The man turned and started looking at the photo.
McCaleb’s eyes took another swing around the office. The room was nicely appointed with a desk to the left and a sitting area to the right with two short couches and an oriental rug. He stepped closer to the desk to look at a file sitting at center on the blotter but the file, though an inch thick with documents, had nothing written on the tab.
“What the fuck, you’re not on here.”
“Yes, I am,” McCaleb said without turning from the desk. “I was smoking. You can’t see my face.”
There was a file tray to the right of the blotter that was stacked with folders. McCaleb leaned his head at an angle to check the tabs. He saw an assortment of names, some of them recognizable as entertainers or actors but none of them correlating to his investigation.
“Bullshit, man, that ain’t you. That’s Harry Bosch.”
“Really? You know Harry?”
The man didn’t answer. McCaleb turned around. The man was looking at him with angry, suspicious eyes. For the first time McCaleb saw that he held an old billyclub down at his side.
“Let me see.”
He walked over and looked at the framed photo. “You know, you’re right, that’s Harry. I must’ve been in the one they took the year before. I was working undercover when they took this one and couldn’t be in the picture.”
McCaleb nonchalantly took a step toward the door. Inside he was bracing to get hit with the bat.
“Just tell him I was here, okay? Tell him Terry stopped by.”
He made it to the door but one last framed photo caught his eye. It showed Tafero and another man side by side, jointly holding a polished wood plaque in their hands. The picture was old, Tafero looked almost ten years younger. His eyes were brighter and his smile seemed genuine. The plaque itself was hanging on the wall next to the photo. McCaleb leaned closer and read the brass plate attached at the bottom.
RUDY TAFERO
HOLLYWOOD BOOSTERS DETECTIVE OF THE MONTH
FEBRUARY 1995
He glanced back at the photo again and then moved through the door to the front room.
“Terry what?” the man said as he passed.
McCaleb walked to the front door before turning back to him.
“Just tell him it was Terry, the undercover guy.”
He left the office and walked back up the street without looking back.
McCaleb sat in his car in front of the post office. He felt uneasy, the way he always did when he knew the answer was within reach but he just couldn’t quite see it. His gut told him he was on the right track. Tafero, the PI who hid his upscale Hollywood practice behind a bail bonds shack, was the key. McCaleb just couldn’t find the door.
He realized he was very hungry. He started the car and thought about a place to eat. He was a few blocks from Musso’s but had eaten there too recently. He wondered if they served food at Nat’s but figured if they did that it would be dangerous to the stomach. Instead, he drove over to the In ’n Out on Sunset and ordered at the drive-through.
While he was eating his hamburger over the to-go box in the Cherokee, his phone chirped. He put the burger down in the box, wiped his hands on a napkin and opened the phone.
“You’re a genius.”
It was Jaye Winston.
“What?”
“Tafero got a ticket on his Mercedes. A black four-thirty C-L-K. He was in the fifteen-minute zone right in front of the post office. The ticket was written at eight-nineteen A.M. on the twenty-second. He hasn’t paid it yet. He has till five today and then it’s overdue.”
McCaleb was silent as he considered this. He felt nerve synapses firing like dominoes running up his backbone. The ticket was a hell of a break. It proved absolutely nothing but it told him that he was following the correct path. And sometimes knowing you were on the right path was better than having the proof.
His thoughts jumped to his visit to Tafero’s office and the photographs he had seen.
“Hey, Jaye, did you get a chance to look up anything on the case with Bosch’s old lieutenant?”
“I didn’t have to go looking. Twilley and Friedman already had a file on it with them today. Lieutenant Harvey Pounds. Somebody beat him to death about four weeks after he had that altercation with Bosch over Gunn. Because of the bad blood Bosch was a likely suspect. But he apparently was cleared – by the LAPD at least. The case is open but inactive. The bureau kind of watched from afar and has kept an open file, too. Twilley told me today that there are some people in the LAPD who think Bosch was cleared on it a little too quickly.”
“Oh, and I bet Twilley loves that.”
“He does. He already has Bosch down for it. He thinks Gunn is only the tip of the iceberg with Harry.”
McCaleb shook his head but immediately moved on. He couldn’t dwell on other peoples’ foibles and motivations. There was a lot to think about and plan for with the investigation at hand.
“By the way, do you have a copy of the parking ticket?” he asked.
“Not yet. It was all phone work. But it’s being faxed. The thing is, you and I know what it means but it’s a long way off from being proof of anything.”
“I know. But it will make a good prop when the time comes.”
“When the time comes for what?”
“To make our play. We’ll use Tafero to get to Storey. You know that’s where this is heading.”
“We? You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you, Terry?”
“Not quite but I’m working on it.”
He didn’t want to have an argument with her about his role in the investigation.
“Listen, my lunch is getting cold here,” he said.
“Well, excuse me. Go ahead and eat.”
“Call me later. I’m going up to see Bosch later on. Anything from Twilley and Friedman on that?”
“I think they’re still up there with him.”
“All right. Check you later.”
He closed the phone, got out of the car and carried the food box to a trash can. He then jumped back in and started the engine. On the way back to the post office on Wilcox he opened all the windows to air the smell of greasy food out of the car.
Chapter 39
Annabelle Crowe walked to the witness stand, drawing all eyes in the courtroom. She was stunningly attractive but there was an almost awkward quality about her movements. This mixture made her seem old and young at the same time and even more attractive. Langwiser would do the questioning. She waited until Crowe was seated before disturbing the room’s vibe and getting up to go to the lectern.
Bosch had barely noticed the entrance of the final witness for the prosecution. He sat at the prosecution table with his eyes down, deep in thought about his visit from the two FBI agents. He had sized them up quickly. They smelled blood in the water and knew if they bagged Bosch on the Gunn case that there would be no end to the media ride they would get from it. He expected them to make their move at any moment.
Langwiser quickly moved through a series of general questions with Crowe, establishing that she was a neophyte actress with a few plays and commercials on her résumé as well as one line in a feature film that had yet to be released. Her story seemed to confirm the difficulties of making it in Hollywood – a knock-down beauty who was only one in a town full of them. She still lived on stipends sent from her parents in Albuquerque.
Langwiser moved on to more salient testimony, keying in on the night of April 14 of the previous year when Annabelle Crowe went out on a date with David Storey. After quickly drawing brief descriptions of the dinner and drinks the couple enjoyed at Dan Tana’s in West Hollywood, Langwiser moved to the latter half of the evening, when Annabelle accompanied Storey to his home on Mulholland Drive.