The Burning Room Read online

  Soto came up close to Bosch and whispered.

  “Harry, I’ve never done this. What do I say?”

  “You heard DeSimone. Just keep it short, say we’re reviewing the case and could use the help of the community. Anybody who remembers something or knows something about the case, call the tip line or call Open-Unsolved directly. Don’t mention the rifle. We want to keep that for ourselves.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just remember, keep it short. The politicians will talk long. Don’t be like them.”

  “Got it.”

  The group moved into the room. There was a stage with a podium at its center, and three rows of tables for reporters were arranged in front of it. Behind the tables was another stage, where video cameras were set up to shoot over the heads of the reporters. Bosch and Soto followed the chief and the former mayor onto the stage and stood at the back. Bosch glanced at the first row in front of the reporters. There were four people, three women and a man, but Bosch didn’t know how they were related to Orlando Merced. He was so new to the case that he had not met any family members yet. That was another thing that bothered him about the whole setup.

  “Thank you for being here,” DeSimone said into the podium’s microphone. “I will now introduce the chief of police, Gregory Malins, and he will speak, followed by former mayor Armando Zeyas, and then Detective Lucia Soto. Chief?”

  The chief took the position in front of the microphone and spoke without the use of notes. He was fully accustomed to being in front of reporters and cameras.

  “Ten years ago Orlando Merced was hit by a stray bullet in Mariachi Plaza. Mr. Merced was paralyzed by the injury and struggled mightily to recover and to lead a productive life. Yesterday morning he lost the fight, and we are here today to say he will not be forgotten. My department’s Open-Unsolved Unit has taken over the case as of today and will be vigorously pursuing the investigation until we determine who shot Orlando Merced. As you know, his death has been ruled a homicide, and we will not end this investigation until we arrest the person responsible on a charge of murder.”

  He paused there for a moment, perhaps to let the print reporters feverishly taking notes catch up.

  “With us here today are members of Orlando’s family. His father, Hector, and mother, Irma. His sister, Adelita, and his wife, Candelaria. We pledge to them that we will not forget about Orlando and that our investigation will be vigorous and complete. Now former mayor Armando Zeyas, a personal friend of Mr. Merced’s and his family, will say a few words.”

  The chief stepped back and Zeyas took his place.

  “It was through Orlando Merced that I learned the pain of crime and violence when it is visited on our community,” he began. “I also learned much more from this man, who became a friend. I learned perseverance. I learned compassion. I learned what it is to make do with the cards you are dealt. I saw firsthand the resilience of the human spirit. Orlando never asked, ‘Why me?’ He just asked, ‘What’s next?’ He was a hero to me because he took what life gave him and made the best of it. In many ways that was more beautiful than the music he once made with his instrument. I pledge to offer my help with this investigation in any way I can. I may no longer be mayor, but I love this community and its people. It is times like this that we pull ourselves together and truly become the City of Angels. It is times like this that we understand that in our city and in our society, everybody counts or nobody counts. Thank you.”

  DeSimone returned to the mike and told the audience that the case was now in the hands of Bosch and Soto. He said Soto would provide the update and would be available to repeat it in Spanish. Lucy tentatively stepped to the mike and lowered it so it was at the level of her mouth.

  “Uh, we are now pursuing all avenues of investigation and ask for the community’s help. Ten years ago, there was an outpouring of help from the public. Many people called and offered help and tips. We ask that anybody with information about this shooting please make contact with us. You can call anonymously to the Department’s tip line or call the Open-Unsolved Unit directly. Even if you have information that you think we already know, please call us.”

  Soto turned and glanced back at Bosch as if to ask whether there was anything else to say. Zeyas took the moment to move back to the podium. He gently put one hand on Soto’s back and used the other to pull the microphone over to his mouth.

  “I just want to say that ten years ago I stood before the media and personally pledged twenty-five thousand dollars to anyone who provided information that solved this crime. No one ever collected that reward and the pledge remains in place, except that now I double it to fifty thousand dollars. Additionally, I will work with my former colleagues on the city council and seek a matching amount from the city. Thank you.”

  Bosch almost groaned out loud. Putting a financial bounty on the case would change the complexion of the calls that came in. The reward pretty much guaranteed that he and Soto would be sifting through dozens of worthless calls, people taking wild shots in the dark in hopes of getting some money in return. The former mayor’s reward offer just changed everything.

  DeSimone moved up next to Soto and asked the reporters if there were any questions. Many of them called out at once and DeSimone had to handle choosing. The first reporter, a guy Bosch recognized from the Times, asked what the exact cause of death was and how Merced’s death ten years after the shooting could be classified as a homicide. Soto glanced back at Bosch, unsure how to answer. Bosch stepped up and pulled the microphone over.

  “The autopsy was conducted just this morning, so nothing is yet officially recorded. But the Coroner’s Office believes that Mr. Merced’s death will be directly traced to the shooting that occurred ten years ago. The unofficial cause of death is blood poisoning, which is directly linked to the wounds Mr. Merced suffered in the shooting. We are therefore handling the investigation as a homicide.”

  In a quick follow-up, the reporter asked if the bullet had been recovered from the body and whether it would be useful in the investigation. Bosch kept the microphone. He was aware that the reporter was speaking clinically about the body of a man much loved by the four people in the room’s front row.

  “Yes, the bullet was recovered and taken to the Regional Crime Lab for analysis and matching. We believe the bullet will be very useful in our investigation.”

  “Has any match been made to the bullet?” another reporter called out.

  DeSimone quickly moved in on the podium from the other side of Soto and pulled the microphone away from Bosch.

  “We’re not going to get into that right now,” he said. “The investigation is active and ongoing and we are going to leave it at that for now.”

  “Why is a very inexperienced investigator assigned to the case?” the Times guy called out.

  There was a pause, as it was unclear who should answer or if anyone should answer at all, since DeSimone had just closed the press conference. DeSimone finally started to speak.

  “As I said, we’re going to leave it—”

  The chief moved up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. DeSimone stepped back and the chief took over.

  “Detective Soto may be short on chronological experience but she is long on street experience and knowing what it means to be a police officer in this city. We have teamed her with one of the most experienced detectives currently serving in the Department. No one has investigated more homicides in this city than Detective Bosch. I have no worries about who is conducting this investigation. We will get the job done.”

  The chief then stepped back and DeSimone once again said there would be no more questions. This time the edict stuck. Reporters started getting up and the cameramen started breaking down their equipment. Bosch stepped off the stage and went to the front row, where he shook hands and introduced himself to the four members of the Merced family. He quickly realized that they understood very little of what he was saying. He signaled Soto over and asked her to set up an appointment with them fo
r as soon as it would be convenient. Bosch wanted to talk to them but not under the focus of the media.

  Bosch stepped back and watched Soto go to work. DeSimone came up to him then and said the chief wanted to speak to him in his office. Bosch left the media room and walked down to the elevators, hoping to catch up with the chief and his entourage. He was too late. He took the next elevator up to the tenth floor and entered the OCP, where he was quickly ushered into the inner sanctum. Malins was behind his desk waiting. There was no sign of Zeyas or his front man.

  “Sorry, Harry, for putting you out there. I know you never liked dog and pony shows.”

  “It’s okay. I guess it had to be done.”

  “We really need this one. Do your best.”

  “Every time.”

  “That’s why I told Crowder to call you.”

  Bosch nodded, unsure if he was supposed to say thank you for being paired with a homicide rookie on a case fraught with political implications and the potential of failure.

  “Anything else I should know, Chief?”

  The chief looked away for a moment and studied his blotter. He picked up a business card and held it out to Harry across the desk. Bosch took it and read it. It had Connor Spivak’s name and number on it.

  “That’s the mayor’s man. Keep them in the loop as your investigation progresses.”

  “You mean the former mayor, don’t you?”

  Malins gave him an I don’t have time for this look.

  “Just keep them in the loop,” he said.

  Bosch put the card in his shirt pocket. He knew he would tell Spivak as little as possible about the investigation. The chief probably knew this as well.

  “So,” he said. “You think I’m an old gorilla . . .”

  The chief smiled.

  “Don’t take offense, Harry. It’s a compliment. The silverback is the one that knows the most in the troop. Has all the experience. I saw a show on National Geographic—that’s how I know that you call a group of gorillas a troop.”

  Bosch nodded.

  “Good to know.”

  5

  They convened in Captain Crowder’s office after the press conference. Bosch, Soto, Crowder, and Lieutenant Winslow Samuels, the second in command of the Open-Unsolved Unit. Bosch updated them on the findings from the bullet lab, notably that Merced had been shot with a rifle—a fact heretofore unknown during ten years of investigation. Bosch explained that for the time being he wanted to keep this piece of information out of the media and Crowder and Samuels agreed.

  “So where do you go with it from here?” Crowder asked.

  “A rifle changes things,” Bosch said. “A drive-by with a rifle? Come on. Unlikely. A stray bullet from the neighborhood? Maybe. But the rifle still gives us something new.”

  “Well, it’s definitely outside our unit’s protocol,” Samuels said. “No magic bullet, no case. This should be flipped over to Homicide Special, let them deal with it.”

  The Open-Unsolved Unit followed a protocol when it came to investigating cold cases. It relied upon new evidence as the criteria for reengagement. That new evidence usually came from the application of recent advances in forensic sciences to old cases and the establishment of national databases to track criminals through DNA, ballistics, and fingerprints. These were the big three. The magic bullets. Without a hit on one of these databases, a case would be considered not viable and routinely returned to the archives.

  Following this protocol, the Merced case would normally be returned to the archives. The bullet recovered from the victim’s body found no match in the national ballistics database. While a type and model of weapon had been identified, it normally would not be enough to pursue. But because of the media attention and politics surrounding this case, not to mention the interest from the OCP, there was no doubt that the case would be pursued. What Samuels was saying was that it should be done by someone other than Bosch and Soto and the Open-Unsolved Unit. The lieutenant was the squad whip, responsible for the unit’s statistics and justifying its cost in terms of cases cleared. He didn’t want to see one of his teams get bogged down in a shoe-leather case.

  “I want to keep it,” Bosch said, looking at Crowder. “The chief gave it to us, we keep it.”

  “You’ve got sixteen open files last time I counted, Bosch,” Samuels interjected.

  “All of them waiting on lab results. We’ve got something going on this case. The rifle is the first new lead in ten years. Let us run with it. If something comes back from the lab on one of the other cases, we’ll handle it.”

  “Besides, we just did the press conference,” Soto quickly added. “How’s it going to look if we’re on the case today and off tomorrow?”

  Crowder nodded thoughtfully. Bosch liked Soto’s add to the argument, though she probably didn’t realize that she was crossing the tube—walking in front of a shotgun held by Samuels. She might pay for that later.

  “For now we leave things as they are,” Crowder said. “You two work this thing and let’s meet again in forty-eight hours. I’ll update the OCP from there and decide whether we keep it.”

  “It’s not a cold case,” Samuels said. “The guy died yesterday.”

  “We’ll talk in forty-eight,” Crowder said, ending the discussion.

  Bosch nodded. That was the first thing he had wanted to hear—that he and Soto were keeping the case, at least for another two days. But it wasn’t the only thing he wanted.

  “What about when the phone starts ringing with calls for the reward the former mayor’s putting up?” Bosch asked. “Can we get any help with that?”

  “That was just a publicity stunt,” Crowder said. “He’s running for governor.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Bosch said. “We’re still going to get calls and we can’t be stuck on the phone all day.”

  Crowder looked at Samuels, who shook his head.

  “Everybody’s got active cases,” Samuels said, referring to the other teams in the squad. “And now you two are dropping out of the mix. I can’t see dedicating another body to it.”

  Losing Bosch and Soto for an unknown amount of time was only barely palatable to Samuels. Giving up additional detectives to answer tip calls was not something he was even remotely willing to entertain.

  Bosch had expected the request to be rejected, but the turn-down might be useful to mention later if he and Soto asked for something else. Crowder had a give-and-take management style and a reminder that he had turned down their last request could tip the scales toward approval.

  “And another thing,” Samuels said. “Was this guy Merced even a citizen?”

  Bosch looked at him for a moment before answering. Soto jumped in ahead of him.

  “Why?” she asked. “Does it matter?”

  She got to the point. If Samuels was suggesting that extra hands not be put on the case because the victim was not a citizen, then she wanted that out in the open. Bosch liked that she had asked the question. But before Samuels answered, Crowder cut off the issue.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Crowder said. “Maybe one of those ladies in the OCP can come down here and answer calls for a few days. I’ve been thinking about asking the chief for help with all the call-ins we get on a daily basis anyway. I’ll let you know. I gotta say, after the fucking Zeyas gave this Department, I really wouldn’t mind seeing him stroke out a check for fifty grand.”

  “Roger that,” Bosch said.

  It was true. Zeyas had been no friend to the Department while he was in the mayor’s office. He had the allegiance of a council majority that adhered to his policies and granted his requests. Over the eight years they had control of city government, they had repeatedly slashed the Department’s overtime budget and taken a hard line on even minimal pay increases for the city’s nine thousand sworn officers.

  Bosch knew the meeting was over. He stood up and Soto followed suit. Samuels stayed seated. He was going to discuss things with the captain after they left.

  “Forty
-eight hours and let’s talk, Harry,” Crowder said.

  “You got it.”

  Bosch and Soto returned to their cubicle, where their desks were pushed to the right and left half-walls and they worked with their backs to each other. This was a holdover from the way the pod had been set up with his previous partner, Dave Chu. It had worked well because Chu was a veteran investigator and didn’t need Bosch watching over him from across the desk. But Soto was not even close to veteran status and Bosch had requested that City Services come out and reconfigure the space so that the two desks faced each other. He had made that request the week Soto started in the unit and was still waiting.

  On Bosch’s desk was the instrument case along with the evidence box and the binders they had dropped off before heading to the press conference. Bosch had been waiting since they left Hollenbeck to open the box and get his hands into the case. He remained standing and used a penknife to cut the red tape on the box. There was no chain-of-evidence sticker on the box, so he had no idea how long ago Rojas and Rodriguez had sealed it.

  “I liked what you said in there,” Bosch said. “About us keeping the case.”

  “It was a no-brainer,” Soto said. “Why do you think Samuels asked if Merced was a citizen?”

  “Because he’s a pencil pusher. He cares about statistics and keeping the most people working the most cases, because that leads to better statistics. He’d like us to forget about Merced and move on to an easy one.”

  “Meaning that if Merced wasn’t a citizen he wouldn’t count, and we could move on to the next one?”

  Bosch looked up from the box at her.

  “Politics,” he said. “Welcome to Homicide.”

  He opened the box and was surprised to find it contained very little. He took out two stacks of DVD cases held together with rubber bands. He put them aside and then lifted out individually bagged pieces of bloody clothing. It was the mariachi outfit Merced had been wearing when he was shot.

  “Son of a bitch,” Bosch said.

  “What?” Soto asked.