As the reporters slowly filed out of the room Bosch kept his eyes on the man who had asked the question about the wallet and watch. He was curious to know who he was and what news outlet he worked for. At the logjam at the door the confluence of people brought the man side by side with Button and they started talking. Bosch thought this was odd because he had never seen a print reporter give a TV reporter the time of day.
“Detective?”
Bosch turned. The chief of police was standing to his side with his hand out. Bosch instinctively shook it. He had spent nearly twenty-five years in the department to the chief’s thirty, yet they had never crossed paths close enough to speak to each other, let alone shake hands.
“Chief.”
“Good to meet you. I want you to know how much we are counting on you and your team. If you need anything don’t hesitate to contact my office or to go through Deputy Chief Irving. Anything.”
“Well, at the moment I think we’re okay. I appreciate the heads-up on the bureau, though.”
The chief hesitated but only for a moment, apparently discarding Bosch’s gripe as unimportant.
“That couldn’t be helped. I wasn’t sure the bureau was going to become involved until shortly before we started the press conference.”
The chief turned and looked for the FBI man. Spencer was talking with Irving. The chief signaled them over and introduced Bosch to Spencer. Bosch thought he caught a glimmer of disdain on Spencer’s face. Bosch did not have a positive record over the years in his dealings with the FBI. He had never dealt directly with Spencer but if he was assistant special agent in charge of the L.A. field office, then he had probably heard of Bosch.
“How are we going to work this, gentlemen?” the chief asked.
“I’ll have my people assembled and here at eight tomorrow morning, if you like,” Spencer said.
“Excellent. Chief Irving?”
“Yes, that will be fine. We will be working out of the conference room next to my office. I’ll have our team there at eight. We can go over what we’ve got and take it from there.”
Everybody nodded except Bosch. He knew he had no say in the matter.
They broke up and headed toward the door the chief had come through. Bosch found himself next to O’Rourke. He asked him if he knew who the reporter was who asked about the watch and wallet.
“Tom Chainey.”
It almost rang a bell with Bosch but not quite.
“He’s a reporter?”
“Not really. He was with the Times a lot of years ago but now he’s TV. He’s Harvey Button’s producer. He’s not pretty enough to go on camera. So they pay him a ton of money to get scoops for Harvey and to tell him what to say and ask. To make him look good. Harvey’s got the face and that voice. Chainey’s got the brains. Why do you ask? Is there something I can do for you?”
“No. I was just wondering.”
“You mean the question about the wallet and the watch? Well, like I said, Chainey’s been around. He’s got sources. More than most.”
They moved through the doorway and Bosch turned left to head back to Irving’s conference room. He wanted to leave the building but didn’t want to wait for an elevator with all of the reporters.
Irving was waiting for him in the conference room. He was sitting in the same spot he had taken before.
“Sorry about the bureau deal,” he said. “I did not know about it until right before. It was the chief’s idea.”
“So I heard. It’s probably the smart play.”
He was quiet for a moment, waiting for Irving to make the next move.
“So what I want you to do is have your team finish up the interviews they are involved in now, then everybody gets a good night’s sleep, because tomorrow it all starts again.”
Bosch had to stop himself from shaking his head no.
“You mean just shelve everything until the bureau shows up? Chief, this is a homicide – a double homicide. We can’t just shut it down and start over tomorrow.”
“I am not talking about shutting anything down. I said finish up what you have going at the moment. Tomorrow we will retrench and regroup and create a new battle plan. I want your people fresh and ready to run.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
But Bosch had no intention of waiting for the bureau. His intention was to continue the investigation, drive it forward and then follow where it led. It didn’t matter what Irving said.
“Can I get a key to this room?” Bosch asked. “We should get the first batch of files from Entrenkin in a little while. We need a secure place for them.”
Irving shifted his weight and reached into his pocket. He removed a key that was unattached to a ring and slid it across the table. Bosch picked it up and started working it onto his own key ring.
“So how many people have a copy of this?” he said. “Just so I know.”
“You don’t have to worry, Detective. No one will be going into this room who is not a member of the team or does not have my permission.”
Bosch nodded even though Irving had not answered his question.
Chapter 15
AS Bosch stepped through the glass doors of Parker Center he saw the beginning of the manufacturing and packaging of a media event. Spread out across the front plaza were a half dozen television crews and reporters ready to transmit stand-up reports as lead-in on the footage from the press conference. Out at the curb was the microwave forest – a line of TV trucks with their microwave transmitters raised high and ready. It was a Saturday, normally the slowest news day of the week. But the murder of Howard Elias was big. The guaranteed lead story and then some. A Saturday morning assignment editor’s dream come true. The local stations were going to go live at noon. And then it would begin. The news of Elias’s murder would blow through the city like the hottest Santa Ana wind, setting nerves on edge and possibly turning silent frustrations into loud and malevolent actions. The department – and the city, for that matter – was relying on how these young and beautiful people interpreted and delivered the information they had been given.
The hope was that their reports would not fan the already smoldering tensions in the community. The hope was that they would show restraint and integrity and common sense, that they would simply report the known facts without any speculation or editorial twisting of the knife. But Bosch knew those hopes had about as much chance as Elias had when he stepped onto Angels Flight little more than twelve hours before.
Bosch took an immediate left and headed to the employee parking lot, careful not to walk into view of any of the cameras. He didn’t want to be on the news unless absolutely necessary.
He successfully avoided detection and got to his car. Ten minutes later he parked illegally in front of the Bradbury, pulling in behind yet another TV truck. He looked around as he got out but didn’t see the news crew. He guessed that they had walked over to the Angels Flight terminus to tape footage for the story.
After taking the old elevator up to the top floor Bosch pulled back the gate and stepped out onto the landing only to be met by Harvey Button, his producer and a cameraman. There was an uneasy silence as he tried to move around them. Then the producer spoke.
“Uh, Detective Bosch? I’m Tom Chainey from Channel Four.”
“Good for you.”
“I was wondering if we could talk for a few moments about the – ”
“No, we can’t talk. Have a nice day.”
Bosch managed to get around them and started toward Elias’s office. Chainey spoke to his back.
“You sure? We’re picking up a lot of information and it would probably do us both a lot of good if we could get it confirmed. We don’t want to cause you any problems. It would be better if we could work as a team. You know.”
Bosch stopped and looked back at him.
“No, I don’t know,” he said. “If you want to put unconfirmed information on the air, that’s your choice. But I’m not confirming anything. And I already have a team.”