The Harry Bosch Novels Vol Ii Part 75

Edgar and Felton shook hands but Felton continued to look at Bosch.

"Well, you can call him and tell him not to bother."

Bosch looked at him a moment. He knew now why Iverson had smiled. Something was going on.

"Captain, you're always full of surprises," he said. "What is it this time?"

Felton leaned back in his chair. He had an unlit cigar, one end soggy with saliva, on the edge of the desk. He picked it up and clenched it between two fingers. He was playing it out, obviously trying to get a rise out of Bosch. But Bosch didn't bite and the captain finally spoke.

"Your boy, Goshen, is packing his bags."

"He's waiving extradition?"

"Yeah, he got smart."

Bosch took the chair in front of the desk and Edgar took one to the right. Felton continued.

"Fired that mouthpiece Mickey Torrino and got his own guy. Not that much of an improvement, but at least the new guy's got Lucky's best interest in mind."

"And how did he get smart?" Bosch asked. "You tell him about the ballistics?"

"Sure, I told him. Brought him over, told him the score. I also told him how we broke his alibi down to s.h.i.+t."

Bosch looked at him but didn't ask the question.

"Yeah, that's right, Bosch. We haven't been exactly sitting over here on our a.s.ses. We went to work on this guy and we're helping to pound him into the ground for you. He said he never left his office Friday night until it was time to go home at four. Well, we went over and checked that office out. There's a back door. He could've come in and gone out. n.o.body saw him from the time Tony Aliso left until four, when he came out to close the club. That gave him plenty of time to go out there, take down Tony and hop the last flight back. And here's the kicker. Girl that works over there goes by the name of Modesty. She got into it with another dancer and went to the office to complain to Lucky. She said n.o.body answered when she knocked. So she tells Gussie she wants to see the boss and he tells her the boss ain't in. That was about midnight."

Felton nodded and winked.

"Yeah, and what did Gussie say about that?"

"He isn't saying s.h.i.+t. We don't expect him to. But if he wants to get on the stand and back up Lucky's alibi, you can tear him apart easy. He's got a record goin' back to the seventh grade."

"All right, never mind him. What about Goshen?"

"Like I said, we brought him over this morning and told him what we got and that he was running out of time right quick. He had to make a decision and he made it. He switched lawyers. That's about as clear a sign as you're going to get. He's ready to deal, you ask me. That means you'll get him and Joey Marks, a few of the other douche bags in town. We'll take the biggest bite out of the outfit in ten years. Everybody's happy."

Bosch stood up. Edgar followed suit.

"This is the second time you've done this to me," Bosch said, his voice measured and controlled. "You're not going to get a third. Where is he?"

"Hey, cool down, Bosch. We're all working for the same thing."

"Is he here or not?"

"He's in interview room three. Last I checked, Weiss was in there with him, too. Alan Weiss, he's the new lawyer."

"Has Goshen given you any statement?"

"No, of course not. Weiss gave us the particulars. No negotiating until you get him to L.A. In other words, he'll waive and you take him home. Your people will have to work out the deal over there. We're out of it after today. Excepting when you come back to pick up Joey Marks. We'll help with that. I've been waiting for that day for a long time."

Bosch left the office without further word. He walked through the squad room without looking at Iverson and made his way to the rear hallway that led to the interview rooms. He lifted the flap that covered the door's small window and saw Goshen in blue jail overalls sitting at the small table, a much smaller man in a suit across from him. Bosch knocked on the gla.s.s, waited a beat and opened the door.

"Counselor? Could we speak for a moment outside?"

"Are you from L.A.? It's about time."

"Let's talk outside."

As the lawyer got up, Bosch looked past him at Goshen. The big man was handcuffed to the table. It was barely thirty hours since Bosch had seen him last but Luke Goshen was a different man. His shoulders seemed slumped, as if he was closing in on himself. His eyes had a hollow look, the kind of stare that comes from a night of looking at the future. He didn't look at Bosch. After Weiss stepped out, Bosch closed the door.

Weiss was about Bosch's age. He was trim and deeply tanned. Bosch wasn't sure but thought he wore a hairpiece. He wore gla.s.ses with thin gold frames. In the few seconds he had to size the lawyer up, Bosch decided that Goshen had probably done well for himself.

After introductions Weiss immediately got down to business.

"My client is willing to waive any challenge to extradition. But, Detectives, you need to act quickly. Mr. Goshen does not feel comfortable or safe in Las Vegas, even in Metro lockup. My hope was that we would have been able to go before a judge today but it's too late now. But at nine A.M. A.M. tomorrow, I'll be in court. It's already arranged with Mr. Lipson, the local prosecutor. You'll be able to take him to the airport by ten." tomorrow, I'll be in court. It's already arranged with Mr. Lipson, the local prosecutor. You'll be able to take him to the airport by ten."

"Slow down a second, Counselor," Edgar said. "What's the hurry all of a sudden? Is it 'cause Luke in there heard about the ballistics we got or because maybe Joey Marks has heard, too, and figures he better cut his losses?"

"I guess maybe it's easier for Joey to put the hit out on him in Metro than all the way over in L.A., right?" Bosch added.

Weiss looked at them as if they were some form of life he had not previously encountered.

"Mr. Goshen doesn't know anything about a hit and I hope that statement is just part of the usual intimidation tactics you employ. What he does know is he is being set up to take the fall for a crime he did not commit. And he feels the best way to handle this is to cooperate fully in a new environment. Someplace away from Las Vegas. Los Angeles is his only choice."

"Can we talk to him now?"

Weiss shook his head.

"Mr. Goshen won't be saying a word until he's in Los Angeles. My brother will take the case from there. He has a practice there. Saul Weiss, you may have heard of him."

Bosch had but shook his head in the negative.

"I believe he has already contacted your Mr. Gregson. So, you see, Detective, you're just a courier here. Your job is to get Mr. Goshen on a plane tomorrow morning and get him safely to Los Angeles. It will most likely be out of your hands after that."

"Most likely not," Bosch said.

He stepped around the lawyer and opened the door to the interview room. Goshen looked up. Bosch stepped in and moved to the table. He leaned over it and put his hands flat on the table. Before he could speak, Weiss had moved into the room and was talking.

"Luke, don't say a word to this man. Don't say a word."

Bosch ignored Weiss and looked only at Goshen.

"All I want, Lucky, is a show of faith. You want me to take you to L.A., get you there safe, then give me something. Just answer one question. Where -"

"He has to take you anyway, Luke. Don't fall for this. I can't represent you if you don't listen to me."

"Where's Layla?" Bosch asked. "I'm not leaving Vegas until I talk to her. If you want to get out of here in the morning, I've got to talk to her tonight. She's not at her place. I talked to her roommate, Pandora, last night and she says Layla's been gone a couple of days. Where is she?"

Goshen looked from Bosch to Weiss.

"Don't say a word," Weiss said. "Detective, if you step out, I'd like to confer with my client. I think, actually, that might be something I won't have a problem with him answering."

"Hope not."

Bosch went back into the hallway with Edgar. He put a cigarette in his mouth but didn't light it.

"Why's Layla so important?" Edgar asked.

"I don't like loose ends. I want to know how she fits."

Bosch didn't tell him that he knew from the illegal tapes that Layla had called Aliso and asked, at Goshen's request, when he'd be coming out to Vegas. If they found her, he would have to draw it out of her during the interview without giving away that he already knew it.

"It's also a test," he did tell Edgar. "To see how far we can get Goshen to go with us."

The lawyer stepped out then and closed the door behind him.

"If you try that again, talking to him when I specifically said he would not respond, then we will have no relations.h.i.+p whatsoever."

Bosch felt like asking what relations.h.i.+p they already had but let it go.

"Is he going to tell us?"

"No. I am. He said that when this person Layla first came to work at the club, he gave her a ride home a few nights. On one of those nights she asked him to drop her at a different place because she was trying to avoid somebody she was dating at the time and she thought he might be waiting at her apartment. Anyway, it was a house in North Las Vegas. She told him it was where she grew up. He doesn't have the exact address but said the place was at the corner of Donna Street and Lillis. The northeast corner. Try there. That's all he had."

Bosch had his notebook out and wrote the street names down.

"Thank you, Counselor."

"While you have the notebook out, write down courtroom ten. That's where we will be tomorrow at nine. I trust you will make secure arrangements for my client's safe delivery?"

"That's what a courier is for, right?"

"I'm sorry, Detective. Things are said in the heat of the moment. No offense."

"None taken."

Bosch went out to the squad room and used the phone at an empty desk to call Southwest and change the reservations on the return flight from three in the afternoon to a ten-thirty morning flight. Bosch didn't look at Iverson but could tell the detective was watching him from a desk fifteen feet away.

When he was done Bosch stuck his head in Felton's office. The captain was on the phone. Bosch just mock-saluted him and was gone.

Back in the rental car, Edgar and Bosch decided to go over to the jail and make arrangements for the custody transfer before trying to find Layla.

The jail was next to the courthouse. A discharge sergeant named Hackett gave the detectives a rudimentary rundown on how and where Goshen would be delivered to them. Since it was after five and the s.h.i.+fts had changed, Bosch and Edgar would be dealing with a different sergeant in the morning. Still, it made Bosch feel more comfortable seeing the routine ahead of time. They would be able to put Goshen into their car in an enclosed and safe loading-dock area. He felt reasonably sure that there wouldn't be trouble. At least not there.

With directions from Hackett, they drove into a middle-cla.s.s neighborhood in North Las Vegas and found the house where Goshen had once dropped Layla off. It was a small bungalow-style house with an aluminum awning over each window. There was a Mazda RX7 parked in the carport.

An older woman answered the door. She was mid-sixties and well preserved. Bosch thought he could see some of the photo of Layla in her face. Bosch held his badge up so she could see it.

"Ma'am, my name is Harry Bosch and this is Jerry Edgar. We're over from Los Angeles and we are looking for a young woman we need to talk to. She's a dancer and goes by the name Layla. Is she here?"

"She doesn't live here. I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do, ma'am, and I'd appreciate it if you'd help us out."

"I told you, she's not here."

"Well, we heard she's staying here with you. Is that right? Are you her mother? She's tried to contact me. There's no reason for her to be afraid or to not want to talk to us."

"I'll tell her that if I see her."

"Can we come in?"

Bosch put his hand on the door and firmly but slowly started to push it open before she could reply.

"You can't just ..."

She didn't finish. She knew what she was going to say would be meaningless. In a perfect world the cops couldn't just push their way in. She knew it wasn't a perfect world.

Bosch looked around after he entered. The furnis.h.i.+ngs were old, having to last a few more years than they were intended to and she probably thought they would have to when she bought them. It was the standard couch and matching chair setup. There were patterned throws on each, probably to cover the wear. There was an old TV, the kind with a dial to change the channels. There were gossip magazines spread on a coffee table.

"You live here alone?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," she said indignantly, as if his question was an insult.

"When was the last time you saw Layla?"

"Her name's not Layla."

"That was my next question. What is her name?"

"Her name's Gretchen Alexander."

"And you are?"

"Dorothy Alexander."

"Where is she, Dorothy?"

"I don't know and I didn't ask."

"When'd she leave?"

"Yesterday morning."

Bosch nodded to Edgar and he took a step back, turned and headed down a hallway leading to the rear of the house.

"Where's he going?" the woman asked.