The Drop - Michael Connelly [29]
Bosch nodded but felt guilty about what he was hiding from her. She read it right away.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He shook his head, embarrassed at the easy read.
“Listen, I want to level with you about today.”
Her stare turned hard. It was as though she realized the dinner invitation had been some sort of a setup.
“Wait, it’s not what you’re thinking. I didn’t lie to you today but I didn’t tell you the whole story about Pell. You know the case I’m working? With Pell’s DNA on the victim? It’s twenty-two years old.”
The suspicion on her face was quickly replaced with bewilderment.
“I know,” he said. “Doesn’t make sense. But it is what it is. His blood was found on a girl murdered twenty-two years ago.”
“That would’ve made him eight years old. That’s impossible.”
“I know. We’re looking at a possible screwup in the pipeline—the lab work. I’m checking that out tomorrow but I also had to get a look at Pell because until I learned from you he was a homosexual predator, he made the perfect suspect—if he had access to a time machine or something.”
The waiter came with their food and the soup in a container in a bag. Bosch said he’d take the check right away so he could pay and they’d be able to go as soon as they were finished eating.
“What do you want from me?” Stone asked when they were alone again.
“Nothing. What do you mean?”
“Are you hoping I’ll reveal privileged information in exchange for half a turkey sandwich?”
Bosch couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not.
“No. I just thought . . . there was just something I liked about you. I was out of line today. That’s all.”
She was quiet for a long moment while she ate. He didn’t push things. Bringing up his case seemed to put a freeze on everything.
“There’s something there,” she said. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“Look, don’t compromise yourself. I pulled his files from Probation and Parole today. All his psychologicals will be in there.”
She smirked with her mouth full.
“You’re talking about PSIs and parole evaluations. They only go skin-deep.”
Bosch put his hand up to stop her.
“Look, Doc, this isn’t about getting you to break a confidence. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Don’t call me Doc.”
“Sorry. Doctor.”
“No, I mean just call me Hannah.”
“Okay. Hannah. Hannah, let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay, what?”
Bosch was silent as he tried to think of something to go with. Soon they both started laughing.
But they didn’t mention Clayton Pell again.
11
It was nine o’clock when Bosch came through the front door. He hurried down the hall and looked in the open door of his daughter’s bedroom. She was in bed under the covers with her laptop open next to her.
“I’m so sorry, Maddie. I’ll heat this up and bring it in.”
Standing in the doorway, he held up the bag from Jerry’s.
“It’s all right, Dad. I already ate.”
“What did you eat?”
“PB and J.”
Bosch felt the crushing guilt of selfishness. He came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Before he could apologize further, she once again let him off the hook.
“It’s okay. You got two new cases and it was a busy day.”
He shook his head.
“No, for the last hour I was just with somebody. I met her today on the case but then she met me at Jerry’s for a sandwich and I stayed too long. Mads, I’m so—”
“God, that’s even better! You actually met someone. Who is she?”
“Just somebody—she’s a shrink who deals with criminals.”
“Cool. Is she pretty?”
He noticed that she had her Facebook page up on her computer screen.
“We’re just friends. Did you do any homework?”
“No, I didn’t feel good.”
“I thought you said you were better.”
“Relapse city.”
“Look, you gotta go to school tomorrow. You don’t want to fall behind.”
“I know!”
He didn’t want to get into an argument.
“Hey, if you’re not doing your homework, can I use your laptop for a little bit? I have to look at a disc.”
“Sure.”