Read Online The Drop by Michael Connelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Connelly
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suspicions.
“Hard to do,” Chu said, his mouth full with his last bite.
“I have an idea.”
Bosch outlined the plan, then balled up all the foil and napkins and took them to the trash can by the back of the taco truck. He put the squeeze bottle of salsa on the window counter and waved to the taquero .
“ Muy sabroso .”
“ Gracias .”
Chu was behind the wheel when he got back to the car. They made a U-turn and started down Woodman. Bosch’s phone buzzed and he checked the screen. It was a number out of the PAB but he didn’t recognize it. He took the call. It was Marshall Collins, the commander of the media relations unit.
“Detective Bosch, I’m holding them at bay, but we’re going to need to put something out on Irving today.”
“There’s nothing yet to put out.”
“Can you give me anything? I’ve gotten twenty-six calls here. What can I tell them?”
Bosch thought for a moment, wondering if there was a way to use the media to help the investigation.
“Tell them that cause of death is under investigation. Mr. Irving dropped from the seventh-floor balcony of his room at the Chateau Marmont. It is unknown at this time whether it was accident, suicide or homicide. Anyone with information about Mr. Irving’s last hours at the hotel or before should contact the Robbery-Homicide Division. Et cetera, et cetera, you know how to put it.”
“So, no suspect at this time.”
“Don’t put that out. That implies I am looking for suspects. We aren’t even to that point yet. We don’t know what happened and we’re going to have to wait on autopsy results as well as the ongoing gathering of information.”
“Okay, got it. We’ll get it out there.”
Bosch closed the phone and relayed details of the conversation to Chu. In five minutes they came to the Buena Vista apartments. It was a two-story courtyard complex with major-league security gating and signage warning those without business to stay away. Not only were solicitors not welcome but children were on the no-go list as well. There was a public notice locked in a case mounted on the gate that gave warning that the facility was used to house sexual offenders on probation and parole and undergoing continuing treatment. The case’s thick plastic window was scratched and marred from many efforts to shatter it and paint it with graffiti.
To push the door buzzer Bosch had to reach his arm up to his elbow through a small opening in the gate. He then waited and a female voice eventually responded.
“What is it?”
“LAPD. We need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“She’s not here.”
“Then I guess we need to speak to you. Open up.” There was a camera on the other side of the gate, located far enough back to make it difficult to be vandalized. Bosch reached his hand through the opening again with his badge and held it up. A few more moments went by and the door lock buzzed. He and Chu pushed through.
The gate led to a tunnel-like entrance which took them to the center courtyard. As Bosch reached daylight again he saw several men sitting on chairs in a circle. A counseling and rehab session. He had never put much stock in the idea of rehabilitating sexual predators. He didn’t think there was a cure beyond castration—surgical preferred over chemical. But he was smart enough to keep such thoughts to himself, depending on the company he was with.
Bosch scanned the men in the circle, hoping to recognize Clayton Pell, but to no avail. Several men had their backs to the entrance, and others were hunched over and hiding their faces below baseball hats or with hands over their mouths in poses of deep thought. Many of them were checking out Bosch and Chu. They would be easily made as cops by the men in the circle.
A few seconds later they were approached by a woman with a name tag on the breast of her hospital scrubs. It said Dr. Hannah Stone. She was attractive with reddish-blond hair tied back in a no-nonsense manner. She was
“Hard to do,” Chu said, his mouth full with his last bite.
“I have an idea.”
Bosch outlined the plan, then balled up all the foil and napkins and took them to the trash can by the back of the taco truck. He put the squeeze bottle of salsa on the window counter and waved to the taquero .
“ Muy sabroso .”
“ Gracias .”
Chu was behind the wheel when he got back to the car. They made a U-turn and started down Woodman. Bosch’s phone buzzed and he checked the screen. It was a number out of the PAB but he didn’t recognize it. He took the call. It was Marshall Collins, the commander of the media relations unit.
“Detective Bosch, I’m holding them at bay, but we’re going to need to put something out on Irving today.”
“There’s nothing yet to put out.”
“Can you give me anything? I’ve gotten twenty-six calls here. What can I tell them?”
Bosch thought for a moment, wondering if there was a way to use the media to help the investigation.
“Tell them that cause of death is under investigation. Mr. Irving dropped from the seventh-floor balcony of his room at the Chateau Marmont. It is unknown at this time whether it was accident, suicide or homicide. Anyone with information about Mr. Irving’s last hours at the hotel or before should contact the Robbery-Homicide Division. Et cetera, et cetera, you know how to put it.”
“So, no suspect at this time.”
“Don’t put that out. That implies I am looking for suspects. We aren’t even to that point yet. We don’t know what happened and we’re going to have to wait on autopsy results as well as the ongoing gathering of information.”
“Okay, got it. We’ll get it out there.”
Bosch closed the phone and relayed details of the conversation to Chu. In five minutes they came to the Buena Vista apartments. It was a two-story courtyard complex with major-league security gating and signage warning those without business to stay away. Not only were solicitors not welcome but children were on the no-go list as well. There was a public notice locked in a case mounted on the gate that gave warning that the facility was used to house sexual offenders on probation and parole and undergoing continuing treatment. The case’s thick plastic window was scratched and marred from many efforts to shatter it and paint it with graffiti.
To push the door buzzer Bosch had to reach his arm up to his elbow through a small opening in the gate. He then waited and a female voice eventually responded.
“What is it?”
“LAPD. We need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“She’s not here.”
“Then I guess we need to speak to you. Open up.” There was a camera on the other side of the gate, located far enough back to make it difficult to be vandalized. Bosch reached his hand through the opening again with his badge and held it up. A few more moments went by and the door lock buzzed. He and Chu pushed through.
The gate led to a tunnel-like entrance which took them to the center courtyard. As Bosch reached daylight again he saw several men sitting on chairs in a circle. A counseling and rehab session. He had never put much stock in the idea of rehabilitating sexual predators. He didn’t think there was a cure beyond castration—surgical preferred over chemical. But he was smart enough to keep such thoughts to himself, depending on the company he was with.
Bosch scanned the men in the circle, hoping to recognize Clayton Pell, but to no avail. Several men had their backs to the entrance, and others were hunched over and hiding their faces below baseball hats or with hands over their mouths in poses of deep thought. Many of them were checking out Bosch and Chu. They would be easily made as cops by the men in the circle.
A few seconds later they were approached by a woman with a name tag on the breast of her hospital scrubs. It said Dr. Hannah Stone. She was attractive with reddish-blond hair tied back in a no-nonsense manner. She was
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