“You leave Chad alone. He’s going through a lot.”
“Then talk to me, Deborah. Why’d you hide it? Can’t be money. We checked the insurance policies. They’re all mature, no suicide clauses. You get the money whether he jumped or not.”
“He didn’t jump! I’m going to call Irvin. I’m going to tell him what you’re saying.”
She started to stand up.
“Did you tell George you were leaving him? Is that it? Is that why he put your anniversary date into the combination on the room safe? Is that why he jumped? His son was gone and now you were going, too. He had already lost his friend Bobby Mason and all he had left was a job working as a bagman for his father.”
She tried what Bosch always viewed as the last best defense of a woman. She started crying.
“You bastard! You’ll destroy a good man’s reputation. Is that what you want? Will that make you happy?”
Bosch didn’t answer for a long time.
“No, Mrs. Irving, not really.”
“I want you to leave now. I buried my husband today and I want you out of my house!”
Bosch nodded but made no move to get up.
“I’ll leave when you give me the story.”
“I don’t have the story!”
“Then Chad does. I’ll wait for him.”
“All right, look, Chad doesn’t know a thing. He’s nineteen years old. He’s a boy. If you talk to him you’ll destroy him.”
Bosch realized that it was all about the son, about protecting him from knowing that his father had killed himself.
“Then you have to talk to me first. Last chance, Mrs. Irving.”
She gripped her chair’s armrests and bowed her head.
“I told him our marriage was over.”
“And how did he take it?”
“Not well. He didn’t see it coming because he didn’t see what he had become. An opportunist, a taker, a bagman, like you said. Chad had gotten away and I decided I would, too. There was no one else. There was just no reason to stay. I wasn’t running to something. I was just running away from him.”
Bosch leaned forward, elbows on his knees, making the conversation more intimate.
“When did this conversation take place?” he asked.
“A week before. We talked about it for a week but I wasn’t changing my mind. I told him to bring Chad down or I would go up there to tell him. He made the arrangements Sunday.”
Bosch nodded. All the details were fitting together.
“What about the councilman? Was he told?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him and it never came up after — when he was here that day and told me that George was dead. He didn’t mention anything about it then and he didn’t at the funeral today either.”
Bosch knew that this didn’t mean anything. Irving could have been keeping his knowledge to himself as he waited to see which way the investigation would go. In the long run it didn’t matter what Irving knew or when he knew it.
“On Sunday night, when George went out, what did he say to you?”
“As I told you before, he said he was going out for a drive. That’s all. He didn’t tell me where.”
“Did he threaten to kill himself during any of your discussions in the week prior to his death?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. I’m not lying to you.”
“You said you talked about it for several nights. He did not accept your decision?”
“Of course not. He said he wouldn’t let me go. I told him he didn’t have a choice. I was leaving. I was prepared. It wasn’t a rash decision. I’ve been in a loveless marriage for quite a long time, Detective. The day Chad got the acceptance letter from USF, that was the day I started planning.”
“Did you have a place you were going to go?”
“A place, a car, a job — everything.”
“Where?”
“San Francisco. Close to Chad.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this from the start? What’s the point of hiding it?”
“My son. His father was dead and it wasn’t clear how. He didn’t need to know that his parents’ marriage had been coming to an end. I didn’t want to put that on him.”
Bosch shook his head. She apparently didn’t care that her deception had almost resulted in McQuillen’s being accused of murder.
There was a noise from somewhere in the house and Deborah became alert.
“That’s the back door. Chad is home. Do not tell him this. I beg you.”
“He’s going to find out. I should talk to him. His father must’ve told him something when he told him he needed to fly home.”
“No, he didn’t. I was in the room when he called. He just told him we needed him to come home for a few days because of a family emergency. George assured him that everybody was fine healthwise but that he needed to come home. Do not tell him about this. I will tell him.”
“Mom?”
It was Chad calling from somewhere in the house.
“In the living room, Chad,” his mother called back.
Then she looked at Bosch with beseeching eyes.
“Please,” she whispered.
Chad Irving entered the living room. He was dressed in blue jeans and a golf shirt. His hair was unkempt and it looked startlingly different from the carefully combed look he’d had at the funeral.
“Chad,” Bosch said. “How are you doing?”
The boy nodded.
“Fine. What are you doing here? Did you arrest someone for killing my father?”
“No, Chad,” his mother said quickly. “Detective Bosch was just doing some follow-up on your father. I had to answer a few questions about the business. That’s all and, in fact, Detective Bosch was just about to leave.”
The time was rare that Bosch would allow someone to speak for him and lie and even push him out the door. But Bosch played along. He even stood up.
“Yes, I think I have what I need for now. I do want to talk a little more with you, Chad, but that can wait until tomorrow. You are still around tomorrow, right?”
Bosch looked at Deborah the whole time he spoke. The message was clear. If you want to be the one who tells him, then tell him tonight. Otherwise, Bosch would be back in the morning.
“Yes, I’m staying until Sunday.”
Bosch nodded. He moved out of the seating area.
“Mrs. Irving, you have my number. Call me if anything else comes up. I’ll show myself out.”
With that, Bosch headed through the living room and then out of the house. He went off the front walkway and crossed the lawn diagonally to his car.
He received a text as he walked. It was from his daughter, of course. No one else ever texted him.
Going to read in bed. Night, Dad.
He stood next to his car and answered her right away.
On my way home now. . O?
Her response was quick.
Ocean.
It was a game they played, though a game with a higher purpose. He had taught her the LAPD’s phonetic alphabet and often tested her in texts. Or while out driving together, he’d point out a license plate and have her call it out in phonetic code.
He texted her back.
TMG
That’s my girl.
Once he was in the car, he lowered the window and looked up at the Irving house. The lights had been turned off now in the downstairs rooms. But the family — what was left of it — was still awake upstairs, dealing with the debris George Irving had left behind.
Bosch started his car and headed toward Ventura Boulevard. He opened his phone and called Chu’s cell. He checked the dash clock and saw it was only nine thirty-eight. There was plenty of time. The Times deadline for the morning print edition was eleven.
“Harry? Everything all right?”