The Night Fire (Renée Ballard, #3)(99)

“Yeah, I didn’t want to risk him reading it while I was there in the office. I had to get out before he found out.”

“Okay, you never told me this, right?”

“Right.”

“And, really, that was all you did?”

Bosch thought about the photographs he had taken with his phone in Manley’s office. He decided to keep those to himself. For now.

“That was it.”

“Good.”





47


On the way back to Hollywood to drop Ballard at her car, Bosch called Reyes on his direct number at RHD and put it on speakerphone.

“Robbery-Homicide, Reyes.”

“Reyes, this is the luckiest call you ever took.”

“Who is—Bosch? Is this Bosch? I’m hanging up.”

“You do and you can read about it in the paper.”

“What the fuck are you talking about now? Am I on a speaker?”

“I’m driving so you’re on the speaker. And I’m talking about the real killer of Judge Montgomery. It’s going to come out soon, and you can look like you were a part of it or you and your partner can look like the ones who flat-out got it wrong—which is not far from the truth, Reyes.”

“Bosch, I’m not playing your games. I—”

“Not a game, Orlando. This is your chance to fix the fuckup. Meet me at the pink benches near the elevators in Grand Park in an hour.”

“No way. In an hour, I’m going home. Beat the traffic.”

“Then remember when the shit hits the fan that I was the one who gave you a shot at being part of this. One hour. Be there or beat the traffic. I don’t really care. I was once in the squad, Reyes, and I wanted to give you a courtesy. Adios.”

Bosch disconnected.

“You think he’ll show?” Ballard asked.

“Yeah, he’ll show,” Bosch said. “When I talked to him before, I think he kind of sensed this was no CBA. I think he was bullied by his partner. That happens.”

“I know.”

Bosch looked over at her and then back to the road.

“You talking about me?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” she said. “Besides, we’re not partners. Officially.”

“We clear this case and it may come out. What we’ve been doing.”

“I don’t know. Olivas put me on the Banks case. I connected it to you and this. I don’t see any blowback. Especially now that I have Olivas on a leash.”

Bosch smiled. Ballard had told him about the conversation she’d had with Olivas in the CIV. She thought the deal she had made and the recording she had as a backup gave her the upper hand.

“You really think you have that guy on a leash, huh?”

“Not really. But you know what I mean. He doesn’t want any waves. He wants a nice flat surface that he can paddle away on in a year. He causes me grief and I’m going to turn it right back on him. He knows that.”

“You’ve got the world wired.”

“For now. But nothing lasts forever.”

She had parked her cruiser on the street near Musso’s and Bosch pulled in behind it.

“What will you do now?” he asked.

“Go to the station, grab a few hours’ sleep in the cot room before going to roll call.”

“Back in the day, when I was at Hollywood Division, we called it the Honeymoon Suite.”

“They still do—at least some of the old-school guys. Some things about the department will never change.”

Bosch thought she was referring to something deeper than the nap room at the station.

“Okay, I’ll hold off calling you after I get with Reyes,” he said. “You call me when you wake up.”

“Will do,” Ballard said.

She got out of the car and he drove on. Thirty minutes later he was sitting on the pink bench second closest to the elevator building in Grand Park. The closest bench was occupied by a vagrant who was lying with his head propped up on a dirty duffel bag and reading a paperback with the cover torn off. Bosch did not know if Reyes knew what he looked like but he doubted that he would be mistaken for the man reading.

Ten minutes past the designated meeting time, Bosch was about to give up on Reyes. He was seated on the bench at an angle that gave him an open view of anyone walking across the park from the direction of the Police Administration Building. But nobody was coming. Bosch leaned forward to push himself up and not put stress on his knee when he heard his name spoken from behind. He didn’t turn. He waited and a man in a suit came around the bench from behind him. Bosch noted the uneven drape of the suit jacket over the hips and knew the man was carrying. He was mid-thirties and completely bald on top, with a monk’s fringe around the sides.

“Reyes?”

“That’s right.”

The man sat down on the bench.

“I almost went to the guy over there with the book,” Reyes said. “But I figured you had a little more dignity than that.”

“That’s funny, Orlando,” Bosch responded.

“So, what can I do for you, Bosch? I have to get out to Duarte and traffic’s going to be a motherfucker.”

Bosch pointed toward the elevator building. They were at an angle similar to that seen from the camera on the courthouse facade behind them. They could not see the place where Judge Montgomery had been fatally stabbed.