This is why we do this.
Bosch thought about what Kiz Rider had said to him earlier. It was all part of the mission and this case told that tale better than most.
38
It took the three teams of detectives assigned to the photographic and video evidence two hours to package all the materials from the second bedroom closet into evidence boxes. As if in a solemn funeral procession three unmarked cars then transported the boxes north to Los Angeles and the PAB. Bosch and Chu were in the last car, three boxes of still photos on the rear seat. There was little to talk about as they drove. They had a grim duty ahead of them and thoughts of preparing for it were all-consuming.
The media relations office had tipped the media to the arrival of the procession and as the detectives carried their boxes into the police headquarters, they were documented by photographers and videographers lined up outside the building’s entrance. This was not done simply to appease the media. Rather, it was part of what would be an ongoing effort to use the media to hammer home with the public—and the local jury pool—that Chilton Hardy was guilty of ghastly deeds. It was part of the subtle complicity that would always exist between the police and the media.
All three of the meeting rooms had been assigned to what was being known as the Hardy Task Force. Bosch and Chu took the smallest room because it did not have video equipment. They were going to sort through still photographs and didn’t need it.
Hardy had shown no apparent rhyme or reason in his cataloguing of the photos. Old and new, the photographs were tossed into several shoeboxes and placed on the shelves of the closet. There was no writing on the front or back of any of them. Several photos were taken of the same individuals but these might be spread across two or three different shoe boxes.
As Bosch and Chu began to go through them, they attempted to group the photos in a variety of ways. First and foremost they tried to put all photos of the same individual together. They then tried to estimate the age of the photos and organize them chronologically. Some of the photos had date stamps on them and these were helpful, though there was no way of knowing if the camera used had been set with the proper date.
In most of the photos the individual who was depicted alone or with Hardy or with a man’s body assumed to be Hardy’s was clearly alive in the photograph. He or she was either engaged in a sex act or in some cases smiling directly at the camera. In other cases the depiction was of a person looking in fear and sometimes pain at the camera.
Photos that had individual identifiers were placed in a priority category. These were victims who wore distinctive jewelry or had tattoos or facial moles. These markers would help the investigators seek identities later in the investigation.
Bosch could feel his insides being hollowed by the process. The eyes of the victims were the most difficult. So many of them looked at the camera with eyes showing that they knew they were not going to live. It tapped into a deep well of helpless rage in Bosch. For years Hardy had cut a bloody trail across the landscape and no one had seen it. Now they were left to make piles out of photographs.
At one point there was a knock on the door and Teddy Baker came in, holding a file.
“I thought you might want to see this,” she said. “They took it at MDC during booking.”
She opened the file and put an 8 × 10 photo down on the table. It depicted a man’s back. Spread from shoulder blade to shoulder blade was a depiction of a cemetery with black crosses across the landscape. Some of the crosses were old and faded, the ink having spread with the skin. Some of the crosses were sharply drawn and looked new. In a black script beneath the image were the words Bene Decessit.
Bosch had seen RIP tattoos before, but usually they were on gangbangers trying to keep track of the body counts of their own homies. This was new and yet not surprising. It also didn’t come as a surprise that Hardy had found a tattoo artist who apparently didn’t think the cemetery image was suspicious enough to contact authorities.
“That’s your boy,” Baker said.
“And did you count the crosses?” Bosch asked.
“Yeah. There’s thirty-seven of them.”
Bosch had not told her or the others that Hardy had said his number was thirty-seven. He had only told Kiz Rider that. He ran his finger below the words on Hardy’s back.
“Yeah,” Baker said. “We Googled it. It’s Latin. Means ‘died well.’ Like they all died well.”
Bosch nodded.
“Sweet,” Chu said. “The guy’s fucked up.”
“Can we put the photo in the package?” Bosch asked.
“It’s all yours.”
Bosch put the photo to the side of the table. He would include it in the charging package he would take to the DA.