The Drop - Michael Connelly [92]
He smiled and went into the kitchen.
“What do you want to drink?”
“I have water already.”
Bosch made a plate of tacos for her with all the sides and took it out to her. He came back into the kitchen and ate his tacos, fully loaded, while leaning over the sink. When he was finished, he bent down to the faucet and chased it with water right out of the pipe. Wiping his face with a paper towel, he went out to work at the dining room table.
“How was school?” he asked while opening his briefcase. “Did you skip lunch again?”
“School was a drag like always. I skipped lunch to study for the algebra quiz.”
“How’d you do?”
“I probably flunked.”
He knew she was exaggerating. She was a good student. She hated algebra because she could not perceive a life where it would become useful. Especially when at the moment she wanted to be a cop—or so she said.
“I’m sure you did fine. Are you reading that for IR? What is it?”
She held the book up so he could see it. It was The Stand by Stephen King.
“It’s my optional choice.”
“Pretty thick for a school read.”
“It’s really good. Are you trying to avoid the subject of the two wineglasses by not eating with me and then asking all of these questions?”
She had nailed him.
“I’m not avoiding anything. I do have work to do and I already explained the wineglasses in the dishwasher.”
“But you didn’t explain about how one still had lipstick on it.”
Bosch looked at her. He had missed the lipstick.
“So who’s the detective in the house now?” he asked.
“Don’t try to deflect,” she said. “The point is, you don’t have to lie about your girlfriend with me, Dad.”
“Look, she’s not my girlfriend and she is never going to be my girlfriend. It didn’t work out. I am sorry I didn’t tell you the truth but we can drop it now. When and if I do ever have a girlfriend, I will let you know. Just like I hope you will tell me when you have a boyfriend.”
“Fine.”
“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”
“No, Dad.”
“Good. I mean, it’s good that you aren’t keeping a secret. Not good that you don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want to be a father who’s like that.”
“I get it.”
“Good.”
“Then why are you so mad?”
“I’m—”
He stopped as he realized that her perception was right on the money. He was mad about one thing and it was showing in something else.
“You know what I said a minute ago about look who the detective in the house is?”
“Yes, I was sitting right here.”
“Well, on Monday night you looked at that video I had of the guy checking in and you called it right there. You said he jumped. Based on what you saw in thirty seconds of video you said he jumped.”
“So?”
“Well, I’ve been chasing my tail all week, seeing a murder where there wasn’t a murder, and you know what? I think you were right. You called it right at the start and I didn’t. I must be getting old.”
A look of true sympathy came over her face.
“Dad, you’ll get over it and you’ll get ’em next time. You’re the one who told me you can’t solve every case. Well, at least you got this one right in the long run.”
“Thanks, Mads.”
“And I don’t want to pile on but . . .”
Bosch looked at her. She was proud of something.
“All right, give it to me. But what?”
“There was no lipstick on the glass. I bluffed you.”
Bosch shook his head.
“You know something, kid? Someday you’re going to be the one they’ll want in the interview room. Your looks, your skills, they’ll be confessing to you right and left and lined up in the hall.”
She smiled and went back to her book. Bosch noticed she had left one taco uneaten on her plate and he was tempted to go for it, but instead set to work on the case, opening the murder book and spreading the loose files and reports out on the table.
“You know how a battering ram works?” he asked.
“What?” his daughter replied.
“You know what a battering ram is?”
“Of course. What are you talking about?”
“When I get stuck on a case like this, I go back to the book and all the files.”
He gestured to the murder book on the table.
“I look at it like a battering ram. You pull back and swing it forward. You hit the locked door and