Free Angle of Investigation by Michael Connelly Page B

job—was sort of like finding my mother. I can’t explain it. But what I can tell you is that I remember being in that house like it was yesterday. And Eckersly never touched a thing in there, let alone put his hand on the wall over the toilet.”
    Now she was silent for a long moment before responding.
    “Okay, Harry.”
    Ten Thousand Palms was on the outskirts of Joshua Tree. They made good time and pulled into the visitor parking space in front of the tiny police station shortly before one. They had worked out how they would handle Eckersly in the last half hour of the drive.
    They went in and I rwent inasked a woman who was sitting behind a front counter if they could speak with Eckersly. They flashed the gold and told her they were from the Open-Unsolved Unit. The woman picked up a phone and communicated the information to someone on the other end. Before she hung up, a door behind her opened and there stood Ron Eckersly. He was thicker and his skin a dark and worn brown from the desert. He still had a full head of hair, which was cut short and silver. Bosch had no trouble recognizing him. But it didn’t appear that he recognized Bosch.
    “Detectives, come on back,” he said.
    He held the door and they walked into his office. He was wearing a blue blazer with a maroon tie over a white shirt. It did not appear to Bosch that he had a gun on his belt. Maybe in a little desert town a gun wasn’t needed.
    The office was a small space with LAPD memorabilia and photographs on the wall behind the desk. Rider introduced herself and shook Eckersly’s hand and then Bosch did the same. There was a hesitation in Eckersly’s shake and then Bosch knew. Instinctively, he knew. He was holding the hand of June Wilkins’s killer.
    “Harry Bosch,” Eckersly said. “You were one of my boots, right?”
    “That’s right. I came on the job in ’seventy-two. We rode Wilshire patrol for nine months.”
    “Imagine that, one of my boots coming back to see me.”
    “Actually, we want to talk to you about a case from ’seventy-two,” Rider said.
    As planned, she took the lead. They took seats and Bosch once again tried to determine if Eckersly was armed. There was no telltale bulge beneath the blazer.
    Rider explained the case to Eckersly and reminded him that he and Bosch had been the patrol officers who discovered the body. She asked if he remembered the case at all.
    Eckersly leaned back in his desk chair, his jacket falling to his sides and revealing no holster or weapon on his belt. He looked for an answer on the ceiling. Finding nothing, he leaned forward and shook his head.
    “I’m drawing a blank, Detectives,” he said. “And I’m not sure why you would come all the way out here to ask an old patrol dog about a DB. My guess is we were in and out, and we cleared the way for the dicks. Isn’t that right, partner?”
    He looked at Bosch, his last word a reminder that they had once protected each other’s back.
    “Yes, we were in and out.”
    “But we have information—newly discovered information—that you apparently had a relationship with the victim,” Rider said matter-of-factly. “And that this relationship was not brought to light during the initial investigation.”
    Eckersly looked closely at her, wondering how to read the situation. Bosch knew this wase wnew thi the pivotal moment. If Eckersly were to make a mistake, it would be now.
    “What information?” Eckersly asked.
    “We’re not at liberty to discuss it, Chief,” Rider responded. “But if you have something to tell us, tell us now. It would be best for you to clear this up before we go down the road with it.”
    Eckersly’s face cracked into a smile and he looked at Bosch.
    “This is a joke, right? Bosch, you’re putting her up to this, right?”
    Bosch shook his head.
    “No joke,” Bosch said. “You’re in a spot here, Chief.”
    Eckersly shook his head as if not comprehending the situation.
    “You said Open-Unsolved, right? That’s