The Drop - Michael Connelly [81]
That was just part of the case damage. It didn’t even speak to the irrevocable harm that Chu had caused their partnership. As far as Bosch was concerned, that relationship had just ended.
“Harry! You ready to rock?”
Bosch turned in his seat. Chu had just entered the cubicle.
“Yeah,” Bosch said. “I’m ready.”
27
A taxi garage was much like a police station. It operated solely as a hub for the refueling, maintenance and direction of vehicles that continually spread out across a geographic jurisdiction. And, of course, it was the place where those vehicles were replenished with those who drove them. The vehicles were always in play until mechanical failure pulled them out of the lineup. In that there was a rhythm that could be counted on. Cars in, cars out. Drivers in, drivers out. Mechanics in and mechanics out. Dispatchers in and dispatchers out.
Bosch and Chu sat on Gower and watched the front of the Black & White Taxi garage for nearly an hour before they saw the man they believed was Mark McQuillen park a car on the curb and then walk in through the open garage door. He wasn’t what Bosch expected. In his mind’s eye he was picturing the McQuillen he remembered from twenty-five years earlier. The McQuillen whose photo was splashed across the media as the scapegoat of the choke hold task force. The twenty-eight-year-old stud with the buzz cut and the biceps that looked strong enough to crush a man’s skull, let alone his carotid artery.
The man who sauntered into B&W Taxi was thicker in the hips than the shoulders, had straggly hair in an unkempt gray ponytail and walked with the pace of a man going where he didn’t really care to go.
“That’s him,” Bosch said. “I think.”
They were his first words in twenty minutes. He had very little to say anymore to Chu.
“You sure?” Chu asked.
Bosch looked down at the copy of the driver’s license photo Chu had printed. It was three years old but he was sure he had it right.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Bosch didn’t wait for his partner’s response. He got out of the car and headed diagonally across Gower toward the garage. He heard the other door slam behind him and Chu’s shoes on the pavement as he scurried to catch up.
“Hey, are we going to do this together or is it one-man-army time?” Chu called out.
“Yeah,” Bosch said. “Together.”
For the last time, he thought.
It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the garage. There was more activity than on their previous visit. Shift change. Drivers and cars coming and going. They headed directly to the dispatch office, not wanting anyone to get the news to McQuillen before they got to him.
Bosch rapped on the door with his knuckles as he opened it. As he stepped in, he saw two men in the room, just as before. But one was McQuillen and the other was a new man as well. McQuillen was standing by his workstation, spraying a disinfectant on the radio headset he was about to put on. He seemed unfazed by the appearance of the two men in suits. He even nodded as if to signal that they were expected.
“Detectives,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Mark McQuillen?” Bosch asked.
“That would be me.”
“Detectives Bosch and Chu, LAPD. We want to ask you a few questions.”
McQuillen nodded again and turned to the other dispatcher.
“Andy, you hold the fort? Hopefully this won’t take long.”
The other man nodded and gave the smooth-seas signal with his hand.
“Actually,” Bosch said, “it might. Maybe you should see if you can get someone in.”
This time McQuillen spoke while looking directly at Bosch.
“Andy, call Jeff, get him out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Bosch turned and gestured toward the door. McQuillen started out of the office. He was wearing a baggy shirt that was