The Wrong Side of Goodbye(75)

Bosch had no doubt now. Dockweiler had kept a key to his desk in the detective bureau after transferring to Public Works and was the one who had clandestinely been checking the Screen Cutter file.

Bosch opened the front door with the second key he tried and then held the door as Dockweiler was walked in by Sisto and Trevino.

Valdez was the last to enter. Bosch was holding up Dockweiler’s key ring by the file key.

“What’s that?” Valdez asked.

“The key to my file drawer on his ring,” Bosch said. “I figured out last week that somebody was reviewing my files—especially on the Screen Cutter. I, uh, thought it was someone in the bureau. But it was him.”

Valdez nodded. It was another detail falling into place.

“Where do we put him?” Sisto asked.

“In the kitchen, if there’s a table and chairs,” Trevino said. “Lock him to a chair.”

Bosch followed the chief down the entrance hall and to the left into the kitchen and watched as Sisto and Trevino used two pairs of cuffs to secure Dockweiler to a chair in front of a cluttered table in a small dining nook that was the glass add-on Bosch had noticed from the backyard. It had floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides with venetian blinds to help control the heat the sun generated on the glass. Bosch wondered if Dockweiler had considered that when he added the atrium room to his house.

“This is bullshit,” the former detective said as soon as he was secured to the chair. “You got no warrant, you got no case, you come busting in here. This won’t stand. This will go down in flames and then I’ll own all of you assholes. And the city of San Fernando.”

Dockweiler’s face was dirty from the struggle on the front lawn. But in the harsh fluorescent light from the kitchen ceiling fixture Bosch could see slight discoloration in the corners of his eyes and an unnatural thickness in the upper nose. Residual bruising and swelling from a significant impact. He could also see that Dockweiler had tried to hide the purplish-yellow bruising with makeup.

The kitchen table had been set up as a bill-paying station. There were credit-card invoices and two checkbooks stacked sloppily on the left. On the right were pay stubs, financial records, and unopened mail in piles. At center was a coffee mug filled with pens and pencils and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The house had the distinct smell of a smoker’s home. Bosch picked it up with every breath.

Bosch went to the window over the kitchen sink and unlocked and opened it to let some fresh air in. He then went to the table. He moved the mug to the left side of the table because he wanted nothing between himself and Dockweiler when they talked. He started to pull out the chair directly across the table from him. He knew that there were two things at stake in the interrogation that was about to begin: Bella Lourdes and the Screen Cutter case.

Bosch was about to sit down, when Trevino stopped him.

“Hold on, hold on.”

He pointed toward the hallway.

“Chief, let’s step out and talk for a minute,” Trevino said. “Bosch, you too. Sisto, you stay with him.”

“Yeah, you guys go out and talk about it,” Dockweiler mocked. “Try to figure out how you fucked this whole thing up and how you’re going to un-fuck it.”

Bosch turned at the archway that led from the kitchen into the hallway. He looked at Dockweiler, then at Sisto. He nodded. Whatever their differences, Sisto and Trevino had played it right when they had come up the side of the house. The chief might be a dead man if they hadn’t.

Sisto nodded back.

Trevino led the way down the hallway to the front door. Bosch and Valdez followed. They spoke in low voices and Trevino got right to the point.

“I’m going to handle the interview,” Trevino said.

Bosch looked from Trevino to Valdez and waited a moment for the chief to speak against that idea. But Valdez said nothing. Bosch looked back at Trevino.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “It’s my case. I know it better than anybody. I should do the interview.”

“The priority here is Bella,” Trevino said. “Not the case. And I know her better than you.”

Bosch shook his head like he didn’t get it.

“That makes no sense,” he said. “It doesn’t matter how well you know her. It’s how well you know the case. He’s the Screen Cutter. He grabbed Bella because she got too close on the case or figured it out when she was with him. Let me talk to him.”

“We don’t know he’s the Screen Cutter for sure yet,” Trevino said. “We need to first—”

“Did you see his eyes?” Bosch said, interrupting. “Swollen and purple from where Beatriz Sahagun hit him with the stick. He tried to cover it with makeup. There’s no doubt. He’s the Screen Cutter. You may not know it but I do.”

Bosch again turned to Valdez on appeal.

“Chief, I’ve got to do this,” he said.

“Harry,” the chief said. “The captain and I talked about this before any of this with Bella even came up. It’s about what could happen down the line, you know, in court with your history.”

“My history?” Bosch asked. “Really? You mean the hundred-plus murders I’ve cleared? That history?”

“You know what he means,” Trevino said. “Your controversies. They make you a target in court. They undercut you.”