Saturday, 9:58 p.m.: Dad, now I’m getting worried. You’re not answering either phone and I’m getting scared. I called Uncle Mickey and Lucy and both said they’ve been trying to get you, too. Mickey said you told him you were going off the grid. I don’t know what’s going on but call me back. Please, Dad.
Sunday, 9:16 a.m.: Dad, I’m really scared. I’m coming up there.
Sunday, 11:11 a.m.: Call me as soon as you get this, my brudder. We need an attorney-client meeting. I have a few ideas about how to bolster our case and go right at these fucks. Call me.
Sunday, 12:42 p.m.: Dad, I saw the paper and I know what’s going on. Nothing is that bad. It doesn’t mean a thing. You have to come home. Right now. I’m here. Come home.
Sunday, 2:13 p.m.: Call your attorney. I’m waiting.
Bosch was overcome by the emotion he heard in his daughter’s voice. She was holding back tears, being strong for him. She thought the worst. That the professional humiliation and suspicion promulgated by the Times story had caused him to disappear or worse. In that moment, he vowed to make those behind the story pay for their crime against his daughter.
His first call was to her.
“Dad! Where are you?”
“I’m so sorry, baby. I haven’t had my phone. I’ve been working and—”
“How could you not get all those messages? Oh my god, I thought you were — I don’t know, I thought you did something.”
“No, they’re wrong. The paper’s wrong and the D.A.’s wrong and your uncle and I are going to show it in court this week. I promise you I did nothing wrong, and no matter what, I would not do anything to myself. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My mind just went crazy when I couldn’t reach you.”
“I went undercover for a couple days on a case and I—”
“What? You went undercover? That’s crazy.”
“I didn’t want to tell you ahead of time because you’d worry. But I didn’t have my phone. I couldn’t carry it. Anyway, where are you? Are you still at the house?”
“Yes, I’m here. There was a business card in the door from the reporter who wrote that story.”
“Yeah, he was trying to call me too. He got used. I’ll deal with that later. I’m on my way home. Will you wait for me?”
“Of course. I’m here.”
“Okay. I gotta go and make some other calls. I’ll be there in less than thirty.”
“Okay, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Bosch disconnected. He took a deep breath and then hit the heel of his palm hard on the steering wheel. The sins of the father, he thought. His life and his world had once again clobbered his daughter. If he vowed to make those who did this pay, didn’t that include himself?
He called Haller back next.
“Bosch! Where you been, man?”
“Out of the loop, obviously. I was without a phone. And of course the shit hit the fan.”
“I’ll say. I think the whole thing is actionable. Careless, reckless, you name it.”
“You talking about the newspaper?”
“Yeah, the Times. Let’s go at them. Defamation of character.”
“Forget it. That guy Ramsey was used. I want Kennedy and Cronyn. Maddie couldn’t reach me either. She thought I rolled up in a ball somewhere and killed myself.”
“I know. She called me. I didn’t know what to tell her. You didn’t tell me.”
“Cronyn and Kennedy are going to pay for this. Somehow, some way.”
“Wednesday, baby. We take them down Wednesday.”
“I’m not so sure about relying on a judge to do the right thing.”
“Well, we gotta meet. What are you doing right now?”
“I’m heading home and I have to spend some time with my daughter.”
“Okay, call me. I’m free tonight if you want to get together. Otherwise, what’s your schedule tomorrow?”
“I can meet in the morning.”
“Why don’t we just do that? You take Maddie to dinner and we meet tomorrow. Du-par’s at eight?”
“Which one?”
“You pick.”
Haller lived just off the edge of Laurel Canyon, which put him within striking distance of the Du-par’s locations in Studio City and the farmers’ market in Hollywood.
“Let’s do Studio City in case they need me up at the PD tomorrow morning for follow-ups.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Listen, before you go. I got calls from you, Maddie, Kennedy, and the reporter. I also heard from Lucy Soto. Sounded to me like she saw the bullshit in what Kennedy was doing and isn’t happy about it. I think she could be on our side on this. If we show her what we’ve got, we could have somebody on the inside working for us.”
There was silence.
“You there, Haller?”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking. Let’s wait on that till tomorrow. We’ll figure it out over pancakes.”
“All right.”
Bosch disconnected. He started to even out, now that he had spoken to his daughter and his lawyer. There was a good short-term plan in place. He thought about Lucy Soto and whether he should reach out to her on his own and under the radar. They had only been partners for a brief period during his last year on the job for the LAPD, but unlike in his partnership with Edgar, they had gotten to the point of deep trust. He could blow through an intersection on her “clear” without hesitation. Any day.
His gut told him that hadn’t changed.
31
Maddie came charging out of her room as soon as she heard the front door close. She grabbed Bosch in a desperate embrace that made him feel like he was on top and at the bottom of the world at the same time.
“Everything’s all right,” he said.
He held her head against his heart, then he let her go. She stepped back and appraised him while he did the same to her. He could see dried tracks from tears on her face. She also somehow seemed more grown-up since the last time he had seen her. Bosch didn’t know if that had come in the past twenty-four hours or was just the natural course of things. It had been a month since they had been together and she looked taller and thinner and had changed her sandy-blond hair into a shorter, layered cut. There was something professional about it.
“OMG, what are you wearing?” she exclaimed.
Bosch looked down at himself. The jail pants and paper slippers were indeed shocking.
“Uh, yeah, well, it’s a long story,” he said. “They had to take my clothes for evidence and this is all they had.”
“Why would your clothes be evidence?” she asked.
“Well, that’s the part that’s a long story. What are you doing about dinner? You staying up here or do you have to go back? I know you’ve got your trip to IB, right?”
“We’re not leaving till tomorrow but it’s my Sunday to cook.”
Bosch knew that his daughter and her three roommates had a Sunday-evening tradition of rotating cooking duties — the only night of the week they had promised to always eat together. Maddie was up and couldn’t let the others down.
“But I want to hear the story, Dad,” she said. “I’ve been waiting here all day and deserve to hear it.”
Bosch nodded. She was right.
“Okay, give me five minutes to change into my own stuff,” he said. “I don’t like looking like a prisoner.”
He headed down the hall to his room, calling back to her a request that she water the plants. Throughout her high school years, she had insisted on buying several potted plants for the back deck. She had dutifully maintained them with a watering cycle but then went off to college, and Bosch was left holding the responsibility, which proved difficult for a man with his schedule.