The Burning Room

4



There was a large media room used for press conferences on the second floor down the hall from media relations. Bosch and Soto were being held in a small staging room next door, where a lieutenant from media relations named DeSimone told them how the press conference would be choreographed. The plan was for Chief Malins to speak first and then introduce Orlando Merced’s family. The microphone would then be turned over to Bosch and Soto. Since most reporters in attendance would be representing Spanish-language media, Soto would be made available for interviews in Spanish after the main press conference. Bosch cut DeSimone off in mid-explanation to ask him what exactly was being announced at the press conference.

“We’re going to talk about the case and how Mr. Merced’s death yesterday has rebooted the investigation,” DeSimone said.

Bosch hated words like rebooted.

“Well, that takes about five seconds,” he responded. “Do we really need a press confer—”

“Detective,” DeSimone cut in, “by ten o’clock this morning my office had already received eighteen requests for a briefing on this case. Call it a slow news day if you want, but this has caught the media beast’s attention. It’s reached a point that we believe a press conference is the best way to go. You summarize the case, tell them the results of the autopsy—they already know it’s been ruled a homicide—and go from there. You say the bullet that has been in the victim’s body for ten years is now being compared to thousands of others in the national data banks. Then you answer a few questions. Fifteen minutes in and out and you’re back on the case.”

“I don’t like press conferences,” Bosch said. “You ask me, they never add anything. They only complicate things.”

DeSimone looked at him and smiled.

“Guess what? I’m not asking you. I’m telling you, we’re doing a press conference.”

Bosch glanced at Soto. He hoped she was learning something.

“So when do we do this?”

“The media’s already in the room and waiting. We go in with the chief. So as soon as he comes down, we go.”

Bosch felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He stepped away from DeSimone and answered the call. It was Gun Chung.

“Make my day, Gun,” he said. “Please.”

“Sorry, Harry, no can do. There’s no match on BulletTrax.”

Bosch caught Soto’s eye again and shook his head.

“You there, Harry?”

“Yeah, Gun, I’m here. Anything else?”

“Yes, I think I’ve identified your weapon.”

That eased some of Bosch’s disappointment.

“What’ve you got?” he asked.

“Six grooves, right twist at twelve-one—I think what you have here is a Kimber Model 84. It was called the Montana in the catalog—a hunting rifle.”

The grooves and twist were aspects of the interior rifling of the gun barrel. They allowed Chung to identify the model if not match the bullet to a unique weapon. It was better than nothing and Bosch was pleased that new information had come from the autopsy.

“Does it help?” Chung asked.

“Every piece of information helps,” Bosch said. “Is it an expensive gun?”

“Not cheap. But you can get them used.”

Bosch nodded.

“Thanks, Gun.”

“Anytime. You want to pick this up or want me to hold it here?”

“I need to pick it up and take it to property.”

“You got it. And remember, Harry, you get me a shell casing and we’ve got a whole different story. There are more casings in the database than slugs. You get me a casing and then we might be in business.”

Bosch knew that wasn’t going to happen. It was not like you could find a shell casing from a shooting ten years old.

“Okay, Gun, thanks.”

Bosch put the phone away and walked back to DeSimone.

“That was the bullet lab,” he said. “The slug we took out of Merced has no match on the computer. We’re back to square one. Cancel the press conference—there’s nothing to say.”

DeSimone shook his head.

“No, we don’t cancel. You just don’t mention the bullet. Make it a request for public help on the case. There was a tremendous outpouring of support ten years ago and you need it again now. You can do this, Bosch. Besides, you don’t want to announce the bullet is a dead end. You want the shooter to think you might have something.”

Bosch didn’t like the Department’s media guy telling him his own business—it was the reason he had not mentioned that Gun Chung had tentatively identified the model of the rifle that had been used in the shooting. He thought about simply turning and walking away rather than staying for the charade of the press conference. But that would leave Soto alone and forced into something she probably didn’t understand. It would probably also result in Bosch’s being pulled off the case.

Just then DeSimone’s radio squawked and he was told the chief was on the elevator coming down.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

They stepped into the hallway and waited for the elevator to arrive from ten. When the doors opened, the chief stepped out, followed by a man Bosch immediately recognized as Armando Zeyas, the former mayor who had championed Orlando Merced’s cause ten years before. The chief had brought him back in for the press conference. Or perhaps Zeyas had pushed his way back in. It was said that he was readying a run for governor now. Using Merced’s case had helped him politically once before. Why not again?

For Bosch such cynical thoughts came easily. He had been around the block a few times. But he noticed Soto’s eyes light up when she saw Zeyas. He was a true hero in the Latin community. He was a trailblazer.

Zeyas and the chief were followed by a man Bosch also recognized. He was Connor Spivak, chief political strategist for the former mayor. It looked like he was along for the ride with Zeyas in the not-so-secret plan to win the governor’s mansion in the next election.

DeSimone stepped up to the chief and whispered in his ear. Malins nodded once and came over to Bosch. They had known each other for decades. Roughly the same age, they had taken a similar trajectory through the Department: patrol, Hollywood Station detectives, Robbery-Homicide Division. While Bosch had found his home at RHD, Malins had ambitions beyond solving murders. He went into administration and quickly moved up the ranks of the command staff, finally being appointed to the top slot by the Police Commission. He was nearing the end of his first five-year term and would soon come up for reappointment. It was believed that a second term was a foregone conclusion.

“Harry Bosch,” he said cordially. “I hear you are having trouble with the notion of a press conference.”

Bosch nodded, a bit embarrassed. The space was tight and the others could hear the conversation. Still, he didn’t back down from his apprehension about discussing the case in front of the media.

“The one lead we had—the bullet slug—isn’t panning out, Chief,” he said. “I don’t know what there is to say.”

Malins nodded but disagreed with Bosch’s assessment.

“There’s plenty to say. We need to reassure the people of this city that Orlando Merced will not be forgotten. That we are still looking for whoever did this and that we will find them. That message is more important than anything else, including a piece of lead.”

Bosch held back on what he really thought.

“If you say so,” he said.

The chief nodded.

“I do. Everybody counts or nobody counts—isn’t that what you told me once?”

Bosch nodded.

“I like that!” Zeyas said. “Everybody counts or nobody counts. That’s good.”

Bosch couldn’t hide his look of horror. In Zeyas’s mouth it sounded like a campaign slogan.

The chief looked past Bosch at Soto, who was standing her usual two steps behind. He reached around Bosch to offer his hand.

“Detective Soto, how are they treating you at Robbery-Homicide?”

Soto shook the chief’s hand.

“Very well, sir. I’m learning from the best.”

She nodded toward Bosch. The chief smiled. She had given him an opening.

“This guy?” he said. “He’s a silverback, Soto. Learn all you can from him while he’s still here.”

“Yes, sir,” Soto said eagerly. “I’m learning every day.”

She beamed. The chief beamed. Everybody was happy. And Bosch realized that it had been the chief’s plan to put him with Soto. Crowder had only been following orders.

“Okay,” DeSimone said. “Let’s go. The Merced family is already in the conference room, sitting in the first row. Chief Malins will take the podium first and introduce them. Then the former mayor will say a few words, and then Detective Bosch will discuss—”

“Why don’t we go with Detective Soto,” the chief said. “She knows everything Detective Bosch knows on the case, correct? Yes, let’s do that. You don’t mind, do you, Harry?”

The chief looked at Bosch. Harry shook his head.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “It’s your show.”

The group moved down the hallway. One of DeSimone’s underlings was standing outside the open door to the media room. He stepped inside to give the get-ready signal to those waiting. Lights, cameras, and recorders were switched on.

Soto came up close to Bosch and whispered.

“Harry, I’ve never done this. What do I say?”

“You heard DeSimone. Just keep it short, say we’re reviewing the case and could use the help of the community. Anybody who remembers something or knows something about the case, call the tip line or call Open-Unsolved directly. Don’t mention the rifle. We want to keep that for ourselves.”

“Okay.”

“Just remember, keep it short. The politicians will talk long. Don’t be like them.”

“Got it.”

The group moved into the room. There was a stage with a podium at its center, and three rows of tables for reporters were arranged in front of it. Behind the tables was another stage, where video cameras were set up to shoot over the heads of the reporters. Bosch and Soto followed the chief and the former mayor onto the stage and stood at the back. Bosch glanced at the first row in front of the reporters. There were four people, three women and a man, but Bosch didn’t know how they were related to Orlando Merced. He was so new to the case that he had not met any family members yet. That was another thing that bothered him about the whole setup.

“Thank you for being here,” DeSimone said into the podium’s microphone. “I will now introduce the chief of police, Gregory Malins, and he will speak, followed by former mayor Armando Zeyas, and then Detective Lucia Soto. Chief?”

The chief took the position in front of the microphone and spoke without the use of notes. He was fully accustomed to being in front of reporters and cameras.

“Ten years ago Orlando Merced was hit by a stray bullet in Mariachi Plaza. Mr. Merced was paralyzed by the injury and struggled mightily to recover and to lead a productive life. Yesterday morning he lost the fight, and we are here today to say he will not be forgotten. My department’s Open-Unsolved Unit has taken over the case as of today and will be vigorously pursuing the investigation until we determine who shot Orlando Merced. As you know, his death has been ruled a homicide, and we will not end this investigation until we arrest the person responsible on a charge of murder.”

He paused there for a moment, perhaps to let the print reporters feverishly taking notes catch up.

“With us here today are members of Orlando’s family. His father, Hector, and mother, Irma. His sister, Adelita, and his wife, Candelaria. We pledge to them that we will not forget about Orlando and that our investigation will be vigorous and complete. Now former mayor Armando Zeyas, a personal friend of Mr. Merced’s and his family, will say a few words.”

The chief stepped back and Zeyas took his place.

“It was through Orlando Merced that I learned the pain of crime and violence when it is visited on our community,” he began. “I also learned much more from this man, who became a friend. I learned perseverance. I learned compassion. I learned what it is to make do with the cards you are dealt. I saw firsthand the resilience of the human spirit. Orlando never asked, ‘Why me?’ He just asked, ‘What’s next?’ He was a hero to me because he took what life gave him and made the best of it. In many ways that was more beautiful than the music he once made with his instrument. I pledge to offer my help with this investigation in any way I can. I may no longer be mayor, but I love this community and its people. It is times like this that we pull ourselves together and truly become the City of Angels. It is times like this that we understand that in our city and in our society, everybody counts or nobody counts. Thank you.”

DeSimone returned to the mike and told the audience that the case was now in the hands of Bosch and Soto. He said Soto would provide the update and would be available to repeat it in Spanish. Lucy tentatively stepped to the mike and lowered it so it was at the level of her mouth.

“Uh, we are now pursuing all avenues of investigation and ask for the community’s help. Ten years ago, there was an outpouring of help from the public. Many people called and offered help and tips. We ask that anybody with information about this shooting please make contact with us. You can call anonymously to the Department’s tip line or call the Open-Unsolved Unit directly. Even if you have information that you think we already know, please call us.”

Soto turned and glanced back at Bosch as if to ask whether there was anything else to say. Zeyas took the moment to move back to the podium. He gently put one hand on Soto’s back and used the other to pull the microphone over to his mouth.

“I just want to say that ten years ago I stood before the media and personally pledged twenty-five thousand dollars to anyone who provided information that solved this crime. No one ever collected that reward and the pledge remains in place, except that now I double it to fifty thousand dollars. Additionally, I will work with my former colleagues on the city council and seek a matching amount from the city. Thank you.”

Bosch almost groaned out loud. Putting a financial bounty on the case would change the complexion of the calls that came in. The reward pretty much guaranteed that he and Soto would be sifting through dozens of worthless calls, people taking wild shots in the dark in hopes of getting some money in return. The former mayor’s reward offer just changed everything.

DeSimone moved up next to Soto and asked the reporters if there were any questions. Many of them called out at once and DeSimone had to handle choosing. The first reporter, a guy Bosch recognized from the Times, asked what the exact cause of death was and how Merced’s death ten years after the shooting could be classified as a homicide. Soto glanced back at Bosch, unsure how to answer. Bosch stepped up and pulled the microphone over.

“The autopsy was conducted just this morning, so nothing is yet officially recorded. But the Coroner’s Office believes that Mr. Merced’s death will be directly traced to the shooting that occurred ten years ago. The unofficial cause of death is blood poisoning, which is directly linked to the wounds Mr. Merced suffered in the shooting. We are therefore handling the investigation as a homicide.”

In a quick follow-up, the reporter asked if the bullet had been recovered from the body and whether it would be useful in the investigation. Bosch kept the microphone. He was aware that the reporter was speaking clinically about the body of a man much loved by the four people in the room’s front row.

“Yes, the bullet was recovered and taken to the Regional Crime Lab for analysis and matching. We believe the bullet will be very useful in our investigation.”

“Has any match been made to the bullet?” another reporter called out.

DeSimone quickly moved in on the podium from the other side of Soto and pulled the microphone away from Bosch.

“We’re not going to get into that right now,” he said. “The investigation is active and ongoing and we are going to leave it at that for now.”

“Why is a very inexperienced investigator assigned to the case?” the Times guy called out.

There was a pause, as it was unclear who should answer or if anyone should answer at all, since DeSimone had just closed the press conference. DeSimone finally started to speak.

“As I said, we’re going to leave it—”

The chief moved up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. DeSimone stepped back and the chief took over.

“Detective Soto may be short on chronological experience but she is long on street experience and knowing what it means to be a police officer in this city. We have teamed her with one of the most experienced detectives currently serving in the Department. No one has investigated more homicides in this city than Detective Bosch. I have no worries about who is conducting this investigation. We will get the job done.”

The chief then stepped back and DeSimone once again said there would be no more questions. This time the edict stuck. Reporters started getting up and the cameramen started breaking down their equipment. Bosch stepped off the stage and went to the front row, where he shook hands and introduced himself to the four members of the Merced family. He quickly realized that they understood very little of what he was saying. He signaled Soto over and asked her to set up an appointment with them for as soon as it would be convenient. Bosch wanted to talk to them but not under the focus of the media.

Bosch stepped back and watched Soto go to work. DeSimone came up to him then and said the chief wanted to speak to him in his office. Bosch left the media room and walked down to the elevators, hoping to catch up with the chief and his entourage. He was too late. He took the next elevator up to the tenth floor and entered the OCP, where he was quickly ushered into the inner sanctum. Malins was behind his desk waiting. There was no sign of Zeyas or his front man.

“Sorry, Harry, for putting you out there. I know you never liked dog and pony shows.”

“It’s okay. I guess it had to be done.”

“We really need this one. Do your best.”

“Every time.”

“That’s why I told Crowder to call you.”

Bosch nodded, unsure if he was supposed to say thank you for being paired with a homicide rookie on a case fraught with political implications and the potential of failure.

“Anything else I should know, Chief?”

The chief looked away for a moment and studied his blotter. He picked up a business card and held it out to Harry across the desk. Bosch took it and read it. It had Connor Spivak’s name and number on it.

“That’s the mayor’s man. Keep them in the loop as your investigation progresses.”

“You mean the former mayor, don’t you?”

Malins gave him an I don’t have time for this look.

“Just keep them in the loop,” he said.

Bosch put the card in his shirt pocket. He knew he would tell Spivak as little as possible about the investigation. The chief probably knew this as well.

“So,” he said. “You think I’m an old gorilla…”

The chief smiled.

“Don’t take offense, Harry. It’s a compliment. The silverback is the one that knows the most in the troop. Has all the experience. I saw a show on National Geographic—that’s how I know that you call a group of gorillas a troop.”

Bosch nodded.

“Good to know.”