31
THE OLD CAMARO went screaming by Bosch and Rider without hesitation. It blew the light at Saticoy and kept going. Bosch watched its lights disappearing to the north.
“What was that?” Rider said. “You think he knows there’s a tail?”
“I don’t -”
Bosch’s cell phone sounded and he quickly answered it. It was Robinson.
“He just got called back by the Triple A answering service. He seemed pretty upset but they have to take it, I guess.”
“What do you mean, he’s got a tow?”
“Yeah. It was Triple A dispatch. I guess if he didn’t take it they would go to another company and that could mean trouble. Like losing the Triple A business.”
“Where’s the tow?”
“It’s a breakdown on the Reagan. On the westbound side near the Tampa Avenue overpass. So it’s close. He said he was on the way.”
“Okay. We got him.”
Bosch closed the phone and told Rider to turn around, that their cover was still intact, that Mackey was simply hurrying back to get the tow truck.
By the time they were back to the intersection of Tampa and Roscoe, the tow truck was pulling out of the darkened station. Mackey wasn’t wasting any time.
Since they knew Mackey’s destination Rider could afford to hang back and not risk being noticed in the tow truck’s rearview mirror. They headed north on Tampa toward the freeway. The Reagan was the 118 Freeway, which ran east-west across the northern stretch of the Valley. It was one of the few freeways that was not crowded with traffic twenty-four hours a day. Named after the late governor and president, it led to Simi Valley, where Reagan’s presidential library was located. Still, it had been jarring to Bosch to hear Robinson call it the Reagan. To Bosch it was always simply the 118.
The westbound entrance to the 118 ramped down from Tampa Avenue to the ten lanes of freeway. Rider slowed and hung back and they watched the tow truck turn left and head down the ramp out of sight. She then pulled up and made the same turn. As they came on the ramp and started down they immediately realized their problem. The disabled car was not on the freeway as Nord had said but actually on the entrance ramp. They were quickly coming up on the tow truck. It was pulled onto the ramp’s shoulder about fifty yards ahead. Its rear spreader lights were on and it was backing toward a small red car that was parked on the shoulder with its emergency lights blinking.
“What do we do, Harry?” Rider said. “If we pull over it’s going to be obvious.”
She was right. They would blow their cover.
“Just go on by,” he replied.
He had to think quickly. He knew that once they were on the freeway they could pull onto the shoulder and wait until Mackey’s tow truck came by with the disabled car on its hook. But that was risky. Mackey might recognize Rider’s car, or even stop to see if they needed assistance. If he saw Bosch then the surveillance would be blown.
“You got a Thomas Guide?”
“Under the seat.”
Rider drove by the disabled car and the tow truck as Bosch reached under the seat for the map book. Once they were clear of the tow truck he put on the overhead light and quickly flipped through the map pages. A Thomas map book was the driving bible of Los Angeles. Bosch had years of experience with them and quickly found the page depicting the section of the city they were in. He made a quick study of their situation and gave Rider directions.
“The next exit is Porter Ranch Drive,” he said. “Less than a mile. We get off and go right and then another right on Rinaldi. It takes us back to Tampa. We either wait up on top of the overpass and watch or we just keep circling.”
“I think we wait up on top,” Rider said. “If we keep going down that ramp in the same car he might notice.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“I don’t like it but I don’t know what choice we have.”
They covered the distance to the Porter Ranch exit quickly.
“Did you check out the tow car?” Bosch asked. “I was looking for the map book.”
“Small foreign job,” Rider responded. “It looked like one person behind the wheel and that was it. The lights from the truck were too bright to see anything else.”
Rider kept her speed up until they pulled into the exit lane for Porter Ranch Drive. As instructed, she took a right and then another right and they were quickly heading back toward Tampa. They got stopped at the light at Corbin but then Rider drove through it after checking to make sure it was clear. Less than three minutes after passing the tow truck they were back on Tampa. Rider pulled to the side of the road in the middle of the overpass. Bosch cracked his door.
“I’ll check it out,” he said.
He stepped out of the car. At this angle he couldn’t see the tow truck but the spreader lights on the top of the cab cast a glow above the entrance ramp.
“Harry, take this,” Rider called.
Bosch ducked back into the car and took the rover Rider was holding out to him.
He walked back along the overpass. The freeway wasn’t crowded, but it was still loud with the cars passing beneath him. When he got to the top of the ramp and looked down, it took him a few moments to adjust his vision because the lights from the back of the tow truck were still slashing through the darkness.
But soon he realized that the blinking lights of the disabled car were not there. He looked closer and saw that the car was no longer on the shoulder. His eyes traveled down the ramp to the freeway and he saw the red taillights of dozens of cars moving westbound into the distance.
He looked back at the tow truck. Everything was still. There was no sign of Mackey.
Bosch raised the radio to his mouth and keyed the mike.
“Kiz?”
“Yeah, Harry?”
“You better get over here.”
Bosch started walking down the ramp. As he did so he drew his weapon and carried it down by his side. In thirty seconds lights flashed behind him and Rider pulled her car onto the shoulder. She got out with a flashlight and they continued down the ramp.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
There was still no sign of Mackey in or around the tow truck. Bosch felt his chest tighten. He instinctively knew something was wrong. The closer they got the more he knew it.
“What do we say if he’s here and everything’s okay?” Rider whispered.
“It isn’t,” Bosch said.
The light from the back of the truck was almost blinding and Bosch knew they were in a vulnerable position. He could not see anyone on the front side of the tow truck. He moved to his right so that he and Rider would be spread apart. Rider could not move to the left or she would be walking into the entrance lane.
A semi-truck roared by on the ramp, wafting petroleum-tinged wind and sound over them and making the ground shake like an earthquake. Bosch was now walking in the weeds that were on the upward slope off the shoulder. He still didn’t see anyone up ahead.
Bosch and Rider did not communicate. The noise from passing traffic on the freeway just below was echoing from beneath the overpass. They would have to shout now and that would detract from their concentration.
They came back together when they got to the tow truck. Bosch checked the cab and there was no sign of Mackey. The truck was still running. He stepped back to the rear and looked at the ground illuminated by the spreader lights. There were curving black tire marks leading right up to the truck’s rear gate. And on the gravel was one of the leather gloves, grease-stained in the palm, that he had seen Mackey wearing earlier in the day.
“Let me borrow this,” he said, taking the flashlight from Rider. He noticed that it was one of the short rubber models approved by the police chief after an officer was videotaped beating a suspect with one of the heavy steel lights.
Bosch pointed the beam at the truck’s rear gate, running it over the underside that had been cast in shadows by the bright glare from the spreader above.