Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [26]
“Harry Bosch,” Meachum said, leaning down to look in. “What it is, what it is?”
The first thing Bosch had noticed was that Meachum had gotten his teeth capped since he’d last seen him.
“Chuckie. Long time. This is my partner, Kiz Rider.”
Rider nodded and Meachum nodded and studied her a moment. Black female detectives were a rarity in his day, even though he hadn’t been off the job more than five years.
“So what’s shaking, Detectives? Why’d you want to go and pull me out of the hot tub?”
He smiled, showing off the teeth. Bosch guessed he knew that they had been noticed.
“We got a case. We want to take a look at the vic’s office.”
“It’s here? Who’s the stiff?”
“Anthony N. Aliso. TNA Productions.”
Meachum crinkled his eyes. He had the deep tan of a golfer who never misses his Saturday morning start and usually gets away for at least nine once or twice during the week.
“Doesn’t do anything for me, Harry. You sure he —”
“Look it up, Chuck. He’s here. Was.”
“All right, tell you what, park the car over in the main lot and we’ll go back to my office, grab a cup and look this guy up.”
He pointed toward a lot directly through the gate and Bosch did as instructed. The lot was almost empty and was next to a huge soundstage with an outside wall painted powder blue with puffs of white clouds. It was used for shooting exteriors when the real sky was too brown with smog.
They followed Meachum on foot to the studio security offices. Entering the suite, they passed by a glass-walled office in which a man in a brown Archway Security outfit sat at a desk surrounded by banks of video monitors. He was reading the Times sports page, which he quickly dropped into a trash can next to the desk when he saw Meachum.
Bosch saw that Meachum didn’t seem to notice because he had been holding the door open for them. When he turned, he casually saluted the man in the glass office and led Bosch and Rider back to his office.
Meachum slid in behind his desk and turned to his computer. The monitor screen depicted an intergalactic battle among assorted space ships. Meachum hit one key and the screen saver disappeared. He asked Bosch to spell Aliso’s name and he punched it into the computer. He then tilted the monitor so Bosch and Rider couldn’t see the screen. Bosch was annoyed by this but he didn’t say anything. After a few moments, Meachum did.
“You’re right. He was here. Tyrone Power Building. Had one of the little cubbyholes they rent to nonplayers. Three-office suite. Three losers. They share a secretary who comes with the rent.”
“How long’s he been here? That say?”
“Yeah. Almost seven years.”
“What else you got there?”
Meachum looked at the screen.
“Not much. No record of problems. He complained once about somebody dinging his car in the parking lot. Says here he drove a Rolls-Royce. Probably the last guy in Hollywood who hadn’t traded in his Rolls on a Range Rover. That’s tacky, Bosch.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, why don’t you and Detective Riley go out there and grab a cup of joe while I make a call about that. I’m not sure what our procedure is for this.”
“First of all, Chuck, it’s Rider, not Riley. And second, we’re running a homicide investigation here. Whatever your procedures are, we are expecting you to allow us access.”
“You’re on private property here, buddy. You’ve got to keep that in mind.”
“I will.” Bosch stood up. “And when you make your call, the thing you should keep in mind is that so far the media haven’t gotten wind of any of this. I didn’t think it would be good to pull Archway into this sort of thing, especially since we don’t know for sure what’s involved here. You can tell whoever you’re calling that I’ll try to keep it that way.”
Meachum smirked and shook his head.
“Still the same old Bosch. Your way or the highway.”
“Something