Suicide Run: Three Harry Bosch Stories by Michael Connelly Page B

his first accounting. This was unusual. True stories evolve as details are remembered and others are forgotten. A false story, one that has been rehearsed in the mind, usually remains constant. Bosch knew all of this and felt his suspicion of Blitzstein was moving onto more solid ground.
    “So how soon were you to the car after the shot?”
    “I don’t know because I didn’t hear it. But I don’t think it was too long. I had heard her pull in. I waited and when she didn’t come into the house, I went out to see what was wrong.”
    “So if somebody said they thought you were already at the car when the shot was fired, would they be wrong?”
    “What? Right at the—no way, I wasn’t right there when the shot was fired. I didn’t even see who did it. What are you trying to say?”
    Bosch shook his head.
    “I’m not trying to say anything. I’m trying to get as clear a picture of what happened as I can. As you can imagine, we get conflicting views. People say different things. I had a partner once who said if you put twenty people in a room and a naked man ran through it, you’d get twelve people who would say he was white, seven who would say he was black and at least one who would claim it was a woman.”
    Blitzstein didn’t even smile.
    “Tell you what,” Bosch said. “Why don’t you tell me your theory of what happened out there?”
    Blitzstein didn’t even have to think about it.
    “Simple. She was followed home. She won a lot of money and somebody from that casino followed her home and killed her for it.”
    Bosch nodded like it all fit.
    “How do you know that she won a lot of money?”
    “Because she told me when she called me from the cage to tell me she was coming home.”
    “What cage?”
    “The cash cage. She was cashing in her chips and they let her use the phone because she’s a regular. She forgot her cell phone last night. She called me and said she was driving home.”
    “Was she scared carrying all of that cash?”
    “Not really. She won more often than she lost and knew to take precautions.”
    “Did she carry a weapon?”
    “No. Actually—I think she had like a little can of mace in her purse.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “We found that. But that’s it, just the pepper spray?”
    “Far as I know.”
    “Okay, then what about you? Did you play down there? Did you ever go with her?”
    “I used to. But not in about a year.”
    “How come?”
    “I’m sort of banned from that casino. There was a misunderstanding last year.”
    Bosch drank some more coffee and wondered if he should pursue this or if it was a misdirection Blitzstein was hoping he would pursue. He decided to proceed with caution.
    “What was the misunderstanding?”
    “It’s got nothing to do with this.”
    “If it has to do with that card room in Commerce, then it does have something to do with this. If you want to help me find your wife’s killer, then you have to answer my questions and let me decide what matters and what is important. What was the misunderstanding?”
    “All right, I’ll tell you if you have to know. They accused me of cheating and there’s nothing I could do to defend myself. I wasn’t cheating and it’s their interpretation against my word. End of story. They kicked me out and won’t let me back in. Banned for life.”
    “But they didn’t have a problem with your wife still coming?”
    Blitzstein shook his head angrily.
    “Of course not. She’s a draw, man. She brings business in over there. When she’s playing, you get all these guys coming out of the woodwork to play against the girl from the world series and the ESPN commercials. They all want to kick her ass. It’s a guy thing. It’s like marking their turf, coming in her face. It’s the same with all the women on the tour.”
    Bosch was silent for a moment. This was no misdirection by Blitzstein. Bosch was beginning to see at least part of the motivation for murder. Blitzstein knew that if the murder of his wife—a