“How about you? I have money. Not much. About a hundred and ten grand there.”
“I figured you’d be running away with a fortune.”
“Oh, I am. I am. What’s in the bag is just what I have on hand. You caught me a little short. But I can get you more. It’s in the banks.”
“Guess you’ve been practicing Zorrillo’s signature as well as his looks.”
Moore didn’t answer.
“Who was he?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“Half brother. Different fathers.”
“This place. This is what it was all about, wasn’t it? It’s the castle you lived in before you were sent away.”
“Something like that. Decided to buy it after he was gone. But it’s falling apart on me. It’s so hard to take care of something you love these days. Everything is a chore.”
Bosch tried to study him. He looked tired of it all.
“What happened back at the ranch?” Bosch asked.
“You mean the three bodies? Yes, well, I guess you could say justice happened. Grena was a leech who had been sucking Zorrillo for years. Arpis detached him, you could say.”
“Then who detached Arpis and Dance?”
“I did that, Harry.”
He said it without hesitation and the words froze Bosch. Moore was a cop. He knew never to confess. You didn’t talk until there was a lawyer by your side, a plea bargain in place, and a deal that was signed.
Harry adjusted his sweating hands on the sawed-off. He took a step forward and listened for any other sound in the house. There was only silence until Moore spoke again.
“I’m not going back, Harry. I guess you know that.”
He said it matter-of-factly, as if it was a given, something that had been decided a long time ago.
“How’d you get Zorrillo up to L.A., and then into that motel room? How’d you get his prints for the personnel file?”
“You want me to tell you, Harry? Then what?”
Moore looked down at the gym bag briefly.
“Then nothing. We’re going back to L.A. You haven’t been advised-nothing you can say now can be used against you. It’s just you and me here.”
“The prints were easy. I was making him IDs. He had three or four so he could come across when he liked. One time he told me he wanted a passport and full wallet spread. I told him I needed prints. Took ’em myself.”
“And the motel?”
“Like I said, he crossed over all the time. He’d go through the tunnel and the DEA would be out there sitting on the ranch thinking he was still inside. He liked to come up to see the Lakers, sit down on court level near that blonde actress who likes to get on TV. Anyway, he was up there and I told him I wanted to meet. He came.”
“And you put him down and took his place… What about the old man, the laborer? What did he do?”
“He was just in the wrong place. Zorrillo told me he was there when he came up through the floor on the last trip. He wasn’t supposed to be in that room. But I guess he couldn’t read the signs. Zorrillo said he couldn’t take the chance he’d tell someone about the tunnel.”
“Why’d you dump him in the alley? Why didn’t you just bury him out in Joshua Tree. Someplace he’d never be found.”
“The desert would’ve been good but I didn’t dump him, Bosch. Don’t you see? They were controlling me. They brought him up here and dumped him there. Arpis did. That night I get a call from Zorrillo telling me to meet him at the Egg and I. He says park in the alley. I did and there was the body. I wasn’t going to move the fucking thing. I called it in. You see it was one more way for him to keep his hold on me. And I went along. Porter caught the case and I made a deal with him to take it slow.”
Bosch didn’t say anything. He was trying to envision the sequence Moore had just described.
“This is getting boring, man. You going to try to cuff me, take me in, be the hero?”
“Why couldn’t you let it go?” Bosch asked.
“What?”
“This place. Your father. The whole thing. You should have let the past go.”
“I was robbed of my life, man. He kicked us right out. My mother-How do you let go of a past like that? Fuck you, Bosch. You don’t know.”
Bosch said nothing. But he knew he was allowing this to go on too long. Moore was taking control of the situation.
“When I heard he was dead, it did something,” Moore said. “I don’t know. I decided I wanted this place and I went to see my brother. That was my mistake. Things started small but they never stopped. Soon I was running the show for him up there. I had to get out from under it. There was only one way.”
“It was the wrong way.”
“Don’t bother, Bosch. I know the song.”
Bosch was sure Moore had told the story the way he believed it. But it was clear to Bosch he had fully embraced the devil. He had found out who he was.
“Why me?” Bosch asked.
“Why you what?”
“Why did you leave the file for me? If you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be here. You’d be in the clear.”
“Bosch, you were my backup. You don’t see? I needed something in case the suicide play didn’t work. I figured you’d get that file and take it from there. I knew with just a little misdirection you would sound the alarm. Murder. Thing is, I never thought you’d get this far. I thought Irving and the rest of them would crush you because they wouldn’t want to know what it was all about. They’d just want the whole thing to die with me.”
“And Porter.”
“Yeah, well, Porter was weak. He’s probably better off now, anyway.”
“And me? Would I be better off if Arpis had hit me with the bullet in the hotel room?”
“Bosch, you were getting too close. Had to take the shot.”
Harry had nothing more to say or ask. Moore seemed to sense that they were at a final point. He tried one more time.
“Bosch, in that bag I have account numbers. They’re yours.”
“Not interested, Moore. We’re going back.”
Moore laughed at that notion.
“Do you really think anybody up there gives a rat’s ass about all of this?”
Bosch said nothing.
“In the department?” Moore said. “No fucking way they care. They don’t want to know about something like this. Bad for business, man. But, see, you-you’re not in the department, Bosch. You’re in it but not of it. See what I’m saying? There’s the problem. There’s-you take me back, man, and they’re gonna look at you as being just as bad as me. Because you’ll be pulling this wagon full of shit behind you.
“I think you’re the only one who cares about it, Bosch. I really think you are. So just take the money and go.”
“What about your wife? You think she cares?”
That stopped him, for a few moments, at least.
“Sylvia,” he said. “I don’t know. I lost her a long time ago. I don’t know if she cares about this or not. I don’t care anymore myself.”
Bosch watched him, looking for the truth.
“Water under the bridge,” Moore said. “So take the money. I can get more to you later.”
“I can’t take the money. I think you know that.”
“Yeah, I guess I know that. But I think you know I can’t go back with you, either. So where’s that leave us?”
Bosch shifted his weight on to his left side, the butt of the shotgun against his hip. There was a long moment of silence during which he thought about himself and his own motives. Why hadn’t he told Moore to take the gun out of his pants and drop it?
In a smooth, quick motion, Moore reached across his body with his right hand and pulled the gun out of his waistband. He was bringing the barrel around toward Bosch when Harry’s finger closed over the shotgun’s triggers. The double-barrel blast was deafening in the room. Moore took the brunt of it in the face. Through the smoke Bosch saw his body jerk backward into the air. His hands flew up toward the ceiling and he landed on the bed. His handgun fired but it was a stray shot, shattering one of the panes of the arched windows. The gun dropped onto the floor.