The Drop (6 page)

“The hotel call logs and the combination that was entered on the room safe.”

Bosch told him the combination on the room safe was 1492 and that it was not a default number. Whoever had locked Irving’s possessions in the safe had keyed the number in either randomly or intentionally.

“Christopher Columbus,” Chu said.

“What do you mean?”

“Harry, I’m the foreigner. Don’t you know your history lessons? ‘In fourteen hundred ninety-two Columbus sailed the ocean blue’—remember?”

“Yeah, sure. Columbus. But what’s it have to do with this?”

It seemed like a stretch to Bosch that the discovery of America was the inspiration for the combination.

“And that’s not even the oldest date connected to this thing,” Chu added excitedly.

“What are you talking about?”

“The hotel, Harry. The Chateau Marmont is a duplicate of a French chateau built in the thirteenth century in the Loire Valley.”

“Okay, so?”

“I looked it up on Google. That’s what I was doing on my phone. Turns out that back then, the average height of Western Europeans was five foot three. So if they copied that place, that would explain why the balcony walls are so short.”

“The balustrades. But what’s that got to—”

“Accidental death, Harry. The guy comes out on the balcony to get some fresh air or something and goes right over the balcony. Do you know that Jim Morrison, that guy from the Doors, fell off a balcony there like that in nineteen seventy?”

“That’s great. What about a little more recently, Chu? Are you saying they have a—”

“No, there’s no history there. I’m just saying . . . you know.”

“No, I don’t know. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if we have to make this an accident so the chief and the powers that be are happy, then there’s our way to it.”

They had just crested the mountain and crossed Mulholland. They were now dropping down into Studio City, where George Irving had lived with his family. At the next street, Bosch jerked the wheel and pulled into Dona Pegita and stopped. He slammed the car into park and turned in his seat to confront his partner.

“What gave you the idea that we’re looking to appease the powers that be?”

Chu immediately became flustered.

“Well . . . I don’t . . . I’m just saying if we want—look, Harry, I’m not saying what happened. It’s just a possibility.”

“Possibility, my ass. He either checked in because he wanted to check out, or somebody drew him there, knocked him out and then dropped him. There was no accident and I’m not looking for anything but what really happened. If this guy offed himself, then he offed himself and the councilman has to live with it.”

“Okay, Harry.”

“I don’t want to hear about the Loire Valley or the Doors or anything else that is a distraction. There’s a good chance it wasn’t this guy’s idea to end up on the sidewalk at the Chateau Marmont. Right now it could go either way. And all politics aside, I’m going to find out.”

“I hear you, Harry. I didn’t mean anything, okay? I was just trying to help. Casting a big net. Remember, you told me that’s how it’s done.”

“Sure.”

Bosch turned forward again and dropped the car into drive. He made a U-turn and headed back to Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Chu desperately tried to change the subject.

“Was there anything on the call logs worth looking at?”

“No calls coming in. Irving called down to the garage about midnight and that was it.”

“What was that about?”

“We have to talk to the midnight man—he got out of there before we could hold him. They keep a log in the office down there and it says Irving called to ask him to see if he left his phone in his car. We found the phone in the safe, so either Irving was mistaken or the phone was left in the car and brought up to his room.”

They were silent for a moment as they considered the call to the garage. Finally, Chu spoke.

“Did you check out the car?”

“I did. There was nothing there.”

“Damn. I guess that would have made it easier, if there had been a note or something.”

“Yeah. But there wasn’t.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

They rode the rest of the way to George Irving’s home in silence.

When they got to the address that was on their victim’s driver’s license, Bosch saw a familiar Lincoln Town Car parked at the curb. The same two men were in the front. It meant Councilman Irving was on the premises. Bosch got ready for another face-to-face with the enemy.

7

C
ouncilman Irving answered the door of his son’s home. He opened it just as wide as his own body, and it was clear before he said anything that he did not want to allow Bosch and Chu admittance.

“Councilman,” Bosch said, “we’d like to ask your son’s wife a few questions.”

“Deborah’s taken this very hard, Detective. It would be better if you could come back at another time.”

Bosch looked around on the doorstep, even glanced behind him and down at Chu on the lower step, before turning back to Irving and answering.

“We’re conducting an investigation, Councilman. Her interview is important and we can’t put it off.”

They stared at each other, neither yielding.

“You asked for me and you told me to proceed with urgency,” Bosch finally said. “This is what I’m doing. Are you going to let us come in or not?”

Irving relented and stepped back, opening the door wider. Bosch and Chu entered a vestibule with a table for dropping off keys and packages.

“What did you learn from the crime scene?” Irving said quickly.

Bosch hesitated, not sure whether to discuss the case with him this soon.

“So far not a lot. A case like this, a lot will ride on the autopsy.”

“When will that be?”

“It hasn’t been scheduled.”

Bosch checked his watch.

“Your son’s body only got to the morgue a couple hours ago.”

“Well, I hope you insisted that they schedule it quickly.”

Bosch tried to smile but it didn’t work out that way.

“Can you take us to your daughter-in-law now?”

“So that means you did not insist on any urgency.”

Bosch looked over Irving’s shoulder and saw the room opened into a larger room with a winding staircase. There was no sign of anyone else in the house.

“Councilman, don’t tell me how to run the investigation. If you want to take me off it, then fine, call the chief and have me pulled. But as long as I’m on the case, then I’m going to run the investigation the way I see best.”

Irving backed off.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll go get Deborah. Why don’t you and your partner wait in the living room.”

He led them into the house and directed them to the living room. He then disappeared. Bosch looked at Chu and shook his head at the same moment Chu was about to ask a question that Harry knew was going to be about Irving’s meddling in the investigation.

Chu held his tongue and just then Irving returned, leading a stunningly beautiful blond woman into the room. Bosch guessed she was in her midforties. She was tall and thin but not too tall and thin. She looked grief stricken but that didn’t take much away from the beauty of a woman who was aging as gracefully as a fine wine. Irving led her by the arm to a seat across a coffee table from a couch. Bosch moved into the seating arrangement but did not sit down. He waited to see what move Irving made, and when it became clear the councilman planned on staying for the interview, Harry objected.

“We’re here to talk to Mrs. Irving and we need to do that alone,” he said.

“My daughter-in-law wants me to be with her at this time,” Irving responded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s fine. If you can be here somewhere in the house in case she needs you, that will be most helpful. But I need you to allow us to talk with Mrs. Irving alone.”

“Dad, it’s okay,” Deborah Irving said, defusing the situation. “I’ll be fine. Why don’t you make yourself something to eat in the kitchen?”

Irving looked at Bosch for a long moment, probably second-guessing his demand that Harry be put on the case.

“Just call if you need me,” he said.

Irving then left the room and Bosch and Chu sat down, Harry making their introductions.

“Mrs. Irving, I want—”

“You can call me Deborah.”

“Deborah, then. We want you to know that you have our condolences for the loss of your husband. We also appreciate your willingness to talk to us at this difficult time.”

“Thank you, Detective. I am more than willing to talk. It’s just that I don’t think I have any answers for you and the shock of this is more than . . .”

She looked around and Bosch knew what she was looking for. The tears were coming again. Harry signaled to Chu.

“Find her some tissues. Check the bathroom.”

Chu got up. Bosch intently watched the woman across from him, looking for signs of genuine emotion and loss.

“I don’t know why he would have done this,” she said.

“Why don’t we start with the easy questions? The ones where there are answers. Why don’t you tell me when you last saw your husband?”

“Last night. He left the house after dinner and didn’t come back.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No, he said he needed air, that he was going to put the top down and take a drive up on Mulholland. He told me not to wait up for him. I didn’t.”

Bosch waited but nothing else came.

“Was that unusual, him going out for a drive like that?”

“He had been doing it a lot lately. I didn’t think he was really out driving, though.”

“You mean he was doing something else?”

“Connect the dots, Lieutenant.”

“I’m a detective, not a lieutenant. Why don’t you connect the dots for me, Deborah. Do you know what your husband was doing?”

“No, I don’t. I’m just telling you that I didn’t think he was just riding around on Mulholland. I thought he was probably meeting someone.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“No. I was going to but I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was just waiting.”

Chu came back with a box of tissues and handed it to her. But the moment had passed and her eyes looked cold and hard now. Even so, she was beautiful, and Bosch found it hard to believe a husband would take to late-night drives when the woman waiting at home was Deborah Irving.

“Let’s go back a second. You said he left after you two had dinner. Was that at home or had you been out?”

“We were home. Neither of us was very hungry. We just had sandwiches.”

“Do you remember what time dinner was?”

“It would’ve been about seven thirty. He left at eight thirty.”

Bosch took out his notebook and wrote a few things down about what had been said so far. He remembered that Solomon and Glanville had reported that someone—presumably George Irving—had made the reservation at the Chateau at eight fifty, twenty minutes after Deborah said her husband had left their home.

“One-four-nine-two.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do those numbers mean anything to you? One-four-nine-two—fourteen ninety-two?

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

She seemed genuinely confused. Bosch had meant to keep her off balance by asking questions in a nonsequential manner.

“Your husband’s property—his wallet and phone and wedding ring—were in the hotel safe. That was the combination that was entered to lock it. Is there any significance to those numbers to your husband or you?”

“I can’t think of any.”

“Okay. Did your husband have a familiarity with the Chateau Marmont? Had he stayed there before?”

“We had been there before together, but like I said, I didn’t really know where he went when he went on his drives. He could’ve been going there. I don’t know.”

Bosch nodded.

“How would you describe your husband’s state of mind when you last saw him?”

She thought for a long moment before shrugging and saying that her husband seemed normal, not burdened or upset as far as she could tell.

“How would you describe the state of your marriage?”

She dropped her eyes to the floor for a moment before bringing them up to his.

“We would have reached our twentieth anniversary in January. Twenty years is a long time. A lot of highs and lows but many more highs than lows.”

Bosch noted that she did not answer the question he had asked.

“What about right now? Were you in a high or a low?”

She paused a long moment before answering.

“Our son—our only child—left in August for college. It has been a difficult adjustment.”

“Empty nest syndrome,” Chu said.

Both Bosch and Deborah Irving looked at him but he added nothing else and looked a little foolish for interrupting.

“What day in January was your anniversary?” Bosch asked.

“The fourth.”

“So you were married on January fourth, nineteen ninety-two?”

“Oh, my god!”

She brought her hands to her mouth in embarrassment over not recognizing the hotel room safe combination. Tears rolled out of her eyes and she pulled tissues from the box.

“How stupid of me! You must think I’m a complete—”

“It’s okay,” Bosch offered. “I said it like a year, not a full date. Do you know if he used that number as a combination or password before?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“ATM password?”

“No we used our son’s birthday—five-two-ninety-three.”

“What about on his cell phone?”

“That’s Chad’s birthday, too. I’ve used George’s phone.”

Bosch wrote the new date down in his notebook. The cell phone had been logged into evidence by the SID team and was on its way downtown. He would be able to unlock it and access its call records at the PAB. He had to consider what this meant. On the one hand, use of the Irving’s anniversary date tended to indicate that it had been George Irving who had set the combination on the room safe. But a wedding date could be found in court records with a computer. Once again it was information that did not exclude either suicide or murder.