Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(105)

When the dial tone pulled him out of his dark reverie he punched in 411 and asked the operator for the number of Bender’s on the Strip.

He was about to drop in more quarters to make the call when caution pushed through the red glare of vengeance. He turned and looked up into the overhang of the police building. He counted at least two cameras.

He hung up the phone and walked away.

Bosch moved through the government plaza toward Van Nuys Boulevard, where he had parked the Jeep. He popped the back hatch and reached in for his bad-weather attire, a Dodgers cap and an army jacket with a high collar that offered protection from wind and rain. He put them on, closed the hatch, and crossed the street to a row of twenty-four- hour bail bonds offices. At the end of the row was a payphone attached to the side wall of the building.

He pulled his hat down and his collar up as he approached. He dropped in quarters and made the call, checking his watch while he waited for it to ring. It was 1:45 a.m. and he knew the clubs on the Sunset Strip would close at two.

The call was answered by a woman whose voice was engulfed by a background of loud electronic music.

“Is there an office?” Bosch yelled. “Give me the office.”

He was put on hold for nearly a minute before a male voice answered.

“Mr. Bender?”

“He’s not here. Who’s this, please?”

Bosch didn’t hesitate.

“This is the Los Angeles police. I need to speak to Mr. Bender right now. It’s an emergency. It’s about his daughter.”

“Is this bullshit? The guy’s been through enough with you people.”

“This is very serious, sir. I have news about his daughter and need to speak with him right now. Where can I reach him?”

“Hold on.”

He was put on hold for another minute. And then another male voice came on the line.

“Who is this?”

“Mr. Bender?”

“I said, who is this?”

“It doesn’t matter who this is. I’m sorry to be so blunt with news that is so bad. But your daughter was murdered three years ago. And the man who killed her is sitting in a—”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“I’m not going to tell you that, sir. What I’m going to do is give you an address where you will find the man who killed your daughter waiting for you. The door will be unlocked.”

“How can I believe you? You call up here out of the blue, won’t give your name. How do I—”

“Mr. Bender, I’m sorry. I can’t give you any more than what I have. And I need to do it now before I change my mind.”

Bosch let that hang in the darkness between them for a bit.

“Do you want the address?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” Bender said. “Give it to me.”





50



After supplying Bender with the Saticoy address, Bosch hung up without a further word. He left the phone and started across the deserted boulevard, back toward his car.

A collision of thoughts went through his head. Faces came too. Elizabeth’s face. And her daughter’s—known to him only in photos. Bosch thought about his own daughter and about George Bender losing his, and the blinding grief something like that would bring.

He realized then that he had put Bender on a path that would simply trade a momentary urge for justice and vengeance for another kind of guilt and grief. For both of them.

In the middle of the boulevard, Bosch turned around.

He went back to the pay phone for one final call. He dialed a direct line to Valley Bureau detectives and asked for the investigator working the late show. He got a detective named Palmer and told him that there was a killer left bound and waiting for him in a warehouse on Saticoy. He said there was a recorder with a confession on it that should jump-start an investigation and prosecution. There was evidence in the back of a truck in the warehouse as well.

He gave him the exact address and told him to hurry.

“Why’s that?” Palmer asked. “Sounds like this guy isn’t going anywhere.”

“Because you’ve got competition,” Bosch said.





Ballard and Bosch





Epilogue



Bosch came out of the glass doors of the Medical Examiner’s Office and found Ballard waiting for him, leaning on the front wall.

“Is it her?” she asked.

Bosch nodded somberly.

“But I knew it would be,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Ballard said.

He nodded his thanks. He noticed that her hair was wet and slicked back. She noticed him noticing.

“I was on my board this morning when you left the message,” she said. “First time I’ve been able to get out on the water after my shift in a while.”

“I heard that you do that,” he said.

“Every morning if I can,” she said.

They started walking down the steps toward the parking lot.

“You check the newspaper this morning?” Ballard asked.

“Not yet,” Bosch said. “What did they have?”

“They had a story about the SIS thing up in the Valley. But it happened so late they didn’t get many details in. There will probably be a fuller story online today and in the paper tomorrow.”