard walking down the ramp. Clarke's face was becoming blotchy red with anger. He felt Lewis's hand on his arm.

"Cool it, partner," Lewis said. "They were holding hands when they came out of the restaurant. We won't lose them. They're only going to her place. I'll bet you a week's driving that we'll pick 'em up there."

Clarke shook his hand off and let out a long breath; that seemed to bring a more placid tone to his face. He said, "I don't care. I don't f.u.c.king like this s.h.i.+t one bit."

On Ocean Park Boulevard Bosch found a parking s.p.a.ce across from Eleanor's building. He pulled in but made no move to get out of the car. He looked at her, still feeling the glow of a few minutes before but unsure where they were going with this. She seemed to know this, maybe even feel it herself. She put her hand on top of his and leaned over to kiss him. She whispered, "Come in with me."

He got out and came around to her side. She was already out and he closed the door. They rounded the front end of the car and then stood next to it, waiting for an approaching car to pa.s.s by. The car's high beams were on and Bosch turned away and looked at Eleanor. So it was she who first noticed the high beams drift toward them.

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Harry!"

Then Bosch turned back to the approaching car and saw the lights - actually four beams from two sets of square side-by-side headlights - bearing down on them. In the few seconds that were left Bosch clearly came to the conclusion that the car was not drifting their way but rather driving at them. There was no time, yet time seemed to go into suspension. In what seemed to him to be slow motion, Bosch turned to his right, to Eleanor. But she needed no help. In unison, they leapt onto the hood of Bosch's car. He was rolling over her and they were both tumbling toward the sidewalk when his car lurched violently and there was a high-pitched keening sound of tearing metal. Bosch saw a shower of blue sparks pa.s.s in his peripheral vision. Then he landed on top of Eleanor on the thin strip of sod that was between the curb and the sidewalk. They were safe, Bosch could sense. Scared, but safe for the moment.

He came up, gun out and steadied by both hands. The car that had come after them was not stopping. It was already fifty yards east, heading away and picking up speed. Bosch fired one round that he thought ricocheted off the rear window, the bullet too weak at that distance to penetrate the gla.s.s. He heard Eleanor's gun fire twice at his side, but saw no damage to the hit-and-run car.

Without a word they both piled into Bosch's car through the pa.s.senger door. Bosch held his breath while he turned the key, but the engine started and the car squealed away from the curb. Bosch rocked the steering wheel from side to side as he picked up speed. The suspension felt a little loose. He had no idea what the extent of the damage was. When he tried to check the side-view mirror he saw it was gone. When he turned on the lights, only the pa.s.senger-side beam worked.

The hit-and-run car was at least five blocks ahead, near the crest where Ocean Park Boulevard rises and then drops from sight. The lights on the speeding car went out just as it dropped over the hill out of sight. He was heading for Bundy Drive, Bosch thought. From there a short jog to the 10. And from there he would be gone and they'd never catch him. Bosch grabbed the radio and called in an Officer Needs a.s.sistance. But he could not provide a description of the car, only the direction of the chase.

"He's going for the freeway, Harry," Eleanor yelled. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Are you? Did you get a make?"

"I'm fine. Scared is all. No make. American, I think. Uh, square headlights. No color, just dark. I didn't see the color. We won't catch him if he makes the freeway."

They were heading east on Ocean Park, parallel to the 10, which was about eight blocks to the north. They approached the top of the crest, and Bosch cut off the one working headlight. As they came over, he saw the unlit form of the hit-and-run car pa.s.sing through the lighted intersection at Lincoln. Yeah, he was going for Bundy. At Lincoln, Bosch took a left and floored the gas pedal. He put the lights back on. And as the car's speed increased there was a thumping sound. The front left tire and alignment were damaged.