Part 13 (1/2)
Hirsch didn't move. He just stared at the blue screen. It reminded Bosch of the youth hall, when kids would literally shut down like a computer on standby when the bullies taunted them.
”What are you doing now, Hirsch? We could do it right now.”
Hirsch looked at him for a long moment before talking.
”I'm busy. And look, Bosch, I know who you are, okay? That's an interesting story about pulling old cases but I know it's a lie. I know you're on a stress leave. The story's getting around. And you shouldn't even be here and I shouldn't be talking to you. So, could you please leave me alone? I don't want to get into trouble. I don't want people to get the wrong idea, you know?”
Bosch looked at him but Hirsch's eyes had moved back onto the computer screen.
”Okay, Hirsch, let me tell you a real story. One-”
”I really don't want any more stories, Bosch. Why don't you just-”
”I'm going to tell you this story, then I'm leaving, okay? Just this one story.”
”Okay, Bosch, okay. You tell the story.”
Bosch looked at him silently and waited for Hirsch to make eye contact but the latent print technician's eyes remained on the computer screen as if it were his security blanket. Bosch told the story anyway.
”One time, a long time ago, I was almost twelve and I'm swimming in this pool, you see, and I'm under the water but I've got my eyes open. And I look up and I see up through the water up to the edge of the pool. I see this dark figure. You know, it was hard to figure out what it was, all wavy and all. But I could tell it was a man and there wasn't supposed to be a man up there. So I came up for air at the side of the pool and I was right. It was a man. He was wearing this dark suit. And he reached down and grabbed me by the wrist. I was just a scrawny little runt. It was easy for him to do. He pulled me out and he gave me this towel to put on my shoulders and he led me over to a chair and he told me...he told me that my mother was dead. Murdered. He said they didn't know who did it, but whoever he was, he left his fingerprints. He said, 'Don't worry, son, we got the fingerprints and they're as good as gold. We'll get him.' I remember those words exactly. 'We'll get him.' Only they never did. And now I'm going to. That's my story, Hirsch.”
Hirsch's eyes dropped down to the yellowed print card on the keyboard.
”Look, man, it's a bad story, but I can't be doing this. I'm sorry.”
Bosch stared at him a moment and then slowly stood up.
”Don't forget the card,” Hirsch said.
He picked it up and held it up to Bosch.
”I'll leave it here. You're going to do the right thing, Hirsch. I can tell.”
”No, don't. I can't do-”
”I'm leaving it here!”
The power of his voice shocked even Bosch and it seemed to have scared Hirsch. The print tech replaced the card on the keyboard. After a few seconds of silence Bosch leaned down and spoke quietly.
”Everybody wants the chance to do the right thing, Hirsch. It makes them feel good inside. Even if doing it doesn't exactly fit inside the rules, sometimes you have to rely on the voice inside that tells you what to do.”
Bosch stood back up and took out his wallet and a pen. He pulled out a business card and wrote some numbers on it. He put it down on the keyboard next to the print card.
”That's got my portable and my home on it. Don't bother calling the office, you know I won't be there. I'll be waiting to hear from you, Hirsch.”
He walked slowly out of the lab.
Chapter Sixteen.
WAITING FOR THE elevator, Bosch guessed that his effort to persuade Hirsch had fallen on deaf ears. Hirsch was the type of guy whose exterior scars masked deeper interior wounds. There were a lot in the department like him. Hirsch had grown up intimidated by his own face. He'd probably be the last person to dare go outside the bounds of his job or the rules. Another department automaton. For him, doing the right thing was ignoring Bosch. Or turning him in. elevator, Bosch guessed that his effort to persuade Hirsch had fallen on deaf ears. Hirsch was the type of guy whose exterior scars masked deeper interior wounds. There were a lot in the department like him. Hirsch had grown up intimidated by his own face. He'd probably be the last person to dare go outside the bounds of his job or the rules. Another department automaton. For him, doing the right thing was ignoring Bosch. Or turning him in.
He punched at the elevator b.u.t.ton with his finger again and contemplated what else he could do. The AFIS search was a long shot but he still wanted it done. It was a loose end and any thorough investigation took care of loose ends. He decided he would give Hirsch a day and then he'd make another run at him. If that didn't work, he'd try another tech. He'd try them all until he got the killer's prints into that machine.
The elevator finally opened and he squeezed on. That was one of the only things you could rely on inside Parker Center. Cops would come and go, chiefs, even political power structures, but the elevators would always move slowly and always be crowded when they got to you. Bosch pushed the unlighted b.u.t.ton marked B as the doors slowly closed and the square room started to descend. While everyone stood and stared blankly at the lighted numbers over the door, Bosch looked down at his briefcase. No one in the small s.p.a.ce spoke. Until, as the car slowed to its next stop, Bosch heard his first name spoken from behind. He turned his head slightly, not sure if it had been someone speaking to him or the name had been directed toward someone else.
His eyes fell on a.s.sistant Chief Irvin S. Irving standing in the rear of the elevator. They exchanged nods just as the doors opened on the first floor. Bosch wondered if Irving had seen him push the b.u.t.ton for the bas.e.m.e.nt. There was no reason for a man on involuntary stress leave to be going to the bas.e.m.e.nt.
Bosch decided the car was too crowded for Irving to have seen what b.u.t.ton he had pushed. He stepped off the elevator into the alcove off the main lobby and Irving followed him out and caught up with him.
”Chief.”
”What brings you all the way in, Harry?”
It was said casually but the question signaled that there was more than pa.s.sing interest from Irving. They started walking toward the exit, Bosch quickly putting a story together.
”I have to go over to Chinatown anyway, so I dropped by to go to payroll. I wanted to see about them sending my check to my house instead of out to Hollywood, since I'm not sure when I'll be back.”
Irving nodded and Bosch was pretty sure he had bought it. He was about Bosch's size but had the stand-out feature of a completely shaved head. That feature and his reputation for intolerance for corrupt cops got him the nickname within the department of Mr. Clean.
”You're in Chinatown today? I thought you were Monday, Wednesday, Friday. That was the schedule I approved.”
”Yes, that's the schedule. But she had an opening come up today and wanted me to come in.”
”Well, I'm glad to hear you being so cooperative. What happened to your hand?”
”Oh, this?” Bosch held up his hand as if it were someone else's that he had just noticed at the end of his arm. ”I've been using some of my free time to do some work around the house and I cut it on a piece of broken gla.s.s. I'm still doing clean-up from the quake.”
”I see.”
Bosch guessed that he didn't buy that one. But he didn't really care.
”I'm getting a quick lunch in the Federal Plaza,” Irving said. ”You want to come along?”
”Thanks just the same, Chief. I already ate.”
”Okay, well, take care of yourself. I mean that.”
”I will. Thanks.”
Irving started off and then stopped.
”You know, we're handling this situation with you a little differently because I hope to get you back in there at Hollywood homicide without any change in grade or position. I'm waiting to hear from Dr. Hinojos but I understand it will be a few more weeks, at least.”
”That's what she tells me.”
”You know, if you're willing to do it, an apology in the form of a letter to Lieutenant Pounds could be beneficial. When push comes to shove, I'm going to have to sell him on letting you back in there. That will be the hard part. I think getting you a clean bill from the doctor won't be a problem. I can simply issue the order and Lieutenant Pounds will have to accept it, but that won't ease the pressure there. I would rather work it that he accepts your return and everybody's happy.”