Authors: Michael Connelly
24
H
ARRY BOSCH OPENED THE DOOR and Rachel could tell he was angry. He was about to say something when he saw it was her and checked himself. That told her he was waiting for somebody and that that somebody was late.
“Agent Walling.”
“Expecting someone?”
“Uh, no, not really.”
She saw his eyes flick past her and check the rear parking lot.
“Can I come in?”
“Sorry, sure, come on in.”
He stepped back and held the door. She entered a sad little efficiency apartment that was sparsely furnished in depressing colors. On the left was a dinette table circa 1960s and she saw on it a bottle of beer, a notebook and a road atlas open to a map of Nevada. Bosch moved quickly to the table and closed the atlas and his notebook and stacked them one on top of the other. She then noticed his driver’s license was on the table as well.
“So what brings you over here to this swell place?” he asked.
“Just wanted to see what you were up to,” she said, leaving suspicion out of her voice. “I hope our little welcome wagon wasn’t too difficult for you today.”
“Nope. Comes with the territory.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“How did you find me?”
She stepped further into the room.
“You’re paying for this place with a credit card.”
Bosch nodded but didn’t seem surprised by the speed or questionable legality of her search for him. She moved on, nodding at the map book on the dinette table.
“Planning a little vacation there? I mean, now that you’re not working the case anymore.”
“A road trip, yeah.”
“Where to?”
“Not sure yet.”
She smiled and turned toward the open balcony door. She could see an expensive-looking black jet on the tarmac beyond the motel’s parking lot.
“According to your credit-card records you’ve been renting a place here for nearly nine months. On and off but mostly on.”
“Yeah, they give me the long-term discount. Comes out to like twenty bucks a day or something.”
“That’s probably too much.”
He turned and surveyed the place, as if for the first time.
“Yeah.”
They were both still standing. Rachel knew he didn’t want her to sit down or stay because of the visitor he was expecting. So she decided to push things. She sat down without being asked on the threadbare couch.
“Why have you had this place for nine months?” she asked.
He pulled a chair away from the dinette and brought it over and sat down.
“It’s got nothing to do with this, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I didn’t think it did. I’m just curious, that’s all. You don’t look like a gambler to me—I mean, not with money. And this looks like a place for hard-core types.”
He nodded.
“It is. That and people with other addictions. I’m here because my daughter lives out here. With her mother. I’ve been trying to get to know her. I guess she’s my addiction.”
“How old is she?”
“She’ll be six soon.”
“That’s nice. Her mother being Eleanor Wish, the former FBI agent?”
“That’s her. What can I do for you, Agent Walling?”
She smiled. She liked Bosch. He got to the point. He apparently didn’t let anybody or anything intimidate him. She wondered where that came from. Was it from carrying a badge or carrying other baggage?
“You can call me Rachel for starters. But I think it’s more like what can I do for you. You wanted me to contact you, didn’t you?”
He laughed but not with any humor attached to it.
“What are you talking about?”
“The interview. The looks, the nods and smiles, all that. You chose me as sort of a pen pal in there. Tried to connect. Tried to even it up, turn it from three against one to a game of two on two.”
Bosch shrugged and looked out the balcony.
“That was just sort of a shot in the dark. I . . . I don’t know, I just sort of thought you weren’t getting a fair shake there, that’s all. And I guess I know what that’s like.”
“It’s been eight years since I got a fair shake from the bureau.”
He looked back at her.
“All because of Backus?”
“That and other things. I made some mistakes and the bureau never forgets.”
“I know what that is like, too.”
He stood up.
“I’m having a beer,” he said. “Do you want one, or is this a duty visit.”
“I could use one, duty or not.”
He got up and took the open beer off the dinette table and went to the small efficiency kitchen. He put the bottle in the sink and got two more out of the refrigerator. He cranked off the caps and brought them out to the seating arrangement. Rachel knew she had to be careful and alert. There was a thin line between who played whom in these situations.
“This place comes with glasses in the cabinet but I wouldn’t trust them,” he said, handing her a bottle.
“Bottle’s fine.”
She took hers and made sure she chinked it off his. She then took a short pull on the bottle. Sierra Nevada, it tasted good. She could tell he was watching to see if she was really drinking. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand even though she didn’t have to.
“That tastes right.”
“Sure does. So what part of this are they giving you? Or do you have to stand around and just keep quiet—like Agent Zigo?”
Rachel gave him a short laugh.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve heard him utter a full sentence yet. But then again, I’ve only been here a couple days. Basically, they brought me in because they didn’t have much of a choice. I’ve got my little back story with Bob Backus and the GPS was sent to me at Quantico, even though I haven’t set foot there in eight years. As you picked up on in the RV, this could be about me. Maybe, maybe not, but it cuts me in.”
“And where did they bring you in from?”
“Rapid City.”
Bosch grimaced.
“No, that’s good,” she said. “Before that it was Minot, North Dakota. A one-agent office. I think in my second year there they actually had a spring.”
“Man, that hurts. In L.A. what they do if they want to get rid of you is give you what they call ‘freeway therapy,’ transfer you to the division furthest from where you live so you have to fight the traffic every day. Couple years of two-hour commutes and guys turn in their badges.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“No, but you probably already know what happened to me.”
She didn’t respond to that, moving quickly back the other way.
“In the bureau they have the whole country and then some. They don’t call it freeway therapy, they call it ‘hardship posting.’ They send you where nobody wants to go. And there are a lot of places like that, places they can bury an agent if they want to. In Minot it was all reservation stuff and on the res they don’t take so kindly to those of us of the FBI persuasion. Rapid City is only a small improvement. At least there are other agents in the office. My fellow outcasts. We actually have a good time because the pressure’s off. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah. How long have you been up there?”
“Eight years altogether.”
“Jeez.”
She waved her free hand dismissively, as if it was all water under the bridge. She knew she was drawing him in. Revealing herself would make him trust her. She wanted his trust.
“Tell me,” he said. “Was it because you were the messenger? Because you shot Backus? Or because he got away?”
“All that and other things. Consorting with the enemy, chewing gum in class, the usual stuff.”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you just walk away, Rachel?”
“Well, Harry, because I didn’t want them to win.”
He nodded again and she could see a gleam in his eyes. She had connected on that answer. She knew it, could feel it, and it felt good.
“Can I tell you something off the record, Harry?”
“Sure.”
“My assignment right now is to keep an eye on you.”
“Me? Why? I don’t know if you were listening in that rolling field office today but I was kind of kicked off the case.”
“Yes, and I’m sure you just packed it in and are quitting.”
She turned and looked toward the table, at the map book and his notebook. She then turned back to him and spoke in a stern but even tone.
“My assignment is to watch you and to shut you down hard if you come anywhere near this investigation.”
“Look, Agent Walling, I don’t think —”
“Don’t suddenly go formal on me here.”
“Okay, Rachel, then. If this is some kind of threat, then all right, message received. I get it. But I don’t think you —”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m here to tell you I don’t plan to carry out my assignment.”
He paused and studied her for a long moment.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve checked you out. You were right about that. I know about you and I know about what kind of cop you were. I know what has happened with you and the bureau in the past. I know all of that and I know you’re more than meets the eye. And my guess is that you’re onto something, that you told us just enough today to get out of that RV in one piece.”
She stopped and waited and finally he responded.
“Hey, look, if all of that is a compliment, then I’ll take it. But what’s your point?”
“My point is that I have a history, too. And I’m not going to sit on the sideline while they go after Backus and leave me back in the FO making coffee. Not on this one. I want to get there first, and since this is a betting town I’m betting on you.”
Bosch didn’t move and he didn’t say anything for a long moment. She watched his dark eyes as he churned through everything she’d said. She knew she was taking an incredible risk with him. But eight years in the Badlands had made her look at risks much differently than she had when she was in Quantico.
“Let me ask you something,” he finally said. “Why is it they don’t have you in a hotel room with two guards on the door? You know, in case Backus shows up. Like you said, this could be all about you. First Terry McCaleb, then you.”
She shook her head, dismissing the idea.
“Because maybe they’re using me. Maybe I’m bait.”
“Are they?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’m not privy to everything about this investigation. Either way, it doesn’t matter. If he is coming at me let him come. I’m not going to hide out in a hotel room. Not when he’s out there and not as long as I have my pals Sig and Glock with me.”
“Oh, a two-gun agent. That’s interesting. Most of the two-gun cops I knew had a little too much testosterone to go with all the extra bullets. I didn’t like working with those guys.”
He said it with sort of a smile in his voice. She knew he was close to being hooked.
“I don’t carry them both at once. One’s on the job, one’s off. And you’re trying to change the subject.”
“Which is?”
“Your next move. Look, you know how they say it in the movies? We can do this the hard way or we can —”
“Hit you in the face with a phone book.”
“Exactly. You’re working alone, against the grain, but you obviously have good instincts and probably know things about this we don’t know yet. Why not work together?”
“And what happens when Agent Dei and the rest of the FBI hear about this?”
“I take the risk, I take the fall. But it won’t be too hard. What are they going to do to me? Send me back to Minot? Big deal.”
He nodded. She watched him, tried to look through those dark eyes to see how his mind worked. Her take on Bosch was that he put case sense ahead of vanity and petty things. He would churn through it and ultimately know this was the way to go.
He finally nodded again and spoke.
“What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
“Watching you. Why?”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Embassy Suites on Paradise near Harmon.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“And where are we going?”
“To the top of the triangle.”
“What do you mean? Where?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow. I’m thinking I can trust you, Rachel. But let’s take it one step at a time. Are you going with me?”
“All right, Bosch, I’ll go with you.”
“You getting formal with me now?”
“Just a slip. I don’t want to get formal with you.”
She smiled and she watched him try to read it.
“All right, then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “I have to get ready now to go see my kid.”
He stood up and so did she. She took one more drink from her beer and put it down half finished on the dinette table.
“Eight o’clock tomorrow,” she said. “You pick me up?”
“Right.”
“You sure you don’t want me to drive? Uncle Sugar pay for the gas?”
“That’s all right. Can you get the photos of the missing men? I had them on the newspaper clip but Agent Dei took it from me.”
“I’ll see what I can do. There’s probably a six-pack that won’t be missed at the FO.”
“And one other thing. Bring both your friends.”
“What friends?”
“Sig and Glock.”
She smiled and shook her head at him.
“You can’t carry a weapon now, can you? Legally, anyway.”
“No, I can’t. I don’t.”
“Must feel naked.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
She gave him another smile.
“Well, I’m not giving you a weapon, Harry. No way.”
He shrugged.
“Had to ask.”
He opened the door and she walked out. After he closed it she walked down the steps to the parking lot and looked back up at the door. She wondered if he was watching her through the peephole. She got into the Crown Vic she had signed out of the car pool. She knew she was close to the edge of trouble. What she had revealed to Bosch and agreed to do the next day with him guaranteed the final stage of the destruction of her career if things went sideways. But she didn’t care. It was a gambling town. She trusted Bosch and she trusted herself. She would not let them win.
As she backed the Crown Vic out she noticed a cab pull to a stop in the parking lot. A chubby man with sun-bleached hair and a loud Hawaiian shirt got out and studied the numbers on the doors of the rooms. He was carrying a thick envelope or a file folder that looked yellowed and old. Rachel watched as he bounded up the steps and walked to number 22, Bosch’s door. The door was opened before he had to knock.