The concrete blonde - By Michael Connelly Page 0,50

done this or not, but since that is her mission I think the question is answerable. I'm going to allow it.”

After some thought, Irving finally said, “I can't answer that. I don't know what would have happened.”

11

Bosch was able to smoke two cigarettes during the ten-minute recess that followed the end of Irving's testimony. On redirect Belk had asked only a few questions, trying to rebuild a fallen house with a hammer but no nails. The damage was done.

Chandler had so far used the day to skillfully plant the seeds of doubt about both Church and Bosch. The alibi for the eleventh killing opened the door to Church's possible innocence. And now she had subscribed a motive to Bosch's action: revenge for a murder more than thirty years old. By the end of the trial the seeds would be in full bloom.

He thought about what Chandler had said about his mother. Could she have been right? Bosch had never consciously considered it. It was always there—the idea of revenge—flickering in some part of his mind with the distant memories of his mother. But he had never taken it out and examined it. Why had he gone out there alone that night? Why hadn't he called one of the others back in—Mora or any of the investigators in his command?

Bosch had always told himself and others it was because he doubted the whore's story. But now, he knew, it was his own story he was beginning to doubt.

Bosch was so deep in these thoughts that he did not notice Chandler had come through the door until the flare of her lighter caught his eye. He turned and stared at her.

“I won't stay long,” she said. “Just a half.”

“I don't care.”

He was almost done with the second cigarette.

“Who's next?”

“Locke.”

The USC psychologist. Bosch nodded, though he immediately saw this as a break from her good guy-bad guy pattern. Unless she counted Locke as a good guy.

“Well, you're doing good,” Bosch said. “But I guess you don't need me to tell you that.”

“No, I don't.”

“You may even win—you probably will win, but ultimately you're wrong about me.”

“Am I? … Do you even know?”

“Yeah, I know. I know.”

“I have to go.”

She stubbed the cigarette out. It was less than half smoked. It would be a prize for Tommy Faraway.

Dr. John Locke was a gray-bearded, bald and bespectacled man who looked as though he could have used a pipe to complete the picture of university professor and researcher of sexual behavior. He testified that he had offered his expertise to the Dollmaker task force after reading about the killings in the newspapers. He helped an LAPD psychiatrist draw up the first profiles of the suspect.

“Tell the jury about your expertise,” Chandler asked.

“Well, I am the director of the Psychohormonal Research Laboratory at USC. I am founder of that unit as well. I have conducted wide-ranging studies of sexual practice, paraphilia and psychosexual dynamics.”

“What is a paraphilia, doctor? In language we will all understand, please.”

“Well, in layman's terms, paraphilia are what are commonly referred to by the general public as sexual perversions—sexual behavior generally considered unacceptable by society.”

“Such as strangling your sex partner?”

“Yes, that would be one of them, big time.”

There was a polite murmur of humor in the courtroom and Locke smiled. He seemed very at ease on the witness stand, Bosch thought.

“Have you written scholarly articles or books about these subjects you mentioned?”

“Yes, I have contributed numerous articles to research publications. I've written seven books on various subjects, sexual development of children, prepubescent paraphilia, studies of sadomasochism—the whole bondage thing, pornography, prostitution. My last book was on childhood development histories of deviant murderers.”

“So you've been around the block.”

“Only as a researcher.”

Locke smiled again and Bosch could see the jury warming to him. All twenty-four eyes were on the sex doctor.

“Your last book, the one on the murderers, what was it called?”

“Black Hearts: Cracking the Erotic Mold of Murder.”

Chandler took a moment to look at her notes.

“What do you mean by ‘erotic mold’?”

“Well, Ms. Chandler, if I could digress a moment, I think I should fill in some background.”

She nodded her go-ahead.

“There are generally two fields, or two schools of thought, when it comes to the study of sexual paraphilia. I am what you call a psychoanalyst, and psychoanalysts believe that the root of paraphilia in an individual comes from hostilities nurtured in childhood. In other words, sexual perversions—in fact, even normal erotic interests—are formed in early childhood and then manifest in expressions as the individual