Bosch decided to open the door a little further. "There's more to it, if you want to hear it. It's about Cal Moore."
Pounds put the ruler down on the desk, folded his arms and leaned back. His posture signaled caution. They were stepping into an area where careers could be permanently damaged.
"Aren't we getting on thin ice, here? The Moore case is not ours."
"And I don't want it, Lieutenant, I've got these two. But it keeps coming up. If you don't want to know, fine. I can deal with it."
"No, no, I want you to tell me. I just don't like this kind of . . . uh, entanglement. That's all."
"Yeah, entanglement is a good word. Anyway, like I said, it was the BANG crew that made the Dance bust. Moore wasn't there until after it went down, but it was his crew.
"After that, you have Moore finding the body on the Juan Doe case."
"Cal Moore found the body?" Pounds said. "I didn't see that in Porter's book."
"He's in there by badge number. Anyway, he was the one that found the body dumped there. So you've got his presence around both of these cases. Then, the day after he finds Juan Doe in the alley he checks into that motel and gets his brains splattered in the bathtub. I suppose you've heard RHD now says it was no suicide."
Pounds nodded. But he had a paralyzed look on his face. He had thought he was going to get a summary of a couple of case investigations. Not this.
"Somebody whacked him, too," Bosch continued. "So now you have three cases. You have Kapps, then Juan Doe, then Moore. And you have Dance in the wind."
Bosch knew he had said enough. He could now sit back and watch Pounds's mind go to work. He knew that the lieutenant knew that he should probably pick up the phone and call Irving to ask for assistance or at least direction. But Pounds knew that a call like that would result in RHD taking jurisdiction over the Kapps and Juan Doe cases. And the RHD dicks would take their sweet-ass time about it. Pounds wouldn't see any of the cases closed out for weeks. "What about Porter? What's he say about all of this?"
Bosch had been doing his best to keep Porter clear. He didn't know why. Porter had fallen and had lied, but somewhere inside Bosch still felt something. Maybe it was that last question. Harry, you going to take care of me on this?
"I haven't found Porter," Bosch lied. "No answer on his phone. But I don't think he'd had much time to put all of this together."
Pounds shook his head disdainfully.
"Of course not. He probably was on a drunk."
Bosch didn't say anything. It was in Pounds's court now "Listen, Harry, you're not . . . you're being straight with me here, right? I can't afford to have you running around like a loose cannon. I've got it all, right?"
Bosch knew that what he meant was he wanted to know how badly he could be fucked if this went to shit.
Bosch said, "You know what I know. There are two cases, probably three, including Moore, out there to be cleared. You want 'em cleared in six, eight weeks, then I'll write up the paper and you can ship it to Parker Center. If you want to get them cleared by the first like you said, then let me have the four days."
Pounds was staring off somewhere above Bosch's head and using the ruler to scratch himself behind the ear. He was making a decision.
"Okay," he finally said. "Take the weekend and see what you can do. We'll see where things stand Monday. We might have to call in RHD then. Meantime, I want to hear from you tomorrow and Sunday. I want to know your movements, what's happening, what progress has been made."
"You got it," Bosch said. He stood up and turned to leave. He noticed that above the door was a small crucifix. He wondered if that had been what Pounds had been staring at. Most said he was a political born-again. There were a lot in the department. They all joined a church up in the Valley because one of the assistant chiefs was a lay preacher there. Bosch guessed they all went there Sunday mornings and gathered around him, told him what a great guy he was.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, then," Pounds said from behind.