The concrete blonde - By Michael Connelly Page 0,103
been counting on that when he rehearsed what he was going to say to her. After waking from his brief sleep, he had looked at the events of the night before with a fresh mind and eyes and had seen something that was missed before. It was now his intention to play her. He had thrown her the soft pitch. Now he had a curve.
“When this is over,” he said, “I'd like the note.”
“What note?”
“The note the follower sent you.”
A look of shock hit her face but was then quickly erased with the indifferent look she normally gave him. But she had not been quick enough. He had seen the look in her eyes, she sensed danger. He knew then he had her.
“It's evidence,” he said.
“I don't know what you're talking about, Detective Bosch. I need to get back inside.”
She stubbed a half-smoked cigarette with a lipstick print on the butt into the ash can, then took two steps toward the door.
“I know about Edgar. I saw you with him last night.”
That stopped her. She turned around and looked at him.
“The Hung Jury. A Bloody Mary at the bar.”
She weighed her response and then said, “Whatever he told you, I'm sure it was designed to place him in the best light. I would be careful if you are planning to go public with it.”
“I'm not going public with anything … unless you don't give me the note. Withholding evidence of a crime is a crime in itself. But I don't need to tell you that.”
“Whatever Edgar told you about a note is a lie. I told him noth—”
“And he told me nothing about a note. He didn't need to. I figured it out. You called him Monday after the body was found because you already knew about it and knew it was connected to the Dollmaker. I wondered how, and then it was clear. We got a note but that was secret until the next day. The only one who found out was Bremmer but his story said you couldn't be reached for comment. That was because you were out meeting Edgar. He said you called that afternoon asking about the body. You asked if we got a note. That was because you got a note, Counselor. And I need to see it. If it is different from the one we got, it could be helpful.”
She looked at her watch and quickly lit another cigarette.
“I can get a warrant,” he said.
She laughed a fake sort of laugh.
“I'd like to see you get a warrant. I'd like to see the judge in this town who would sign a warrant allowing the LAPD to search my house with this case in the papers every day. Judges are political animals, Detective, nobody's going to sign a warrant and then possibly come out on the wrong end of this.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of your office. But thanks for at least telling me where it is.”
The look came back into her face for a split second. She had slipped and maybe that was as big a shock to her as anything he had said. She put the cigarette into the sand after two puffs. Tommy Faraway would cherish it when he found it later.
“We convene in one minute. Detective, I don't know anything about a note. Understand? Nothing at all. There is no note. If you try to make any trouble over this, I will make even more for you.”
“I haven't told Belk and I'm not going to. I just want the note. It's got nothing to do with the case at trial.”
“That's easy for …”
“For me to say because I haven't read it? You're slipping, Counselor. Better be more careful than that.”
She ignored that and went on to other business.
“Another thing, if you think my … uh, arrangement with Edgar is grounds for a mistrial motion or a misconduct complaint, you will find that you are dead wrong. Edgar agreed to our relationship without any provocation. He suggested it, in fact. If you make any complaint I will sue you for slander and send out press releases when I do it.”
He doubted anything that happened was at Edgar's suggestion but let it go. She gave him her best dead-eyed, killer look, then opened the door and disappeared through it.
Bosch finished his smoke, hoping his play might at least knock her off speed a little bit during her closing argument. But most of all he was pleased that he had gotten tacit