The concrete blonde - By Michael Connelly Page 0,24
you say was the killer, Norman Church, was not killed himself until there were at least six more murders following the establishment of the task force, is that correct?”
“Correct.”
“Allowing at least six more women to be strangled. How is that considered successful by the department?”
“We didn't allow anything. We did the best we could to track down this perpetrator. We eventually did. That made us successful. Very successful, in my book.”
“In your book. Tell me, Lieutenant Lloyd, had the name Norman Church come up at any time in the investigation before the night he was shot to death while unarmed by Detective Bosch? Any reference at all?”
“No, it hadn't. But we connected—”
“Just answer the question I ask, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
Chandler referred to her yellow pad on the lectern. Bosch noticed that Belk was alternately taking notes on one pad in front of him and writing down questions on another.
“Okay, Lieutenant,” Chandler said, “your task force did not catch up with a supposed perpetrator, as you call it, until six deaths after you started. Would it be fair to say you and your detectives were under severe pressure to catch him, to close this case?”
“We were under pressure, yes.”
“From who? Who was pressuring you, Lieutenant Lloyd?”
“Well, we had the papers, TV. The department was on me.”
“How so? The department, I mean. Did you have meetings with your supervisors?”
“I had daily meetings with the RHD captain and weeklies—every Monday—with the police chief.”
“What did they tell you about solving the case?”
“They said get the thing solved. People were dying. I didn't need to be told that but they did anyway.”
“And did you communicate that to the task force detectives?”
“Of course. But they didn't need to be told it either. These guys were looking at the bodies every time one showed up. It was hard. They wanted this guy bad. They didn't need to read it in the papers or hear it from the chief or even me, for that matter.”
Lloyd seemed to be getting off on his cop-as-a-lonely-hunter tangent. Bosch could see that he didn't realize he had walked into Chandler's trap. She was going to argue at the end of the trial that Bosch and the cops were under such pressure to find a killer that Bosch killed Church and then they fabricated his ties to the killings. The fall-guy theory. Harry wished he could call time out and tell Lloyd to shut the hell up.
“So everyone on the task force knew there was pressure to find a killer?”
“Not a killer. The killer. Yes, there was pressure. It's part of the job.”
“What was Detective Bosch's role on the task force?”
“He was my B squad supervisor. He worked the night shift. He was a detective third grade so he kind of ran things when I wasn't there, which was often. Primarily, I was a floater but I usually worked the day shift with squad A.”
“Do you recall saying to Detective Bosch, ‘We've gotta get this guy,’ words to that effect?”
“Not specifically. But I said words to that effect at squad meetings. He was there. But that was our goal, nothing wrong with that. We had to get this guy. Same situation, I'd say it again.”
Bosch began to feel that Lloyd was paying him back for having stolen the show, closing the case without him. His answers no longer appeared to be grounded in congenial stupidity but in malice. Bosch bent close to Belk and whispered, “He's fucking me because he didn't get to shoot Church himself.”
Belk put his finger to his lips, signaling Harry to be quiet. He then went back to writing on one of his two pads.
“Have you ever heard of the FBI's Behavioral Science Division?” Chandler asked.
“Yes, I have.”
“What do they do?”
“They study serial killers among other things. Come up with psychological profiles, victim profiles, give advice, things like that.”
“You had eleven murders, what advice did the FBI's Behavioral Science Division give you?”
“None.”
“Why was that? Were they stumped?”
“No, we didn't call on them.”
“Ah, and why didn't you call them?”
“Well, ma'am, we believed we had a handle on it. We had worked up profiles ourselves and we didn't think the FBI could help us much. The forensic psychologist helping us, Dr. Locke from USC, had once been an adviser to the FBI on sex crimes. We had his experience and the department's staff psychiatrist helping out. We believed we were in good shape in that department.”
“Did the FBI offer their help?”
Lloyd hesitated here. It seemed he was finally understanding where she