The Last Coyote

'That's also true. But I think that whatever was said, it would have to have been convincing to get Pounds out at night, by himself

'Maybe it was someone he already knew.'

'Maybe. But then he probably would have told his wife the name.'

'True.'

'Did he take anything with him? A briefcase, files, anything?'

'Not that we know of. The wife was in the TV room. She didn't see him actually go out the door. We've been over all of this with her, we've been all over the house. There's nothing. His briefcase was in his office at the station. He didn't even take it home with him. There's nothing to go on. To be honest, you were the best candidate and you're clear now. It brings me back to my question. Could what you've been doing have had anything to do with this?'

Bosch could not bring himself to tell Irving what he thought, what he knew in his gut had happened to Pounds. It wasn't the guilt that stopped him, though. It was the desire to keep his mission to himself. In that moment he realized that vengeance was a singular thing, a solo mission, something never to be spoken of out loud.

'I don't know the answer,' he said. 'I told Pounds nothing. But he wanted me to go down. You know that. The guy's dead but he was an asshole and he wanted me to go down. So he'd have had his ear to the ground for anything about me. A couple people have seen me around in the last week. Word could've gotten back to him and he

could've blundered into something. He wasn't much of an investigator. He could've made a mistake. I don't know.'

Irving looked at him through dead eyes. Bosch knew he was trying to determine how much was true and how much was bullshit. Bosch spoke first.

'He said he was going to meet someone important.'

'Yes.'

'Look, Chief, I don't know what McKittrick told you about the conversation I had out there with him, but you know there were important people involved back ... you know, with my mother. You were there.'

'Yes, I was there, but I wasn't part of the investigation, not after the first day.'

'Did McKittrick tell you about Arno Conklin?'

'Not today. But back then. I remember once when I asked him what was happening with the case, he told me to ask Arno. He said Arno was running interference for someone on it.'

'Well, Arno Conklin was an important person.'

'But now? He's an old man if he's even still alive.'

'He's alive, Chief And you have to remember something. Important men surround themselves with important men. They're never alone. Conklin may be old but there could be someone else who isn't.'

'What are you telling me, Bosch?'

'I'm telling you to leave me alone. I have to do this. I'm the only one who can. I'm telling you to keep Brockman and everybody else away from me.'

Irving stared at him a long moment and Bosch could tell he didn't know which way to go with this. Bosch stood

up.

'I'll keep in touch.'

'You're not telling me everything.'

'It's better that way.'

He stepped through the door into the hallway, remembered something and then stepped back into the room with Irving.

'How am I going to get home? You brought me here.'

Irving reached over to the phone.

Bosch went through the fifth-floor door to the Internal Affairs Division and found no one behind the counter. He waited a few moments for Toliver to show up since Irving had just ordered him to drive Bosch home, but the young IAD detective never showed. Bosch figured it was just one more mind game they were trying to play with him. He didn't want to walk around the counter and have to find Toliver so he just yelled his name out. Behind the counter was a door that was slightly ajar and he was reasonably sure Toliver heard the call.

But the person who stepped through the door was Brockman. He stared at Bosch for a long moment without saying anything.

'Look, Brockman, Toliver is supposed to run me home,' Bosch said to him. 'I don't want anything else to do with you.'

'Yeah, well, that's too bad.'

'Just get Toliver.'

'You better watch out for me, Bosch.'

'Yeah, I know. I'll be watching.'

'Yeah, and you won't see me coming.'

Bosch nodded and looked past him to the door where he expected Toliver to step out any moment. He just wanted to diffuse the situation and get his ride home. He considered walking out and catching a cab, but he knew in rush hour it would probably cost him fifty bucks. He

didn't have it on him. Plus, he liked the idea of having an IAD shine chauffeur him home.

'Hey, killer?'

Bosch looked back at Brockman. He was getting tired of this.

'What's it like to fuck another killer? Must really be something, to go all the way to Florida for it.'

Bosch tried to stay cool but he felt his face betray himself. For he suddenly knew who and what Brockman was talking about.

'What are you talking about?'

Brockman's face lit up with a bully's delight as he read Bosch's surprised look.

'Oooh, baby! She didn't even bother telling you, did she?'

'Tell me what?'

Bosch wanted to reach over the counter and drag Brockman across it but at least outwardly he maintained his cool.

'Tell you what? I'll tell you what. I think your whole story stinks and I'm going to bust it open. Then Mr Clean upstairs isn't going to be able to protect you.'

'He said you were told to leave me alone, that I was clear.'

'Fuck him and fuck you. When I come in with your alibi in a bag, he's not going to have a choice but to cut you loose.'

Toliver stepped through the doorway behind the counter. He was holding a set of car keys in his hands. He stood silently behind Brockman with his eyes down.

'First thing I did was run her on the computer,' Brockman said. 'She's got a record, Bosch. You didn't know that? She's a killer, just like you. Takes one to know one, I guess. Nice couple.'

Bosch wanted to ask a thousand questions but he

wouldn't ask any of this man. He felt a deep void opening inside as he began jettisoning his feelings for Jazz. He realized that she had left all the signs out for him but he hadn't read them. Even so, the feeling that descended on him with the strongest grip was one of betrayal.

Bosch pointedly ignored Brockman and looked at Toliver.

'Hey, kid, you going to give me a ride or what?'

Toliver moved around the counter without answering.

'Bosch, I already got you on an association beef,' Brockman said. 'But I'm not satisfied.'

Bosch went to the hallway door and opened it. It was against LAPD regulations to associate with known criminals. Whether Brockman could make a charge like that stick was the least of Bosch's worries. He headed out the door with Toliver following. Before it closed Brockman yelled after them.

'Give her a kiss for me, killer.'

At first, Bosch sat silently next to Jerry Toliver on the ride back to his house. He had a waterfall of thoughts dropping through his mind and decided to simply ignore the young IAD detective. Toliver left the police scanner on and the sporadic chatter was the only thing resembling conversation in the car. They had caught the crest of the evening commute out of downtown and were moving at an excruciatingly slow pace toward the Cahuenga pass.

Bosch's guts ached from the wracking convulsions of nausea of an hour earlier and he kept his arms crossed in front of him as if he were cradling a baby. He knew he had to compartmentalize his thoughts. As much as he was confused and curious about what Brockman had alluded to in regard to Jasmine, he knew he had to put it aside. At the moment, Pounds and what had happened to him were more important.

He tried to piece together the chain of events and the conclusion he drew was obvious. His stumbling into the party at Mittel's and delivery of the photocopy of the Times clip had set off a reaction that ended with the murder of Harvey Pounds, the man whose name he had used. Though he had given Mittel only the name at the party, it was somehow traced back to the real Pounds, who was then tortured and killed.