A Darkness More Than Night - Michael Connelly [94]
All three of them pulled out chairs and sat down. Friedman sat next to McCaleb, Twilley directly across from him. Nobody shook hands.
“I’ve never had Cuban food before,” Twilley said as he pulled a menu from the napkin stand. “Is it good here?”
McCaleb looked at him.
“No. That’s why I like to eat here.”
Twilley’s eyes came up from the menu and he smiled.
“I know, stupid question.” He looked down at the menu and then back up at McCaleb. “You know I know about you, Terry. You’re a fucking legend in the FO. Not ’cause of the heart, ’cause of the cases. I’m glad to finally meet you.”
McCaleb looked over at Winston with a look that said what the hell is going on.
“Terry, Marc and Don are from the civil rights section.”
“Yeah? That’s great. Did you guys come all the way from the field office to meet the legend and try Cuban food, or is there something else?”
“Uh . . . ,” Twilley began.
“Terry, the shit’s hit the fan,” Winston said. “A reporter called my captain this morning to ask if we were investigating Harry Bosch as a suspect in the Gunn case.”
McCaleb leaned back in his seat, shocked by the news. He was about to respond when the waiter came to the table.
“Give us a couple minutes,” Twilley said gruffly to the man, waving him off with a dismissive gesture, which annoyed McCaleb.
Winston continued.
“Terry, before we go further with this, I have to know something. Did you leak this?”
McCaleb shook his head in disgust.
“Are you kidding me? You’re asking me that?”
“Look, all I know is that it didn’t come from me. And I didn’t tell anyone, not Captain Hitchens and not even my own partner, let alone a reporter.”
“Well, it wasn’t me. Thanks for asking.”
He glanced at Twilley and then back at Winston. He hated having this dispute with Jaye in front of them.
“What are these guys doing here?” he asked. Then looking at Twilley again, he added, “What do you want?”
“They’re taking over the case, Terry,” Winston answered. “And you’re out.”
McCaleb looked back at Winston. His mouth opened a little before he realized how he looked and closed it.
“What are you talking about? I’m out? I’m the only one in. I’ve been working this as —”
“I know, Terry. But things are different now. After the reporter called Hitchens I had to tell him what was happening, what we’d been doing. He threw a fit and after he was done throwing a fit he decided the best way to handle this was to go to the bureau with it.”
“The civil rights section, Terry,” Twilley said. “Investigating cops is our bread and butter. We’ll be able to —”
“Fuck you, Twilley. Don’t try that bureau rap with me. I used to be in the club, remember? I know how it goes. You guys will come in, piggyback my trail and then waltz Bosch past the cameras on the way to the lockup.”
“Is that what this is about?” Friedman said. “Getting the credit?”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Terry,” Twilley said. “We can put you in front of the cameras if that’s what you want.”
“It’s not what I want. And don’t call me Terry. You don’t even fuckin’ know me.”
He looked down at the table, shaking his head.
“Fuck, I’ve been waiting to come back to this place for a long time and now I don’t even feel like eating.”
“Terry . . . ,” Winston said, not offering anything else.
“What, you’re going to tell me this is right?”
“No. It’s not right or wrong. It’s just the way it is. The investigation is official now. You’re not official. You knew this could happen from the start.”
He reluctantly nodded. He brought his elbows up onto the table and put his face into his hands.
“Who was the reporter?”
When Winston didn’t answer he dropped his hands and looked pointedly at her.
“Who?”
“A guy named Jack McEvoy. He works for the New Times, an alternative weekly that likes to stir up shit.”
“I know what it is.”
“You know McEvoy?” Twilley asked.
McCaleb’s cell phone began to chirp. It was in the pocket of his jacket draped over his chair. It got caught in the pocket as he tried to get it out. He anxiously struggled with it because he assumed