bringing ice over from Hawaii, I went to Cal Moore to ask about black ice. You know, the competition. I wanted to know where it comes from, where you get it, who's selling it, anything that would help me get a picture of who might've put down Jimmy Kapps. Anyway, the point is I thought Moore shined me on, said he knew nothing, but today I find out he was putting together a file on black ice. He was gathering string on my case. He held stuff back from me, but at the same time was putting something together on this when he disappeared. I got the file today. There was a note. It said 'Give to Harry Bosch' on it."
"What was in it? The file."
"A lot. Including an intelligence report, says the main source of black ice is probably a ranch down in Mexicali."
She stared at him but said nothing.
"Which brings us to our Juan Doe. Porter bails out and the case comes to me today. I am reading through the file and I'll give you one guess who it was that found the body and then disappeared the next day."
"Shit," she said.
"Exactly. Cal Moore. What this means I don't know. But he is the reporting officer on the body. The next day he is in the wind. The next week he is found in a motel room, a supposed suicide. And then the next day—after the discovery of Moore has been in the papers and on TV—Porter calls up and says, 'Guess what, guys, I quit.' Does all of this sound aboveboard to you?"
She abruptly stood up and walked to the sliding door to the porch. She stared through the glass out across the pass.
"Those bastards," she said. "They just want to drop the whole thing. Because it might embarrass somebody."
Bosch walked up behind her.
"You have to tell somebody about it. Tell me."
"No. I can't. You tell me everything."
"I've told you. There isn't much else and it's all a jumble. The file didn't have much, other than that the DEA told Moore that black ice is coming up from Mexicali. That's how I guessed about the fruit fly contractor. And then there's Moore. He grew up in Calexico and Mexicali. You see? There are too many coincidences here that I don't think are coincidences."
She still faced the door and he was talking to her back, but he saw the reflection of her worried face in the glass. He could smell her perfume.
"The important thing about the file is that Moore didn't keep it in his office or his apartment. It was in a place where someone from IAD or RHD wouldn't find it. And when the guys on his crew found it, there was the note that said to give it to me. You understand?"
The confused look in the glass answered for her. She turned and moved into the living room, sitting on the cushioned chair and running her hands through her hair. Harry stayed standing and paced on the wood floor in front of her.
"Why would he write a note saying give the file to me? It wouldn't have been a note to himself. He already knew he was putting the file together for me. So, the note was for someone else. And what does that tell us? That he either knew when he wrote it that he was going to kill himself. Or he—"
"Knew he was going to be killed," she said.
Bosch nodded. "Or, at least, he knew he had gotten into something too deep. That he was in trouble. In danger."
"Jesus," she said.
Harry approached and handed her her wineglass. He bent down close to her face.
"You have to tell me about the autopsy. Something's wrong. I heard that bullshit press release they put out. Inconclusive. What is that shit? Since when can't you tell if a shotgun blast to the face killed somebody or not?
"So tell me, Teresa. We can figure out what to do."
She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, but Harry knew she was going to tell.
"They told me because I wasn't a hundred percent— Harry, you can't reveal where you got this information. You can't."
"It won't get back to you. If I have to, I will use it to help us, but it won't get back to you. That's my promise."
"They told me not to discuss it with anyone because I couldn't be completely sure. The assistant chief, Irving, that arrogant prick knew just where to stick it in. Talking about