“So what are you doing up here?” he asked. “What does Irving want?”

“He wanted me to sit in his office and listen to your interview on the conference line. He said he was interested in my evaluation of your answers as to whether I believed you could have been responsible for the death of Lieutenant Pounds. Thanks to you and your attack on your interviewer, he didn’t need any evaluation from me. It’s clear at this point you are prone to and quite capable of violence against fellow police officers.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Damn it, what I did in here to that guy masquerading as a cop was a lot different than what they think I did. You’re talking about things that are worlds apart and if you don’t see that, you’re making your living in the wrong business.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Have you ever killed anyone, Doctor?”

Saying the question reminded him of his true confessions conversation with Jasmine.

“Of course not.”

“Well, I have. And believe me it’s a lot different than roughing up some pompous ass in a suit with a shine on its ass. A lot different. If you or they think that doing one means you can do the other, you all have a lot to learn.”

They were both quiet for a long while, letting their anger ebb away.

“All right,” he finally said. “So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. Chief Irving just asked me to sit in with you, to calm you. I guess he’s figuring out what to do next. I guess I’m not doing a very good job of calming you.”

“What did he say when he first asked you to come up here and listen?”

“He just called me and explained what happened and said he wanted my take on the interview. You have to understand something, despite your problems with authority, he is one person who I think is in your court on this. I don’t think he honestly believes you’re involved in the death of your lieutenant-at least directly. But he realizes that you are a viable suspect who needs to be questioned. I think if you had held your temper during the interview this all might’ve been over for you soon. They would’ve checked your story in Florida and that would have been the end of it. I even told them that you told me you were going to Florida.”

“I don’t want them checking my story. I don’t want them involved.”

“Well, it’s too late. He knows you’re up to something.”

“How?”

“When he called to ask me to come over he mentioned the file on your mother’s case. The murder book. He said it was found at your house. He also said they found the stored evidence from the case there…”

“And?”

“And he asked if I knew what you were doing with all of it.”

“So he did ask you to reveal what we’ve talked about in our sessions.”

“In an indirect way.”

“Sounds pretty direct to me. Did he say specifically that it was my mother’s case?”

“Yes, he did.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that I was not at liberty to discuss anything that was talked about in our sessions. It didn’t satisfy him.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Another wave of silence washed between them. Her eyes wandered the room. His stayed on hers.

“Listen, what do you know about what happened to Pounds?”

“Very little.”

“ Irving must have told you something. You must’ve asked.”

“He said Pounds was found in the trunk of his car Sunday evening. I guess he had been there a while. A day maybe. The chief said he…the body showed signs of torture. Particularly sadistic mutilation, he said. He didn’t go into detail. It had happened before Pounds was dead. They do know that. He said that he’d been in a lot of pain. He wanted to know if you were the type of man who could’ve done that.”

Bosch said nothing. He was imagining the crime scene in his mind. His guilt came crushing back down on him and for a moment he thought he might even get nauseous.

“For what it’s worth, I said no.”

“What?”

“I told him you weren’t the type of man who could’ve done that.”

Bosch nodded. But his thoughts were already a great distance away again. What had happened to Pounds was becoming clear and Bosch carried the guilt of having set things in motion. Though legally innocent, he knew he was morally culpable. Pounds was a man he despised, had less respect for than some of the murderers he had known. But the weight of the guilt was bearing down on him. He ran his hands hard over his face and through his hair. He felt a shudder move through his body.

“Are you all right?” Hinojos asked.

“I’m fine.”

Bosch took out his cigarettes and started to light one with his Bic.

“Harry, you better not. This isn’t my office.”

“I don’t care. Where was he found?”

“What?”

“Pounds! Where was he found?”

“I don’t know. You mean where was the car? I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

She studied him and he noticed the hand that held his cigarette was shaking.

“All right, Harry, that’s it. What’s the matter? What is going on?”

Bosch looked at her for a long moment and nodded.

“Okay, you want to know? I did it. I killed him.”

Her face immediately reacted as if perhaps she had seen the killing firsthand, so close that she had been spattered with blood. It was a horrible face. Repulsed. And she moved back in her chair as if even a few more inches of separation from him were needed.

“You…you mean this story about Florida was-”

“No. I don’t mean I killed him. Not with my hands. I mean what I’ve done, what I’ve been doing. It got him killed. I got him killed.”

“How do you know? You can’t know for sure that-”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

He looked away from her to a painting on the wall over the banquette. It was a generic depiction of a beach scene. He looked back at Hinojos.

“It’s funny…,” he said but didn’t finish. He just shook his head.

“What is?”

He got up and reached to the potted palm and stubbed the cigarette out in the dark soil.

“What is funny, Harry?”

He sat back down and looked at her.

“The civilized people in the world, the ones who hide behind culture and art and politics…and even the law, they’re the ones to watch out for. They’ve got that perfect disguise goin’ for them, you know? But they’re the most vicious. They’re the most dangerous people on earth.”

Chapter Thirty-four

IT SEEMED TO BOSCH that the day would never end, that he would never get out of the conference room. After Hinojos left, it was Irving ’s turn. He came in silently, took the Brockman seat and folded his hands on the table and said nothing. He looked irritated. Bosch thought maybe he smelled the smoke. Bosch didn’t care about that but he found the silence discomforting.

“What about Brockman?”

“He’s gone. You heard me tell him, he blew it. So did you.”

“How’s that?”

“You could’ve talked your way out of it. Could’ve let him check your story and be done with it. But you had to make another enemy. You had to be Harry Bosch.”

“That’s where you and I differ, Chief. You oughta get out of the office and come out on the street again sometime. I didn’t make Brockman an enemy. He was my enemy before I even met him. They all are. And, you know, I’m really getting tired of everybody analyzing me and sticking their noses up my ass. It’s getting real old.”

“Somebody’s got to do it. You don’t.”

“You don’t know a thing about it.”

Irving waved Bosch’s pale defense away like cigarette smoke.

“So what now?” Bosch continued. “Why are you here? You going to try to break my alibi now? Is that it? Brockman’s out and you’re in?”

“I don’t need to break your alibi. It’s been checked and it looks like it holds. Brockman and his people have already been instructed to follow other avenues of investigation.”

“What do you mean, it’s been checked?”