The concrete blonde - By Michael Connelly Page 0,81

reporters. They all sat together.

He also saw Sylvia, sitting in the back row by herself. She offered a small smile to him which he did not return. He wondered how long she had been out there.

“Detective Bosch?” the judge prompted.

“I can't answer the question without compromising an ongoing investigation,” Bosch finally said.

“Detective Bosch, we just went over this,” the judge said angrily. “Answer the question.”

Bosch knew that his refusal and jailing would not stop the story from getting out. Chandler would tell all the reporters as the judge had given her the okay to do. So putting himself in jail, he knew, only stopped him from chasing the follower. He decided to answer. He carefully composed a statement while stalling by taking a long, slow drink of water from the paper cup.

“Norman Church obviously stopped killing people after he was dead. But there was somebody—there is somebody else still out there. A killer who uses the same methods as Norman Church.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bosch. And when did you come to that conclusion?”

“This week, when another body was found.”

“Who was that victim?”

“A woman named Rebecca Kaminski. She had been missing two years.”

“The details of her death matched the murders of the other Dollmaker victims?”

“Exactly, except for one thing.”

“And that was what?”

“She had been entombed in concrete. Hidden. Norman Church always discarded his victims in public places.”

“No other differences?”

“Not that I know of at the moment.”

“Yet, because she died two years after Norman Church was killed by you, there is no way possible that he is responsible.”

“Correct.”

“Because he was dead he has the perfect alibi, doesn't he?”

“Correct.”

“How was the body found?”

“As I said, it had been buried in concrete.”

“And what led police to the spot where it was buried?”

“We received a note with directions.”

Chandler then offered a copy of the note as plaintiff's exhibit 4A and Judge Keyes accepted it after overruling an objection by Belk. Chandler then handed a copy to Bosch to identify and read.

“Out loud this time,” she said before he could start. “For the jury.”

Bosch felt eerie reading the words of the follower out loud in the quiet courtroom. After a beat of silence when he was done, Chandler began again.

“‘I'm still in the game,’ he writes. What does that mean?”

“It means he is trying to take credit for all of the killings. He wants attention.”

“Could that be because he committed all of the murders?”

“No, because Norman Church committed nine of them. The evidence found in Church's apartment irrefutably links him to those nine. There is no doubt.”

“Who found this evidence?”

Bosch said, “Me.”

“So, then, isn't there a lot of doubt, Detective Bosch? Isn't this idea of a second killer who uses the exact same method preposterous?”

“No, it's not preposterous. It is happening. I did not kill the wrong man.”

“Isn't it the truth that this talk of a copycat killer, a follower, is all an elaborate charade for covering up the fact that you did exactly that, killed the wrong man? An innocent, unarmed man who had done nothing worse than hire a prostitute with his wife's tacit approval?”

“No, it's not. Norman Church killed—”

“Thank you, Mr. Bosch.”

“—a lot of women. He was a monster.”

“Like the one who killed your mother?”

He unconsciously looked out into the audience, saw Sylvia and then looked away. He tried to compose himself, slow his breathing. He was not going to let Chandler tear him open.

“I would say yes. They were probably similar. Both monsters.”

“That's why you killed him, wasn't it? The toupee wasn't under the pillow. You killed him in cold blood because you saw your mother's killer.”

“No. You are wrong. Don't you think if I was going to make up a story I could come up with something better than a toupee? There was a kitchenette, knives in the drawer. Why would I plant—”

“Hold it, hold it, hold it,” Judge Keyes barked. “Now, we've gone off the tracks here. Ms. Chandler, you started making statements instead of asking questions and, Detective Bosch, you did the same thing instead of answering. Let's start over.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Chandler said. “Isn't it true, Detective Bosch, that the whole thing—this pinning all the murders on Norman Church—was an elaborate cover-up that is now unraveling with the discovery of the woman in the concrete this week?”

“No, it is not true. Nothing is unraveling. Church was a killer and he deserved what he got.”

Bosch mentally flinched and closed his eyes as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She had done it. He opened his eyes and