The Drop - Michael Connelly [114]
“Yeah. If Hardy made a play on me while I was playing him, then I want to know sooner rather than later so we aren’t spinning our wheels.”
“Then just wait till I’m inside so I don’t know about it.”
Bosch gestured toward the door of 6B like a maître d’, with his arm out and his body slightly bent at the waist. Chu headed back to the town house but then stopped and came back.
“When are we going to tell the other LAPD that we’re here and what we’re doing?”
“What other LAPD?”
“Los Alamitos Police Department.”
“Not quite yet,” Bosch said. “When we get an approval on the warrant, we can call them in.”
“They’re not going to like that.”
“Tough shit. Our case, our arrest.”
Bosch knew that a department the size of Los Alamitos could easily be bigfooted by the “real” LAPD.
Chu started toward the door to 6B again and Bosch headed back to the car. He popped the trunk and from the equipment box took several pairs of latex gloves and put them into his coat pocket. He grabbed a flashlight in case it was needed and closed the trunk.
Bosch walked back to 6A but was distracted by the sound of yelling coming from 6B as he approached. It was Hardy.
Bosch went through the door of 6B. Hardy was still lying prone under the couch. Chu was sitting on a chair he had brought out from the kitchen and was working on his laptop. Hardy went silent as Bosch entered.
“What’s he yelling about?”
“First he wanted a cigarette. Now he wants his attorney.”
Bosch looked down at the overturned couch.
“As soon as you’re booked you get your phone call.”
“Then book me!”
“We are securing the scene first. And if you keep yelling, then we are going to further secure you with a gag.”
“I’m entitled to an attorney. You said so yourself.”
“You’ll get the phone call when everyone else gets the phone call. When you’re booked.”
Bosch turned back toward the door.
“Hey, Bosch?”
He turned back.
“Did you go in yet?”
Bosch didn’t answer. Hardy continued.
“They’re going to make movies about us.”
Chu glanced up and exchanged a look with Bosch. There were killers who got off on their infamy and the fear their legends created. Real-life bogeymen, urban myth becoming urban reality. Hardy had stayed hidden for so many years. Now it would be his turn in the spotlight.
“Sure,” Bosch said. “You’re going to be the most famous asshole on death row.”
“Please. You know I’ll be able to beat the needle for twenty years. At least. Who do you think will play me in the movie?”
Bosch didn’t answer. He stepped out onto the stoop and casually glanced around to see if there were any nearby pedestrians or motorists. It was clear. He quickly walked to the door of 6A and pulled Hardy’s key ring out of his pocket. He tried one of the Schlage keys on the deadbolt and got lucky with his first try. The key also fit the knob lock. He pushed the door open and entered, then closed it behind him.
Standing still in the entry, Bosch pulled on a set of latex gloves. The place was as dark as night. He swept the wall with his freshly gloved hand until he found a switch.
A dim ceiling light exposed 6A as a house of horrors. A jerry-built wall had been constructed across the front windows, ensuring darkness and privacy as well as a layer of soundproofing. All four walls of the front room had been used as a gallery for photo collages and newspaper stories of murder and rape and torture. Newspapers from as far as San Diego, Phoenix and Las Vegas. Stories about unexplained abductions, body dumps, missing people. It was clear that if these cases were the work of Hardy, then he was a traveler. His hunting territory was immense.
Bosch studied the photos. Hardy’s victims included both young men and women. Some were children. Bosch moved slowly, studying the horrible images. He stopped when he came to a full front page of the Los Angeles Times, yellowed and cracked now, with the smiling face of a young girl in a photo next to a story about her disappearance from a West Valley mall. He leaned closer to read the story until it said her name. He knew the name and the case