The Narrows - Michael Connelly [119]
“I think I figured out what it all means.”
I told her about the partially burned receipt I had seen and how I thought Book Car was actually Book Carnival, the bookstore operated by retired police detective Ed Thomas, the last intended target of the Poet eight years before.
“You think because of this book in the fire barrel that he’s here and is going to make good on the killing we took away from him eight years ago.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s a stretch, Bosch. I wish you had told me all of this before I risked my ass flying over here.”
“There’s no such thing as coincidence, especially like this.”
“Okay, run the story out for me, then. Give me the profile. Tell me the Poet’s grand plan.”
“Well, that’s the bureau’s job, to profile crimes. I’m not going to do that. But this is what I think he’s doing. I think the trailer and the explosion were all set up to look like the grand finale. And then, as soon as the director steps in front of the television cameras and says I think we’ve got him, he’s going to take out Ed Thomas. The symbolism would be perfect. It’s the grand gesture, the ultimate fuck-you. It’s checkmate, Rachel. While the bureau is bragging about itself he moves in right under their noses and takes out the guy the bureau was all puffed up about saving the last time.”
“And why the books in the barrel? How does all of that fit in?”
“I think they were books he bought from Ed Thomas. From Book Carnival by mail order or maybe even in person. Maybe they were marked in some way and could be traced back to the store. He didn’t want that so he burned them. He couldn’t risk that they might survive the trailer blast.
“But then on the other end, after Ed Thomas is gone and Backus has split, the agents would find his connection to the store and would begin to see how long and how hard Backus was planning this. It would help show his genius. That’s what he wants, right? I mean, you are the profiler. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
“I was the profiler. Right now I handle reservation crimes in the Dakotas.”
The traffic was starting to open up as we passed by downtown, the spires of the financial district disappearing in the upper mist of the storm. The city always looked haunting in the rain to me. There was a foreboding sense about it that always depressed me, that always made me feel like something had broken loose in the world and was wrong.
“There is only one thing wrong with all of that, Bosch.”
“What?”
“The director is holding a press conference today but he isn’t going to say we caught the Poet. Just like you, we don’t think that was Backus in that trailer.”
“So, Backus doesn’t know that. He’ll watch it on CNN like everybody else. But it won’t change his plan. Either way, I say he hits Ed Thomas today. Either way, he makes his point. ‘I am better and smarter than you.’”
She nodded and thought about that for a long moment.
“Okay,” she finally said. “What if I’m buying it? What is our play? Have you called Ed Thomas?”
“I don’t know what our play is yet and I haven’t called Ed Thomas. We’re heading toward his store now. It’s down in Orange and he opens up at eleven. I called and got his hours off the answering machine.”
“Why his store? All the other cops Backus killed were in their homes, one in his car.”
“Because at the moment I don’t know where Ed Thomas lives and because of the book. My guess is Backus will make his move at the bookstore. If I’m wrong and Ed doesn’t show up at the store, then we find out where he lives and go there.”
Rachel nodded in agreement with the plan.
“There were three different books written on the Poet case. I read them all and they all had postscripts on the players. They said Thomas retired and opened a bookstore. I think one even named the store.”
“There you go.”
She looked at her watch.
“Are we going to make it there before he opens?”
“We’ll make it. Did they set a time for the director’s press conference?”
“Three o’clock D.C. time.”
I checked the dash clock. It was ten a.m. We had an hour before Ed Thomas opened for business and two hours before the press conference. If my theory