The concrete blonde - By Michael Connelly Page 0,27
case which ended four years earlier.
The only other point of interest in the story for Bosch was the short history on the Bing's Billiards building. It had been burned on the second night of the riots, no arrests ever made. Arson investigators said the separations between the storage units were not bearing walls, meaning trying to stop the flames was like trying to hold water in a cup made of toilet paper. From ignition to full involvement of flames was only eighteen minutes. Most of the storage units were rented by movie industry people and some valuable studio props were either looted or lost in the fire. The building was a total loss. The investigators traced the origin to the billiard hall. A pool table had been set on fire and it went from there.
Bosch put the paper down and began thinking about Lloyd's testimony. He remembered what Belk had said, that the case rode on himself. Chandler must know this as well. She would be waiting for him, ready to make Lloyd's outing seem like a joy ride in comparison. He grudgingly had to admit to himself that he respected her skill, her toughness. It made him remember something and he got up to use the pay phone out front. He was surprised to find Edgar was at the homicide table and not out eating lunch.
“Any luck on the ID?” Bosch asked.
“No, man, the prints didn't check. No matches at all. She didn't have a record. We're still trying other sources, adult entertainment licenses, stuff like that.”
“Shit.”
“Well, we got something else cooking. Remember that CSUN anthropology professor I was telling you about? Well, he's been here all morning with a student, painting the plaster face and getting it ready. I got the press coming in at three to show it off. Rojas went out to buy a blonde wig we'll stick on it. If we get good play on the tube we might crack loose an ID.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah. How's court? The shit hit the fan in the Times today. That guy Bremmer has some sources.”
“Court's fine. Let me ask you something. After you left the scene yesterday and went back to the station, where was Pounds?”
“Pounds? He was—we got back at the same time. Why?”
“When did he leave?”
“A little while later. Right before you got here.”
“Was he on the phone in his office?”
“I think he made a few calls. I wasn't really watching. What's going on, you think he's Bremmer's source?”
“One last question. Did he close the door when he was on the phone?”
Bosch knew Pounds was paranoid. He always kept the door to his office open and the blinds on the glass partitions up so he could see and hear what was happening in the squad room. If he ever closed either or both, the troops outside knew something was up.
“Well, now that you mention it, I think he did have the door closed a little while. What is it?”
“Bremmer I'm not worried about. But somebody was talking to Money Chandler. In court this morning she knew I had been called out to the scene yesterday. That wasn't in the Times. Somebody told her.”
Edgar was silent a moment before replying.
“Yeah, but why would Pounds talk to her?”
“I don't know.”
“Maybe Bremmer. He could have told her, even though it wasn't in his story.”
“The story says she couldn't be reached for comment. It's got to be somebody else. A leak. Probably the same person talked to Bremmer and Chandler. Somebody who wants to fuck me up.”
Edgar didn't say anything and Bosch let it go for now.
“I better head back to court.”
“Hey, how'd Lloyd do? I heard on KFWB he was the first wit.”
“He did about as expected.”
“Shit. Who's next?”
“I don't know. She has Irving and Locke, the shrink, on subpoena. My guess is, it will be Irving. He'll pick up where Lloyd left off.”
“Well, good luck. By the way, if you're looking for something to do. This press gig I'm holding will hit the TV news tonight. I'll be here waiting by the phones. If you want to answer a few, I could use the help.”
Bosch thought briefly about his plan for dinner with Sylvia. She'd understand.
“Yeah, I'll be there.”
The afternoon testimony was largely uneventful. Chandler's strategy, it seemed to Bosch, was to build a two-part question into the jury's eventual deliberation, giving her clients two shots at the prize. One would be the wrong-man theory, which held that Bosch had flat-out killed an innocent man. The second