Bosch leaned forward so that he could turn and look past Waits and over at Rider. She rolled her eyes at him. It was her don’t-make-trouble look.
“Maury Swann,” Bosch said. “Yeah, he’s a good goddamn lawyer, all right. Got this man the deal of a lifetime.”
“Bosch!” Olivas said.
“I’m not talking to him. I’m talking to my partner.”
Bosch leaned back, deciding to drop it. Next to him the manacles clinked as Waits tried to adjust his position.
“You didn’t have to take the deal, Detective Bosch,” he said quietly.
“It wasn’t my choice,” Bosch said without looking at him. “If it had been, we wouldn’t be doing this.”
Waits nodded.
“An eye for an eye, man,” he said. “I could have guessed. You’re the kind of man who would-”
“Waits,” Olivas said sharply. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
Olivas reached toward the dash and turned on the radio. Loud mariachi music blared from the speakers. He immediately slapped the button to kill the sound.
“Who the fuck was driving this last?” he asked of no one in particular.
Bosch knew Olivas was covering up. He was embarrassed that he had not changed the channel or lowered the volume when he brought the car back last time.
The car remained silent. They were cutting through Hollywood now, and Olivas put on his turn signal and moved into the exit lane for Gower Avenue. Bosch turned around to look out the back window and see if they still had the other three vehicles with them. The group remained intact. But Bosch could now see a helicopter trailing above the motorcade. It had a large number 4 on its white underbelly. Bosch jerked back around and looked at Olivas in the rearview.
“Who called out the media, Olivas? Was that you or your boss?”
“My boss? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Olivas glanced at him in the mirror but then quickly back at the road. It was too furtive a move. Bosch knew he was lying.
“Yeah, right. What’s in this for you? Ricochet’s going to make you chief of investigations after he wins? Is that it?”
Now Olivas held his eyes in the mirror.
“I’m not getting anywhere in the department. I might as well go where I’m respected and my skills are valued.”
“What, is that the line you say to yourself in the mirror each morning?”
“Fuck you, Bosch.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Waits said. “Can’t we all just get along here?”
“Shut up, Waits,” Bosch said. “You might not care that this is being turned into a commercial for Candidate O’Shea, but I do. Olivas, pull over. I want to talk to O’Shea.”
Olivas shook his head.
“No way. Not with a custody in the car.”
They were coming down the exit ramp to Gower. Olivas took a quick right and they came to the light at Franklin. It turned green as they got there and they crossed Franklin and started up Beachwood Drive.
Olivas would not have to stop until they got to the top. Bosch pulled out his cell phone and called the number O’Shea had given everyone in the CCB garage that morning before heading off.
“O’Shea.”
“It’s Bosch. I don’t think it was a smart thing to call the media out on this.”
O’Shea held for a moment before answering.
“They’re a safe distance. They’re in the air.”
“And who’s going to be waiting for us at the top of Beachwood?”
“No one, Bosch. I was very specific with them. They could track us from the air but anyone on the ground would compromise the operation. You don’t have to worry. They are working with me. They know they have to establish the relationship.”
“Whatever.”
Bosch closed his phone and jammed it back into his pocket.
“You need to calm down, Detective,” Waits said.
“And, Waits, you need to keep quiet.”
“Just trying to be helpful.”
“Then shut the fuck up.”
The car turned silent again. Bosch decided that his anger over the trailing media chopper and everything else was a distraction he didn’t need. He tried to put it out of his mind and think about what was ahead.
Beachwood Canyon was a quiet neighborhood on the slope of the Santa Monica Mountains between Hollywood and Los Feliz. It didn’t have the rustic, wooded charm of Laurel Canyon to the west but it was preferred by its inhabitants because it was quieter, safer, and self-contained. Unlike most of the canyon passes to the west, Beachwood reached a dead end at the top. It was not a route for going over the mountains, and consequently, the traffic in Beachwood did not consist of people just passing through. It consisted of people who belonged. That made it feel like a real neighborhood.
As they ascended, they saw that the Hollywood sign atop Mount Lee was directly in view through the windshield. It had been put up on the next ridge more than eighty years ago to advertise the Hollywoodland real-estate development at the top of Beachwood. The sign was eventually shortened and now advertised a state of mind more than anything else. The only official indication left of Hollywoodland was the fortresslike stone gateway halfway up Beachwood.
The gateway, with its historical plaque commemorating the development, led to a small village circle with shops, a neighborhood market and the enduring Hollywoodland real-estate office. Further up, at the dead end at the top, was the Sunset Ranch, the starting point of more than fifty miles of horse trails that stretched over the mountains into and throughout Griffith Park. This was where Marie Gesto traded menial work in the stables for time on horseback. This was where the grim motorcade of investigators, body recovery experts and a manacled killer finally came to a stop.
The Sunset Ranch parking lot was merely a level clearing located on the slope below the ranch itself. Gravel had been dumped and spread. Visitors to the ranch had to park here and then leg it up to the stables at the top. The parking lot was isolated and surrounded by dense woods. It could not be seen from the ranch and that was what Waits had counted on when he had stalked and abducted Marie Gesto.
Bosch waited impatiently in the car until Olivas disabled the rear door locks. He then got out and looked up at the helicopter circling above. He had to work hard to keep his anger in check. He closed the car door and made sure it was locked. The plan was to leave Waits locked inside until everyone was sure the area was secure. Bosch walked directly to O’Shea as he was getting out of his car.
“Call your contact at Channel Four and ask them to take the chopper up another five hundred feet. The noise is a distraction we don’t-”
“I already did, Bosch. Okay? Look, I know you don’t like the media presence but it is an open society we live in and the public has a right to know what is going on here.”
“Especially when it can help with your election, right?”
O’Shea spoke to him impatiently.
“Educating voters is what a campaign is all about. Excuse me, we have a body to find.”
O’Shea abruptly walked away from him and over to Olivas, who was maintaining a vigil next to the car containing Waits. Bosch noticed that the sheriff’s deputy was also standing guard at the rear of the car. He was holding a shotgun at ready position.
Rider came up to Bosch.
“Harry, are you all right?”
“Never better. Just watch your back with these people.”
He was watching O’Shea and Olivas. They were now conferring about something. The sound of the helicopter’s rotor blades prevented Bosch from hearing their exchange.
Rider put her hand on his arm in a calming gesture.
“Let’s just forget about the politics and get this over with,” Rider said. “There’s something more important than all of that. Let’s find Marie and bring her home. That’s what is important.”
Bosch looked down at her hand on his arm, realized she was right and nodded.
“Okay.”
A few minutes later O’Shea and Olivas convened everyone except Waits in a circle in the gravel parking lot. In addition to the lawyers, investigators, and the sheriff’s deputy, there were two body recovery experts from the coroner’s office, along with a forensic archaeologist named Kathy Kohl and an LAPD forensic tech, as well as the videographer from the DA’s office. Bosch had worked with almost all of them before.
O’Shea waited until the videographer had his camera going before he addressed the troops.
“Okay, people, we are here on a grim duty, to find and collect the remains of Marie Gesto,” he said somberly. “Raynard Waits, the man in the car, is going to lead us to the place where he has told us he buried her. Our primary concern here is the security of the suspect and the safety of all of you people at all times. Be careful and be alert. Four of us are armed. Mr. Waits will be manacled and under the watchful eyes of the detectives and Deputy Doolan, with the shotgun. Mr. Waits will lead the way and we all will be watching his every move. I would like the video and the gas probe to go along with us while the rest of you wait here. When we find the location and confirm the body we will back away until we can secure Mr. Waits and then all of you will come to the location, which will, of course, be handled as the crime scene it is. Any questions so far?”
Maury Swann raised his hand.
“I am not staying here,” he said. “I am going to be with my client at all times.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Swann,” O’Shea said. “But I don’t think you are dressed for it.”
It was true. Inexplicably, Swann had worn a suit to a body excavation. Everyone else was dressed for the job. Bosch wore blue jeans, hiking boots, and an old academy sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves. Rider wore similar attire. Olivas was in jeans, a T-shirt, and nylon windbreaker that said LAPD across the back. The others in the troop were dressed the same way.