AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Not knowing how long it would take the KWPD to react, Ballard next called the Pier House and talked to the man in charge of the hotel’s security. She explained the situation and asked him to go to Bosch’s room for a welfare check. He in turn explained that their policy did not allow them to force entry into a possibly occupied guest room without the police being present.
“Well, they’re on their way,” Ballard said.
She disconnected and felt useless waiting on word from people three thousand miles away. She opened a search window on her phone and tried to figure out how fast she could get to Key West. Fifteen minutes later, she had just reserved a rental car to go with the red-eye flight to Miami that she had booked when a call came in with a 786 area code.
“It’s Bob Burke, KWPD.”
“Did you check his room?”
“We did, but it was empty. Bosch is not there and there’s no indication of anything amiss. Two shirts on hangers in the closet, a toothbrush, a duffel bag. His wallet is in a drawer next to the bed. One of my guys asked around, and the bartender in the Chart Room said Bosch was in there earlier and had an expensive shot of bourbon. I don’t know if it helps, but the bartender said he was asking about an Irish guy named Davy Byrne. That ring any bells?”
Ballard hesitated. It sounded like Bosch might have located Finbar McShane, or at least the alias he was using.
“Uh, the name isn’t right,” she said. “But he was tracking a suspect in a cold case we’re working out here. The suspect’s Irish.”
“Well, maybe he found him,” Burke said. “But there’s nosign of foul play in his room. I’ll do some digging around here, check with our dayside people to see if they know anything about this.”
“Please do, and call me as soon as you know something. I’m flying out tonight and will be on the ground in Miami at dawn.”
“You got it. And, oh, I nearly forgot this. There was one other thing with the room. There was an envelope on the desk. It was sealed and addressed to someone named Renée. Does that mean—”
“Yes, that’s me. Why would he have a note there for me? I’m in L.A.”
“That I don’t know. Maybe he knew you’d be flying out.”
That suggestion gave Ballard pause. Was Bosch manipulating her from three thousand miles away?
“None of this is adding up,” she said. “Another thing is, why would he go out without his wallet? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It was in a drawer. Maybe he forgot it. Maybe he didn’t want to risk losing it.”
Neither possibility seemed plausible to Ballard. Her anxiety about Bosch was growing.
“Could you go back in and open the envelope addressed to me?” she asked.
“Uh, no, we’re not going to do that without being able to show cause,” Burke said. “Right now, we have no crime and no evidence of a crime. We can’t go beyond the welfare check we already conducted. I’m sure I don’t need to school you on the Fourth Amendment and unlawful search and seizure.”
“You don’t, Lieutenant. It’s just that—”
“I’ll get back to you if I learn anything from our dayside team. Okay, Detective?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Ballard disconnected and checked the time. Her red-eye was scheduled to take off in four hours. That left enough time for her to track down Sheila Walsh and find out what had sent Bosch to Key West.
52
BOSCH SAT IN the parking lot at Garrison Bight and watched the floating houses in darkness. The full moon above cast a line of undulating yellow reflection on the water, like a pathway to the house with the smiley-face pirate on the roof. He watched the lights inside the houses go out one by one. The house where Davy Byrne lived was the last to go dark.
Bosch watched and waited for another hour, the bourbon from hours earlier still backing up like fire in his throat. He contemplated his plan and the risks involved, knowing that one way or another, there would be justice before dawn for Stephen Gallagher, his wife, and his young son and daughter.
Finally, at 3 a.m., he got out of his car and walked toward the gangway leading down to the floating homes. He was wearing clothes as dark as the sky. His hands were gloved and he carried a screwdriver he had bought at the CVS across Front Street from the Pier House.
The gangway was slick with moisture caused by the night’s dropping temperature. He gripped the handrail and moved down it slowly and carefully, mindful that any misstep wouldset off a flare of pain in his knee. He was managing it at the moment with a fresh dose of painkillers.
Once he was on the concrete pier, he expected to be exposed by motion-sensitive lights on the houses, but no light flashed on. He suspected that the gentle movement of the floating homes would be a constant trigger and that had led to the banishment of such basic security measures.
When he got to the second house from the end, he crossed the gangway onto the foredeck without hesitation. He stopped there and waited and listened, attempting to determine if his arrival had been noticed.
