The Drop by Michael Connelly Page B

smiled.
    “She’s home sick from school today and I barely got the chance to check in on her. It’s been a busy day.”
    “It’s just you and her?”
    “Yes. Her mother—my ex—died a couple years ago. I went from living alone to trying to raise a thirteen-year-old. It’s been . . . interesting.”
    “I bet.”
    He smiled.
    “The truth is, I’ve loved every minute of it. It’s changed my life for the better. I just don’t know if she’s better off.”
    “But there’s no other choice, is there?”
    “No, that’s the thing. She’s stuck with me.”
    “I’m sure she’s happy, even if she doesn’t express it. It’s hard to read teenage girls.”
    “Yeah.”
    He checked his watch. He felt guilty now that he had put himself first. He wouldn’t get home till at least eight thirty with the soup. The waiter came and asked for their drink order and Bosch told him that they needed to order everything to save time. Stone ordered half a turkey sandwich. Bosch ordered a whole turkey sandwich and the soup to go.
    “What about you?” he asked when they were left alone.
    Stone told him she had been divorced for over ten years and had had only one serious relationship in the time since. She had a grown son who lived up in the San Francisco area and she rarely saw him. She was pretty much dedicated to her job at the Buena Vista, where she had worked for four years after a midlife change in direction. She went from being a therapist who specialized in treating narcissistic professionals to retooling for a year in school before treating sex offenders.
    Bosch got the idea that her decision to change her professional life and work with the most hated members of society was some sort of penance but he didn’t know her well enough to go further with his suspicion. It was a mystery he would have to wait to solve, if he got the chance.
    “Thank you for what you said back in the parking lot,” she said. “Most cops, they just think these people should be taken out and shot.”
    “Well . . . not without a trial.”
    He smiled but she didn’t see the humor in it.
    “Every one of these men is a mystery. I’m a detective like you. I try to find out what happened to them. People aren’t natural-born predators. Please don’t tell me you believe that.”
    Bosch hesitated.
    “I don’t know. I sort of come in after the fact to clean things up. All I know is that there is evil out there in the world. I’ve seen it. I’m just not sure where it comes from.”
    “Well, my job is to find that out. Find out what happened to these people that put them on this path. If I can find it out, I can help them. If I help them, then I am helping the cause of society. Most police don’t get that. But you, what you said tonight, I think maybe you do.”
    Bosch nodded but felt guilty about what he was hiding from her. She read it right away.
    “What aren’t you telling me?”
    He shook his head, embarrassed at the easy read.
    “Listen, I want to level with you about today.”
    Her stare turned hard. It was as though she realized the dinner invitation had been some sort of a setup.
    “Wait, it’s not what you’re thinking. I didn’t lie to you today but I didn’t tell you the whole story about Pell. You know the case I’m working? With Pell’s DNA on the victim? It’s twenty-two years old.”
    The suspicion on her face was quickly replaced with bewilderment.
    “I know,” he said. “Doesn’t make sense. But it is what it is. His blood was found on a girl murdered twenty-two years ago.”
    “That would’ve made him eight years old. That’s impossible.”
    “I know. We’re looking at a possible screwup in the pipeline—the lab work. I’m checking that out tomorrow but I also had to get a look at Pell because until I learned from you he was a homosexual predator, he made the perfect suspect—if he had access to a time machine or something.”
    The waiter came with their food and the soup in a container in a bag. Bosch