“A place called Duffy’s in Silver Lake. We’ll be there in five minutes and you’ll love it. Just don’t start taking your bureau buddies there. That’ll ruin it.”
“I promise.”
“You still have the time?”
“I told you, I didn’t take lunch. But I do need to go back to check out at some point.”
“So are you working out of the federal courthouse?”
She answered while continuing to scan and turn pages in the file.
“No, we’re off campus.”
“One of those secret federal locations, huh?”
“You know the story. If I told you I’d have to kill you.”
Bosch nodded at the joke.
“That mean you can’t tell me what Tactical is?”
“It’s nothing. Short for Tactical Intelligence. We’re gatherers. We analyze raw data we pull off the Internet, cell transmissions, satellite feeds. It’s actually quite boring.”
“But is it legal?”
“For now.”
“Sounds like a terrorism gig.”
“Except more often than not we end up feeding leads to the DEA. And last year we came up with more than thirty different Internet scams involving hurricane relief. Like I said, it’s raw data. It can lead anywhere.”
“And you traded the wide-open spaces of South Dakota for downtown L.A.”
“As far as the career choice goes, it was the right move. I don’t regret it. But I do miss some things about the Dakotas. Anyway, let me concentrate on this. You do want my take on it, right?”
“Yes, sorry. Have at it.”
He drove silently for the last few minutes and then pulled to a stop in front of the small storefront restaurant. He brought the newspaper in with him. She told him to order her what he was having. But when the waiter came and Bosch ordered an omelet she changed her mind and started scanning the menu.
“I thought you said we were having lunch, not breakfast.”
“I missed breakfast, too. And the omelets are good.”
She ordered a turkey sandwich and handed back the menu.
“My warning is that my take is going to be very superficial,” she said when they were left alone. “There is obviously not going to be enough time for me to do a full psychological. I’ll only be scratching the surface.”
Bosch nodded.
“I know that,” he said. “But I don’t have the time to give you, so I will take whatever you can give me.”
She said nothing else and went back to the files. Bosch glanced at the sports pages but wasn’t that interested in the rundown on the Dodgers game the night before. His appreciation for the game had dropped markedly in recent years. He used the newspaper section mostly as a blind so that he could hold it up and appear to be reading while he was actually looking at Rachel. Other than the longer hair, she had changed little since he had last been with her. Still vibrantly attractive with an intangible sense of damage about her. It was in the eyes. They weren’t the hardened cop’s eyes he had seen in so many other faces, including his own when he looked in the mirror. They were eyes that were hurt from the inside out. She had a victim’s eyes and that drew him to her.
“Why are you staring at me?” she suddenly said.
“What?”
“You’re so obvious.”
“I was just-”
He was saved by the waiter, who appeared and put down plates of food. Walling moved the files aside and he detected a small smile on her face. They continued their silence as they began to eat.
“This is good,” she finally said. “I’m starving.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“So what were you looking for?”
“When?”
“When you were acting like you were reading the newspaper but you really weren’t.”
“Um, I… I guess I was trying to see if you were really interested in looking at this. You know, it sounds like you have a lot going. Maybe you don’t want to get into this sort of stuff again.”
She held up half her sandwich but stopped herself from taking a bite.
“I hate my job, okay? Or rather, I hate what I am doing right now. But it will get better. Another year and it will be better.”
“Fine. And this? This is okay?”
He pointed to the files on the table next to her plate.
“Yes, but there is too much. I can’t even begin to help you. It’s information overload.”
“I only have today.”
“Why can’t you delay the interview?”
“Because it’s not my interview to delay. And because it’s got politics on it. The prosecutor is running for DA. He needs headlines. He’s not going to wait for me to get up to speed.”
She nodded.
“All the way with Rick O’Shea.”
“I had to push my way into the case because of Gesto. They’re not going to slow down to let me catch up.”
She put her hand on top of the stack of files as if taking some sort of measure from them that would help her make a decision.
“Let me keep the files when you drive me back. I’ll finish my work, clock out and continue with this. I’ll come see you tonight at your place and give you what I’ve got. Everything.”
He stared at her, looking for the hidden meaning.
“When?”
“I don’t know, as soon as I get through it. Nine o’clock at the latest. I have an early start tomorrow. Will that work?”
He nodded. He wasn’t expecting this.
“Do you still live in that house up on the hill?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m there. Woodrow Wilson.”
“Good. My place is down off Beverly, not too far. I’ll come up to your place. I remember the view.”
Bosch didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what he had just invited into his life.
“Can I give you something to think about until then?” she asked. “Maybe do some checking?”
“Sure, what?”
“The name. Is that his real name?”
Bosch frowned. He had never considered the name. He assumed it was real. Waits was incarcerated. His fingerprints would have been run through the system to confirm identity.
“I assume so. His fingerprints matched a previous arrest. That previous time he tried to give a false name but a DMV thumbprint made him as Waits. Why?”
“Do you know what a reynard is? Reynard spelled R-e-y instead of R-a-y.”
Bosch shook his head. This was coming from left field. He hadn’t even been thinking about the name.
“No, what is it?”
“It’s a name for a young male fox. A young female is a vixen and the male is a reynard. I studied European folklore in college-back when I thought I wanted to be a diplomat. In medieval French folklore there is a character that is a fox named Reynard. He is a trickster. There are stories and epics about the scheming fox named Reynard. The character has appeared repeatedly through the centuries in books-children’s books mostly. You can Google it when you get back to the office and I am sure you will get many hits.”
Bosch nodded. He wasn’t going to tell her he didn’t know how to Google. He barely knew how to e-mail his eight-year-old daughter. She tapped a finger on the stack of files.
“A young fox would be a small fox,” she said. “In the description Mr. Waits is small in stature. You take it all in context of the full name and-”
“The little fox waits,” Bosch said. “The young fox waits. The trickster waits.”
“For the vixen. Maybe that’s how he saw it with his victims.”
Bosch nodded. He was impressed.
“We missed that. I can do some checking on the ID as soon as I get back.”
“And hopefully I will have more for you tonight.”
She went back to eating and Bosch went back to watching her.
6
AS SOON AS BOSCH dropped Rachel Walling at her car he opened his phone and called his partner. Rider reported that she was finishing up the paperwork on the Matarese case and that they would soon be good to go on it and able to file charges at the DA’s office the following day.
“Good. Anything else?”
“I got the box on Fitzpatrick from Evidence Archives and it turned out to be two boxes.”
“Containing what?”
“Mostly old pawn records that I can tell were never even looked at. They were sopping wet back then from when the fire was put out. The guys from Riot Crimes put them in plastic tubs and they’ve been moldering in them ever since. And, man, do they stink.”
Bosch nodded as he computed this. It was a dead end and it didn’t matter. Raynard Waits was about to confess to the killing of Daniel Fitzpatrick anyway. He could tell that Rider was looking at it the same way. An uncoerced confession is a royal flush. It beats everything.
“Have you heard from Olivas or O’Shea?” Rider asked.
“Not yet. I was going to call Olivas but wanted to talk to you first. Do you know anybody in city licensing?”
“No, but if you want me to call over there I can in the morning. They’re closed now. What are you looking for?”
Bosch checked his watch. He didn’t realize how late it had gotten. He guessed that the omelet at Duffy’s was going to count as breakfast, lunch and dinner.
“I was thinking we should run Waits’s business and see how long he’s had it, whether there were ever any complaints, that sort of thing. Olivas and his partner should have done it but there is nothing in the files about it.”
She was silent for a while before speaking.
“You think that could have been the connection to the High Tower?”
“Maybe. Or maybe to Marie. She had a nice big picture window in her apartment. It isn’t something I remember coming up back then. But maybe we missed it.”