Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [123]
“When is that?”
Donovan looked up from what he was doing for the first time.
“They just said they’d send somebody by five.”
“Then it’s still my case until they show up. What about the shoe prints you pulled?”
“There’s nothing about them. I sent copies to the bureau’s crime lab in D.C. to see if they could ID the make and model.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I haven’t heard back. Bosch, every department in the country sends shit to them. You know that. And last I heard, they don’t drop everything they’re doing when a package from the LAPD comes in. It will probably be next week sometime before I hear back. If I’m lucky.”
“Shit.”
“It’s too late to call the East Coast now, anyway. Maybe Monday. I didn’t know they suddenly became so important to you. Communication, Harry, that’s the secret. You ought to try it sometime.”
“Never mind that, do you still have a set of copies?”
“Yup.”
“Can I get a set?”
“Sure can, but you’re going to have to wait about twenty minutes or so till I’m done with this.”
“Come on, Artie, it’s probably just sitting in a file cabinet or something. It’ll take you thirty seconds.”
“Would you leave me alone?” Donovan said with exasperation. “I’m serious, Harry. Yes, it’s sitting in a file and it would only take me half a minute to get it for you. But if I leave what I’m doing here, I could get crucified when I testify in this case. I can see it now, some shyster all righteous and angry and saying, ‘You are telling this jury that while in the middle of handling evidence from this case you got up and handled evidence from another?’ And you don’t have to be F. Lee Bailey anymore to make it sound good to a jury. Now leave me alone. Come back in a half hour.”
“Fine, Artie, I’ll leave you alone.”
“And buzz me when you come back. Don’t just come in. We gotta get that combination changed.”
The last line he said more to himself than to Bosch.
Bosch left the way he had come in and took the elevator down to go outside and have a smoke. He had to walk out to the curb and light up because it was now against departmental rules to stand outside the front door of Parker Center and smoke. So many cops working there were addicted to cigarettes that there had often been a crowd outside the building’s main doors and a permanent haze of blue smoke had begun to hang over the entrance. The chief thought this was unsightly and instituted the rule that if you left the building to smoke, you had to leave the property as well. Now the front sidewalk along Los Angeles Street often looked like the scene of a labor action, with cops, some even in uniform, pacing back and forth in front of the building. The only thing missing from the scene was picket signs. The word was that the police chief had consulted with the city attorney to see if he could outlaw smoking on the sidewalk as well, but he was told that the sidewalk was beyond the bounds of his control.
As Bosch was lighting a second cigarette off the first, he saw the huge figure of FBI agent Roy Lindell waltzing leisurely out of the glass doors of the police headquarters. When he got to the sidewalk, he turned right and headed toward the federal courthouse. He was coming directly toward Bosch. Lindell didn’t see Bosch until he was a few feet away. It startled him.
“What is this? Are you waiting for me?”
“No, I’m having a cigarette, Lindell. What are you doing?”
“None of your business.”
He made a move to pass but Bosch stopped him with the next line.
“Have a nice chat with Chastain?”
“Look, Bosch, I was asked to come over and give a statement and I obliged. I told the truth. Let the chips fall.”
“Trouble is you don’t know the truth.”
“I know you found that gun and I didn’t put it there. That’s the truth.”
“Part of it, at least.”
“Well, it’s the only part I know, and that’s what I told him. So have a good day.”
He passed by Bosch and Harry turned around to watch him go. Once again he stopped him.
“You people might be satisfied with only part of the truth. But I’m not.”
Lindell turned around and stepped back to Bosch.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Figure