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  “So these were his main clients as of late?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “And they would have been happy with the results they got.”

  “Absolutely. Western wasn’t even the low bidder and Tolson had strong competition this time. Plus a two-inch-thick complaint file to overcome. George had his work cut out for him but he came through.”

  “And how did it work with his father being on the council? Wasn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  Rosen nodded emphatically.

  “Of course it was. That was why the councilman abstained from voting whenever one of George’s clients had business before the council.”

  This seemed odd to Bosch. Having a father on the council seemed to give George Irving the inside edge. But if his father excused himself from voting on such matters, the edge disappeared.

  Or did it?

  Bosch assumed that even if the older Irving made a show of abstaining from voting, the other council members knew they could curry his favor for their own pet projects if they supported his son’s.

  “What about clients who were unhappy with the work George did?” he asked Rosen.

  She said she could not think of a client who was ever upset with George Irving’s efforts. Conversely, the companies competing with his clients for city contracts would be upset.

  “Anything that you remember from these situations that Mr. Irving considered to be a threat?”

  “Offhand, not that I know of.”

  “You said Western Block and Concrete was not the low bidder on the garage. Who was?”

  “A company called Consolidated Block Incorporated. They underbid just to try to get the contract. It happens a lot. But the city planners usually see through that. In this case, George helped them. The planning division recommended Western to the council.”

  “And no threat came out of it? No bad blood?”

  “Well, I doubt they were happy about it over at CBI but as far as I know, we didn’t hear anything. It was just business.”

  Bosch knew that he and Chu would have to review both contracts and Irving’s work on them. But he decided to move on.

  “What did Mr. Irving have coming up next on his work schedule?”

  “There wasn’t a lot. He had been talking about slowing down a little bit. His son went away to college and George and his wife were going through the empty nest phase. I know George really missed his son. He was depressed about it.”

  “So he had no active clients?”

  “He was talking to people but he only had one under contract. That was Regent Taxi. They’re going to try to get the Hollywood franchise next year and they hired us back in May to work with them.”

  Under Bosch’s questioning, Rosen explained that the city awarded geographic franchises for taxi service. The city was divided into six taxi zones. Each zone had two or three lease or franchise holders, depending on the population of the district. The franchising controlled where in the city a company could pick up fares. Of course, a taxi with a fare onboard could go anywhere instructed.

  The designation allowed them to sit on taxi stands and at hotels or cruise for fares and take phone requests within their franchise zone only. Competition on the streets for fares was sometimes fierce. Competition for a franchise designation was equally so. Rosen explained that Regent Taxi already had a franchise in South L.A. but was seeking a more lucrative assignment in Hollywood.

  “When was that going to come up?” Bosch asked.

  “Not till after the new year,” Rosen said. “George was just getting started on the application.”

  “How many franchises are given in Hollywood?”

  “There are only two and they are two-year terms. They stagger them, so one comes up for renewal or reassignment every year. Regent has been waiting for this upcoming year because the current franchise holder coming up for renewal has problems and is vulnerable. George told the clients that their best shot was in the coming year.”

  “What’s the name of the company that’s vulnerable?”

  “Black and White. Better known as B and W.”

  Bosch knew that there had been an issue a decade or so ago with B&W Taxi painting its cars so that they looked a little too much like police cars. The LAPD had complained and the company changed their design to a black and white checkerboard scheme. But he didn’t think this was what Rosen meant by the company’s being vulnerable.

  “You said it has problems. What problems?”

  “Well, for starters, they’ve had three DUIs in the last four months alone.”

  “You mean cabdrivers driving drunk?”

  “Exactly, and that’s the ultimate no-no. That doesn’t go over well with the city franchise board or the city council, as you can imagine. Who wants to vote for a company with that record? So George was pretty confident that Regent could get the franchise. They’ve got a clean record, plus they’re minority owned.”

  And he had a father who was a powerful member of the city council, which appointed the members of the franchise board. Bosch was intrigued by this information because it all came down to money. Somebody making it and somebody losing it. That often played into the motivations for murder. He got up and stuck his head into the back room, telling Hadlow and Chu that he would want to take any files relating to the taxi franchise matter.

  He then came back to Rosen and moved the interview back toward the personal side of things.

  “Did George keep any personal files here?”

  “Yes, he did. But they’re locked in the desk and I don’t have the key.”

  From his pocket Bosch pulled the keys that had been taken from the Chateau’s valet and impounded along with Irving’s car.

  “Show me.”

  Bosch and Chu emerged from the office at noon and headed back to the PAB. Chu carried the box containing the files and other materials they had seized with Hadlow’s approval under the authority of the search warrant. This included the records pertaining to the most recent projects George Irving had been working on or planning, as well his personal files, which contained a number of insurance policies and a copy of a will that was dated only two months earlier.

  As they walked, they discussed their next moves. They agreed that the rest of the day would be worked inside the PAB. They had several records to study concerning Irving’s projects and will. Reports were also overdue from Glanville and Solomon concerning their interview of the guest who checked in behind Irving at the Chateau Marmont and the canvasses conducted in the hotel and on the hillside neighborhood behind it.

  “It’s time to start the murder book,” Bosch said.

  It was one of his favorite things to do.

  17

  The world might have gone digital but Harry Bosch had not gone along with it. He had become proficient with a cell phone and a laptop computer. He listened to music on an iPod and every now and then read the newspaper on his daughter’s iPad. But when it came to a murder book he was still, and always would be, a plastic and paper man. He was a dinosaur. It didn’t matter that the department was moving to digital archiving and there was no space in the new PAB for shelves to hold the thick blue binders. Bosch was a man who kept traditions, especially when he believed those traditions helped catch killers.

  To Bosch, a murder book was a key part of an investigation, as important as any piece of evidence. It was the anchor of the case, a compendium of every move made, interview taken, piece of evidence or potential evidence gathered. It was a physical component with weight and depth and substance. Sure, it could be reduced to a digital computer file and put on a thumb drive, but somehow that made it less real to him, more hidden, and this felt disrespectful to the dead.

  Bosch needed to see his work product. He had to be constantly reminded of the burden he carried. He had to see the pages grow as the investigation proceeded. He knew without a doubt that it didn’t matter if he had thirty-nine months or thirty-nine years left on the job, he would not change the way he went
after killers.

  When they got back to the Open-Unsolved Unit Bosch went to the storage cabinets that ran along the back wall of the room. Each detective in OU had one cabinet. It was not much bigger than a half locker because the PAB was built for the digital world, not the stalwarts of the old ways. Bosch used his storage space primarily to hold old blue binders from solved murder cases past. Those cases had been pulled from archives and digitized in an effort to create space. The documents were scanned and shredded and the empty binders destined for the city dump. But Bosch had rescued a dozen and hidden them away in his storage locker so that he would never have to go without.

  He now took one of the precious binders, its blue plastic faded by time, from the locker and went to the work cubicle he shared with Chu. His partner was removing Irving’s files from the box and stacking them on top of the file cabinet that adjoined their two desks.

  “Harry, Harry, Harry,” Chu said when he saw the binder. “When are you going to change? When are you going to let me join the digital world?”

  “In about thirty-nine months,” Bosch said. “After that you can put your murder files on the head of a pin, for all I’ll care. But until then, I’m—”

  “—going to do it the way you’ve always done it. Right, yeah, I get it.”

  “You know it.”

  Bosch sat down at his desk and opened the binder. He then opened his laptop. He had already prepared several reports for inclusion in the book. He started sending them to the unit’s communal printer. He thought of reports due from Solomon and Glanville and scanned the cubicle for an interoffice envelope.

  “You get anything from Hollywood?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Chu said. “Check your e-mail.”

  Of course. Bosch went online and found that he had two e-mails from Jerry Solomon at Hollywood Division. Each contained an attachment that he downloaded and sent to the printer. The first was a summary of the canvass of the hotel conducted by Solomon and Glanville. The second summarized the canvass of the nearby neighborhood.

  Bosch went over to the printer and grabbed his pages out of the tray. On his way back he saw Lieutenant Duvall standing outside his cubicle. Chu was nowhere in sight. Bosch knew that Duvall wanted an update on the Irving case. In the past twenty-four hours she had left him two messages and an e-mail, all of which he had failed to return.

  “Harry, have you gotten my messages?” she asked as he approached.

  “I got them but every time I was going to call, somebody called me first and I got distracted. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

  “Why don’t we go into my office so you won’t get any more of these distractions.”

  It wasn’t spoken like a question. Bosch dropped the printouts on his desk and followed the lieutenant to her office. She told him to close the door.

  “Is that a murder book you are putting together?” she asked before even sitting down.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you saying George Irving was a homicide?”

  “It’s looking that way. But not for public consumption.”

  Bosch spent the next twenty minutes giving her the shorthand. She agreed with the plan to keep the new focus of the investigation quiet until more evidence was turned up or it became a strategic advantage to have the information out in the world.

  “Keep me posted, Harry. Start returning my calls and e-mails.”

  “Right. Will do.”

  “And start using the magnets so I know where my people are.”

  The lieutenant had put a squad room attendance board up with magnets that could be moved to illustrate whether a detective was in or out of the office. It was greeted by most in the unit as a waste of time. The whip usually knew where everyone was, and the lieutenant would as well if she ever came out of her office or at least opened the blinds.

  “Sure,” Bosch said.

  Chu was back in the cubicle when Bosch returned.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  “In with the lieutenant. Where were you?”

  “Uh, I went across the street. I never got breakfast.”

  Chu changed the subject, pointing to a document that was on his computer screen.

  “Did you read Crate and Barrel’s report on the canvass?”

  “Not yet.”

  “They found a guy who saw somebody on the fire escape. The timing’s off but, man, what are the chances?”

  Bosch turned back to his desk and found the printout of the report on the hillside canvass. It was essentially a list of consecutive addresses on Marmont Lane. After each address it said whether the door was answered and a resident interviewed. They used abbreviations Bosch had read in LAPD canvass reports for more than two decades. There were a lot of NBHs, meaning nobody home, and a lot of D-SATs, meaning the residents didn’t see a thing, but one entry was several sentences long.

  Resident Earl Mitchell (WM, DOB 4/13/61) had insomnia and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. The residence’s rear windows face rear and side of Chateau Marmont head-on. Resident said he noticed a man descending the fire escape ladder. Resident went to telescope in living room and looked at the hotel. The man on the fire escape was no longer in view. Resident did not call PD. Resident stated that this sighting occurred at approximately 12:40 A.M., which was the time on the bedroom clock when he decided to get up to get water. To the best of his memory, resident believes the figure on the fire escape was between the fifth and sixth floor and descending when seen.

  Bosch didn’t know whether it was Crate or Barrel who had written the report. Whoever it was, he had employed short sentences in a staccato fashion, but he was no Hemingway. He had simply employed the policeman’s KISS rule—Keep It Simple, Sherlock. The fewer words in a report meant the fewer chances and angles of attack from critics and lawyers.

  Bosch pulled his phone and called Jerry Solomon. When Solomon answered, it sounded like he was in a car with the windows open.

  “It’s Bosch. I’m looking at your canvass report here and have a couple questions.”

  “Can it wait ten minutes? I’m in the car and I’m with people. Civilians.”

  “Is your partner with you or can I just call him?”

  “No, he’s here with me.”

  “That’s nice. You guys go out for a late lunch?”

  “Look, Bosch, we haven’t—”

  “One of you call me as soon as you get back to the squad.”

  Harry closed the phone and focused his attention on the second report. This one dealt with the questioning of hotel guests and was set up in the same fashion as the other, only with room numbers instead of addresses. Again there were lots of NBHs and D-SATs. They did, however, manage to interview the man who checked into the hotel right after Irving.

  Thomas Rapport (WM, 7/21/56, NYC resident) arrived at the hotel from the airport at 9:40 pm. Remembers seeing George Irving at check in. They did not speak to each other and Rapport never saw Irving again. Rapport is a writer in town for script conferences at Archway Studios. Confirmed.

  Another completely incomplete report. Bosch checked his watch. It had been twenty minutes since Solomon said he needed ten minutes. Harry opened his phone and called him back.

  “I thought you were supposed to call me in ten minutes,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “I thought you said you were calling me,” Solomon countered in a phony confused tone.

  Bosch closed his eyes for a moment and let the frustration pass. It wasn’t worth getting into it with an old bull like Solomon.

  “I have questions about the reports you sent me.”

  “Ask away. You’re the boss.”

  As the conversation continued, Bosch opened a drawer and took out a three-hole punch. He started punching holes in the reports he had printed and sliding them onto the prongs of the blue binder. There was something calming about putting the murder book together while dealing with Solomon.

  “Okay, first of all, on this guy Mitchell who saw the man on the fire escape, did he gi
ve a good reason why the guy just disappeared? I mean, he sees him between the fifth and sixth floors and then when he goes to the telescope, the guy is gone. What happened to floors one through four?”

  “That’s simple. He said by the time he swung the scope around and got it in focus, the guy was gone. He could’ve gone all the way down or he could’ve gone inside on one of the landings.”

  Bosch almost asked him why that wasn’t in the report but he knew why, just as he knew that George Irving’s death would have been written off as a suicide with Crate and Barrel in charge.

  “How do we know it wasn’t Irving?” Bosch asked.

  It was a curve ball and it took Solomon a moment to respond.

  “I guess we don’t. But what would Irving be doing out there on the ladder?”

  “I don’t know. Was there any description? Clothes, hair, race?”

  “He was too far away to be sure about any of that. He thought it was a white guy and his impression was that it might’ve been a maintenance man. You know, working for the hotel.”

  “At midnight? What made him think that?”

  “He said his pants and shirt matched color. You know, like a uniform.”

  “What color?”

  “Light gray.”

  “Did you check at the hotel?”

  “Check what at the hotel?”

  That false tone of confusion was back in his voice.

  “Come on, Solomon, drop the stupid act. Did you check if there was any reason for someone in the hotel or working in the hotel to be on that fire escape? Did you ask them what color uniform their maintenance men wear?”

  “No, I didn’t, Bosch. There was no need to. The guy was going down the fire escape a good two to four hours before our guy took the high dive. They are unrelated matters. You sending us up that street was a complete waste of our time. That was what was stupid.”

  Bosch knew that if he lost his temper with Solomon, the detective would be completely useless for the rest of the investigation. He wasn’t ready to lose him yet. Once again, he moved on.