Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(29)

Bosch was seeing the case go away as he stood there.

“I want to do the metal-alloy testing anyway,” he said.

It was a last desperate shot.

“I’ll talk to the boss,” Harmon said. “I’ll tell him it’s a good case for it and will let you know.”

Bosch knew that when he would hear back was anyone’s guess. The alloy testing would take money and time. The SFPD was usually last in line at the sheriff’s lab. Any sort of special work would go on the when-we-can-get-to-it list.

Bosch backed away from the grouping at the wall, giving Lourdes a look that said this was going nowhere. He addressed the head man of the Public Works crew.

“Okay, we’re going to need to put this place back together,” he said. “We want to keep the one piece of wall where we found the bullet holes. So you’ll have to replace that.”

One of the men grunted his assent and they headed out to the truck for their tools and a fresh piece of drywall to replace the old one.

Lourdes huddled with Bosch.

“So, if there were bullets in the wall after all, what was Cortez so smug about?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Bosch said. “He knew something, but I doubt he knew the slugs would be useless.”

Lourdes shook her head and then stepped back as the city workers walked a large sheet of fresh drywall into the garage bay.

Bosch’s phone started buzzing again, and he walked out of the garage as he pulled it out of his pocket. The caller ID was blocked but he took the call anyway.

“Bosch.”

“Harry Bosch?”

“That’s right, who’s this?”

“Ted Lannark, Sheriff’s Homicide. You got a minute?”

“What’s up?

“What can you tell me about a guy named Martin Perez?”

All at once Bosch knew why Cortez had acted like he had the world on a string.

“He’s a peripheral witness in a gang murder I’m working. What is he to you?”

“He’s dead and I have to find out who killed him.”

Bosch closed his eyes.

“Where?” he asked.

“His apartment,” Lannark said. “Somebody put a round in the back of his head.”

Bosch opened his eyes and looked around for Lourdes.

“Bosch, you wondering how I knew to call you on your cell?” Lannark asked.

“Yeah,” Bosch said. “How?”

“Your business card with the cell handwritten on it was in his mouth. Like it was a message or something.”

Bosch considered that for a long moment before responding.

“I’m on my way.”

“We’ll be here waiting.”





13



It was almost as if the killer wanted to make it easy for the landlord to clean up and re-rent the place. Martin Perez had been made to kneel in a walk-in shower with yellowed tiles and a glass sliding door. He was then popped once in the back of the head. He crumpled forward and to his right, the splatter of blood and brains contained within the enclosure, some of it even conveniently dripping down the drain.

The forensics team had not yet removed the business card that had been snugged between Perez’s two front teeth and was easily readable as it protruded from his mouth.

It was clear to Bosch that the weapon had not been a .38, as this bullet had gone through the victim’s skull and exited explosively. Bosch saw chipped tile on the wall Perez had been facing as well as on the floor near the drain. The marks were clean white and not yellowed by time and grime.

“You find the round?” Bosch asked.

It was the first question he asked after five minutes of studying the crime scene. He had driven out to Alhambra with Lourdes. Sheriff’s investigator Lannark and his partner, Boyce, had taken an initial debriefing on the Martin Perez investigation and then escorted them into the bathroom to view the crime scene. At the moment, it was interdepartmental cooperation at its finest.

“No,” Lannark said. “But we haven’t moved him. We think he could have it in the gut. Goes through his head, hits down-angle on the wall in front of him, bounces down to the floor and then up into him before he hits the ground. New meaning to the double-tap, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bosch said.

“Seen enough? How ’bout we back on out of here and talk some more outside?”

“Sure.”

They went outside to a courtyard in the center of the two-story apartment building. Boyce joined the huddle. Both of the sheriff’s men were seasoned detectives, calm in demeanor, with eyes that never stopped moving and observing. Lannark was black and Boyce was white.

Bosch started with questions before they got the chance.

“Has TOD been established?” he asked.

“Another resident of this fair place heard voices, then a muffled shot about five this morning,” Lannark said. “After that, she heard some more yelling and then running toward the street. At least two people.”

“Two voices yelling after the shooting?” Bosch asked.

“Yes, after,” Boyce said. “But this isn’t about you asking us questions, Bosch. We’re still asking you.”

“Right,” Bosch said. “Ask away.”

“Number one,” Boyce said, “if this guy was some kind of witness in a case, why wasn’t he under protection?”