In most of the photos the individual who was depicted alone or with Hardy or with a man’s body assumed to be Hardy’s was clearly alive in the photograph. He or she was either engaged in a sex act or in some cases smiling directly at the camera. In other cases the depiction was of a person looking in fear and sometimes pain at the camera.
Photos that had individual identifiers were placed in a priority category. These were victims who wore distinctive jewelry or had tattoos or facial moles. These markers would help the investigators seek identities later in the investigation.
Bosch could feel his insides being hollowed by the process. The eyes of the victims were the most difficult. So many of them looked at the camera with eyes showing that they knew they were not going to live. It tapped into a deep well of helpless rage in Bosch. For years Hardy had cut a bloody trail across the landscape and no one had seen it. Now they were left to make piles out of photographs.
At one point there was a knock on the door and Teddy Baker came in, holding a file.
“I thought you might want to see this,” she said. “They took it at MDC during booking.”
She opened the file and put an 8 × 10 photo down on the table. It depicted a man’s back. Spread from shoulder blade to shoulder blade was a depiction of a cemetery with black crosses across the landscape. Some of the crosses were old and faded, the ink having spread with the skin. Some of the crosses were sharply drawn and looked new. In a black script beneath the image were the words
Bene Decessit
.
Bosch had seen RIP tattoos before, but usually they were on gangbangers trying to keep track of the body counts of their own homies. This was new and yet not surprising. It also didn’t come as a surprise that Hardy had found a tattoo artist who apparently didn’t think the cemetery image was suspicious enough to contact authorities.
“That’s your boy,” Baker said.
“And did you count the crosses?” Bosch asked.
“Yeah. There’s thirty-seven of them.”
Bosch had not told her or the others that Hardy had said his number was thirty-seven. He had only told Kiz Rider that. He ran his finger below the words on Hardy’s back.
“Yeah,” Baker said. “We Googled it. It’s Latin. Means ‘died well.’ Like they all died well.”
Bosch nodded.
“Sweet,” Chu said. “The guy’s fucked up.”
“Can we put the photo in the package?” Bosch asked.
“It’s all yours.”
Bosch put the photo to the side of the table. He would include it in the charging package he would take to the DA.
“Okay. Thanks, Teddy,” he said.
He was dismissing her. He wanted to get back to the photo work. He needed to find Lily.
“Do you guys need some help?” Baker said. “Gandle didn’t give us a piece of anything. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.”
She and Kehoe had been driving Hardy to the MDC for booking when Gandle had given out assignments. It was quickly becoming the kind of case everyone wanted a part of.
“I think we got this, Teddy,” Bosch said quickly before his partner could tell her to join them. “Maybe the others could use a hand with the videos.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll check with them.”
Bosch interpreted her tone to mean that she thought he was being a selfish prick. She went to the door but then turned back to them.
“You know what’s weird so far?” she asked.
“What’s weird?” Bosch responded.
“No bodies. There’s DNA in that town house. But where are all the bodies? Where did he hide them?”
“Some were found,” Bosch said. “Like Lily Price. Others he hid. That’s his last chit. By the time we’re finished with this, that’s all Hardy will have left to trade. He gives up the bodies, we give up the death penalty.”
“Think the DA will go for it?”
“I hope not.”
She left the room then and Bosch got back to work with the photos.
“Harry, what’s up?” Chu said. “We’ve got about a thousand photos still to look through.”
“I know that,” Bosch said.
“So, why couldn’t we use her? She and Kehoe are part of OU. They’re just looking for something to do.”
“I don’t know. I just think that if Lily Price is in here somewhere, then we should find her. Know what I mean?”
“I guess so.”
Bosch relented.
“Go get her. Bring her back.”
“No, that’s okay. I understand.”
They went back to work, silently looking and sorting and stacking. Such a grim duty and so many victims. If not of murder or rape, then of Hardy’s manipulations and inhumanity. Bosch had to admit to himself that it was another reason he didn’t want to bring Teddy Baker in. It didn’t matter that she was a veteran investigator who had seen everything there was to see on the underside of life. And it didn’t matter that Hardy was a predator who targeted weakness, whether the victim be male or female. Bosch would never be comfortable viewing the photos in the company of a woman. It was just the way he was.
Only twenty minutes later Bosch saw Chu stop his routine motion of checking a photo and then holding it up over his head while considering the stack he would place it on. He looked over. Chu was studying a Polaroid.
“Harry, I think . . .”
Bosch took the photo from him and looked at it. It was a shot of a young girl lying naked on a dirty blanket. Her eyes were closed and it was impossible to determine if she was alive or dead. The photo had faded over time. Bosch held it next to the yearbook photo of the smiling face of Lily Price, taken eighteen months before her death.
“You think?” Chu asked.
Bosch didn’t answer. He kept shifting his eyes from photo to photo, studying them and making minute comparisons. Chu handed him a magnifying glass he had brought from the cubicle but neither had used. Bosch put both photos down on the table and compared them under magnification. Finally he nodded and answered.
“I think you found her. We take this over to photo for digital analysis and see what they say.”
Chu pounded his fist on the table.
“We got this guy, Harry. We got him!”
Bosch put the magnifier down on the table and leaned back in his chair.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think we do.”
He then leaned forward and pointed to the stacks of photos that still had not been checked.
“Let’s keep going,” he said.
“You think there’s more?” Chu asked.
“Who knows? Maybe. But there’s also another one we should try to find.”
“Who?”
“Clayton Pell. He said Hardy took his picture, too. If he saved it, then it should be in here.”
B
osch gathered himself, took a final breath and punched in the number. He wasn’t even sure if the phone number would still be good after so many years. He checked one of the overhead clocks and did the math again. Three hours ahead in Ohio. It would be well after dinner but they would still be awake.
A woman picked up after three rings.
“Mrs. Price?” Bosch asked.
“Yes, who am I speaking to?”
There was an urgent tone in her voice and Bosch guessed that she had caller ID on her phone. She knew it was the police calling. Reaching across time and distance.
“Mrs. Price, this is Detective Bosch with the Los Angeles Police Department. I’m calling because there have been some developments in the investigation of your daughter’s death. I need to talk with you.”
Bosch heard the catch in her breath. Then she covered the receiver and spoke to someone else. He could not tell what she was saying.
“Mrs. Price?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I told my husband. Lily’s father. He went upstairs to get on the other line.”
“Okay, we can wait for—”
“Is this about what they’re showing on TV? We were watching the Fox channel and I had to wonder if that man they said is known as Chill was the one who took Lily.”
She was crying before she finished the question.
“Mrs. Price, can we—”
There was a click and they were joined on the line by her husband.
“This is Bill Price.”
“Mr. Price, I was telling your wife, my name is Harry Bosch. I’m a detective with the LAPD. I need to inform you about developments in the investigation of your daughter’s death.”
“Lily,” Mr. Price said.
“Yes, sir, your daughter Lily. I work in the Open-Unsolved Unit, which handles cold case homicide investigations. Last week we got a good break in the case. DNA from blood found on Lily’s body was connected to a man named Chilton Hardy. It was not his blood but it was blood that belonged to someone who knew Hardy and could connect him to the crime. I’m calling to tell you that we arrested Chilton Hardy today and we will be charging him with your daughter’s murder.”
There was only the sound of Mrs. Price weeping.
“I don’t know if there is any more to say at this point,” Bosch finally said. “The investigation is still unfolding and I will keep you posted on developments as we go forward with the prosecution. Once it is revealed that this man has been charged with your daughter’s murder, you may be contacted by the news media. It is up to you whether you want to talk to them or not. Do you have any questions for me?”
Bosch tried to imagine them in their home in Dayton. On different floors, connected by an open phone line to a man they had never met. Twenty-two years ago they had sent their daughter to Los Angeles to go to college. She never came home.
“I have a question,” Mrs. Price said. “Hold on, please.”
Bosch heard the phone being put down and then her weeping in the background. Her husband finally spoke.
“Detective, thank you for not forgetting about our daughter. I’m going to hang up now so I can go downstairs and be with my wife.”
“I understand, sir. I am sure we will be talking soon. Good-bye.”
When Mrs. Price came back on the line, she had composed herself.
“On the cable news they said that the police were looking at pictures and videos of the victims. They’re not going to show those on TV, are they? They’re not going to show Lily, are they?”
Bosch closed his eyes and pressed the phone hard against his ear.
“No, ma’am, that won’t happen. The photos are evidence and they won’t be released. There may come a time when they will be used in the trial. But if that happens, the prosecutor assigned to the case will discuss it with you. Or I will. You will be kept informed about everything involved in the prosecution. I’m sure of that.”
“Okay, Detective. Thank you. I never thought this day would come, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know it’s been a long time.”
“Do you have children, Detective?”
“I have a daughter.”
“Keep her close.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will. I’ll get back to you soon.”
Bosch hung up the phone.
“How’d that go?”
Bosch swiveled in his seat. Chu had come back into the cubicle without his noticing.
“About how they all go,” he said. “Just two more victims . . .”
“Yeah. Where are they?”
“Dayton. What’s happening with the others?”
“Everybody’s about to head out. I think they’ve seen enough for one day. It’s truly horrible stuff.”
Bosch nodded. He checked the clock on the wall again. It had been a long day, almost twelve hours for him. Chu was talking about the other detective teams that were assigned to the investigation and had been sifting through videos of torture and murder for the past six hours.
“I was going to head out with them, Harry, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. I gotta go home, too.”
“I think we’re in good shape for tomorrow, don’t you?”
They had a 9
A.M
. appointment at the District Attorney’s Office to present their case and seek murder charges against Hardy in the Lily Price case. Bosch turned sideways to his desk and put his hand on the thick pocket file that contained the reports they would give to the DA. The package.
“Yeah,” Bosch said. “I think we’re set.”
“Okay, then, I’m out of here. I’ll see you in the
A.M
. We meet here and walk over?”
“Yeah.”
Chu was a backpack guy. He swung his bag over his shoulder and headed out of the cubicle.
“Hey, David,” Bosch said. “Before you go . . .”
Chu turned back and leaned on one of the cubicle’s four-foot walls.
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to say you did good today. We did good as partners.”
Chu nodded.
“Thanks, Harry.”
“So never mind all that stuff from before, okay? We’ll just start from here.”
“I told you I’d make it up.”
“Yeah, so go home . . . and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya, Harry.”
Chu went off, a happy man. Bosch saw there had been a moment of expectancy in his face. Maybe a makeup beer or a bite of food would have solidified the partnership further, but Harry needed to get home. He needed to do exactly what Mrs. Price had told him to do.
The new PAB cost nearly half a billion dollars and had half a million square feet of space in its ten floors of limestone and glass, but it didn’t have a snack bar, and parking was available for only a privileged few of high rank. As a detective three Bosch barely made the grade, but taking advantage of parking in the PAB’s subterranean garage was a costly perk. A fee would’ve been deducted from his paycheck each month. He opted out because he could still park for free in the old “erector set,” the rusting steel parking structure located three blocks away and behind the old police headquarters, Parker Center.
He didn’t mind the three-block walk to and from work. It was right through the heart of the civic center and a good length for prepping for the day ahead or decompressing after it.
Bosch was on Main Street, crossing behind City Hall, when he noticed the black Town Car cruise quietly up in the bus lane and stop at the curb twenty feet in front of him.
Even as he saw the rear window glide down, he acted like he had not noticed and kept walking, his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him.
“Detective Bosch.”
Bosch turned to see Irvin Irving’s face framed in the open rear window of the Lincoln.
“I don’t think we have anything to say to each other, Councilman.”