Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [16]
“What’s going on, Harry? You moved the body in the car?”
“Had to. It was either that or dump it out of the car with about ten thousand people watching us instead of the fireworks they were supposed to see.”
Bosch explained the situation in detail and Billets listened silently. When he was done, she nodded.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know the details. It looks like it was your only choice.”
Bosch liked that about her. She wasn’t always right and she was willing to admit it.
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“So what do we have?”
When Bosch and Billets stepped back into the shed, Donovan was at one of the worktables working with the leather jacket. He had hung it on a wire inside an empty one-hundred-gallon aquarium and then dropped in a Hard Evidence packet. The packet, when broken open, emitted cyanoacrylate fumes which would attach to the amino acids and oils of fingerprints and crystallize, thereby raising the ridges and whorls and making them more visible and photo-ready.
“How’s it look?” Bosch asked.
“Real good. We’re going to get something off this. Howdy, Lieutenant.”
“Hello there,” Billets said.
Bosch could tell she didn’t remember Donovan’s name.
“Listen, Art,” he said, “when you get those together, get them over to the print lab and then call me or Edgar and tell us. We’ll get somebody over there to do them code three.”
Code three was a patrol response code meaning lights and siren authorized. Bosch needed the prints to be handled quickly. So far, they were the best lead.
“Will do, Harry.”
“What about the Rolls? Can I get in it yet?”
“Well, I’m not quite through with it. You can go in. Just be careful.”
Bosch began searching the interior of the car, checking the door and seat pockets first and finding nothing. He checked the ashtray and found it empty, not even an ash. He made a mental note that the victim apparently didn’t smoke.
Billets stood nearby, watching but not helping. She had risen to detective bureau commander primarily on the success of her skills as an administrator, not as an investigator. She knew when to watch and not get in the way.
Bosch checked under the seats and found nothing of interest. He opened the glove compartment last and a small square piece of paper fell out. It was a receipt for an airport valet company. Holding it by the corner, Bosch walked it over to the workbench and told Donovan to check it for prints when he got the chance.
He went back to the glove compartment and found the lease agreement and registration of the car, its service records and a small tool kit with a flashlight. There was also a half-used tube of Preparation H, a hemorrhoid medication. It seemed like an odd place to keep it, but Bosch guessed that maybe Aliso kept the tube handy for long drives.
He bagged all of the items from the compartment separately and while doing so noticed an extra battery in the tool kit. It struck him as odd because the flashlight obviously took two batteries. Having one extra would not do much good.
He pressed the flashlight’s on/off switch. It was dead. He unscrewed the cap and one battery slid out. Looking into the barrel, Bosch saw a plastic bag. He used a pen to reach in and pull the bag out. It contained about two dozen brown capsules.
Billets stepped closer.
“Poppers,” Bosch said. “Amyl nitrate. Supposed to help you get it up and keep it there. You know, improve your orgasm.”
He suddenly felt the need to explain his knowledge was not based on personal experience.
“It’s come up in other cases before.”
She nodded. Donovan walked over with the valet ticket in a clear plastic envelope.
“A couple smudges. Nothing we can work with.”
Bosch took it back. He then carried the various plastic evidence bags he had to the counter.
“Art, I’m taking the receipt, the poppers and the car’s service records, okay?”
“You got it.”
“I’ll leave you the plane ticket and the wallet. You are also going to put some speed on the prints from the jacket and what