after the first sip. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“My partner and I made a mistake back when we worked this in ’ninety-three. I don’t know if it contradicts what you just said about Waits staying beneath the radar but it looks like he called us back then. About three weeks into the case. He talked to my partner on the phone and he used an alias. At least we think it was an alias. With this Reynard the Fox thing you’ve brought up, maybe he used his real name. Anyway, we blew it. We never checked him out.”
“What do you mean?”
He slowly, reluctantly, told her in detail about the call from Olivas and his finding of Waits’s alias in the 51s. She cast her eyes down at the table and nodded as he told it. She worked the pen she was holding in a circle on the page of notes in front of her.
“And the rest is history,” he said. “He kept right on going . . . and killing people.”
“When did you find this out?” she asked.
“Right after I left you today.”
She nodded.
“Which explains why you were hitting the vodka so hard.”
“I guess so.”
“I thought . . . never mind what I thought.”
“No, it wasn’t because of seeing you, Rachel. Seeing you was—I mean, is—actually very nice.”
She took up her mug and drank from it, then looked down at her work and seemed to steel herself to move on.
“Well, I don’t see how his calling you back then changes my conclusions,” she said. “Yes, it does seem out of character for him to have made contact under any name. But you have to remember the Gesto case took place in the early stages of his formation. There are a number of aspects involving Gesto that don’t fit with the rest. So for it to be the only case where he made contact would not be all that unusual.”
“Okay.”
She referred to her notes again, continuing to avoid his eyes since he had told her of the mistake.
“So where was I before you brought that up?”
“You said that after the first two killings he chose victims he could pull beneath the surface without notice.”
“Exactly. What I’m saying is that he was getting his satisfaction in the work. He didn’t need anybody else to know he was doing it. He wasn’t getting off on the attention. He wanted no attention. His fulfillment was self-contained. It needed no outside or public component.”
“So then, what bothers you?”
She looked up at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. But you look like something about your own profile of the guy bothers you. Something you don’t believe.”
She nodded, acknowledging that he had read her correctly.
“It’s just that his profile doesn’t support someone who would cooperate at this stage of the game, who would tell you about the other crimes. What I see here is someone who would never admit to it. Any of it. He would deny it, or at the very least keep quiet about it, until they put the needle in his arm.”
“All right, so that’s a contradiction. Don’t all of these guys have contradictions? They’re all messed up in some way. No profile is ever a hundred percent, right?”
She nodded.
“That’s true. But it still doesn’t fit and so I guess what I am trying to say is that from his point of view, there is something else. A higher goal, if you will. A plan. This whole confession thing is indicative of manipulation.”
Bosch nodded like what she had said was obvious.
“Of course it is. He’s manipulating O’Shea and the system. He’s using this to avoid the needle.”
“Maybe so, but there may be other motives as well. Be careful.”
She said the last two words sternly, as if she were correcting a subordinate or even a child.
“Don’t worry, I will,” Bosch said.
He decided not to dwell on it.
“What do you think about the dismemberment?” he asked. “What’s it say?”
“I actually spent most of my time studying the autopsies. I have always believed that you learn the most about a killer from his victims. Cause of death
“My partner and I made a mistake back when we worked this in ’ninety-three. I don’t know if it contradicts what you just said about Waits staying beneath the radar but it looks like he called us back then. About three weeks into the case. He talked to my partner on the phone and he used an alias. At least we think it was an alias. With this Reynard the Fox thing you’ve brought up, maybe he used his real name. Anyway, we blew it. We never checked him out.”
“What do you mean?”
He slowly, reluctantly, told her in detail about the call from Olivas and his finding of Waits’s alias in the 51s. She cast her eyes down at the table and nodded as he told it. She worked the pen she was holding in a circle on the page of notes in front of her.
“And the rest is history,” he said. “He kept right on going . . . and killing people.”
“When did you find this out?” she asked.
“Right after I left you today.”
She nodded.
“Which explains why you were hitting the vodka so hard.”
“I guess so.”
“I thought . . . never mind what I thought.”
“No, it wasn’t because of seeing you, Rachel. Seeing you was—I mean, is—actually very nice.”
She took up her mug and drank from it, then looked down at her work and seemed to steel herself to move on.
“Well, I don’t see how his calling you back then changes my conclusions,” she said. “Yes, it does seem out of character for him to have made contact under any name. But you have to remember the Gesto case took place in the early stages of his formation. There are a number of aspects involving Gesto that don’t fit with the rest. So for it to be the only case where he made contact would not be all that unusual.”
“Okay.”
She referred to her notes again, continuing to avoid his eyes since he had told her of the mistake.
“So where was I before you brought that up?”
“You said that after the first two killings he chose victims he could pull beneath the surface without notice.”
“Exactly. What I’m saying is that he was getting his satisfaction in the work. He didn’t need anybody else to know he was doing it. He wasn’t getting off on the attention. He wanted no attention. His fulfillment was self-contained. It needed no outside or public component.”
“So then, what bothers you?”
She looked up at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. But you look like something about your own profile of the guy bothers you. Something you don’t believe.”
She nodded, acknowledging that he had read her correctly.
“It’s just that his profile doesn’t support someone who would cooperate at this stage of the game, who would tell you about the other crimes. What I see here is someone who would never admit to it. Any of it. He would deny it, or at the very least keep quiet about it, until they put the needle in his arm.”
“All right, so that’s a contradiction. Don’t all of these guys have contradictions? They’re all messed up in some way. No profile is ever a hundred percent, right?”
She nodded.
“That’s true. But it still doesn’t fit and so I guess what I am trying to say is that from his point of view, there is something else. A higher goal, if you will. A plan. This whole confession thing is indicative of manipulation.”
Bosch nodded like what she had said was obvious.
“Of course it is. He’s manipulating O’Shea and the system. He’s using this to avoid the needle.”
“Maybe so, but there may be other motives as well. Be careful.”
She said the last two words sternly, as if she were correcting a subordinate or even a child.
“Don’t worry, I will,” Bosch said.
He decided not to dwell on it.
“What do you think about the dismemberment?” he asked. “What’s it say?”
“I actually spent most of my time studying the autopsies. I have always believed that you learn the most about a killer from his victims. Cause of death
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