“Not really, no.”
“Say your company is owed a hundred dollars but it’s not going to come in for a couple months. A factor loan would give you the hundred so you can keep the business rolling, but it’s not secured by property or equipment, because none of that stuff is owned by the company. It’s all rented. The only value the company has for securing a loan is what it’s owed — accounts receivable.”
“Okay, I got it.”
“So that’s what Albert Lee did. Only these are high-interest loans — it gets right up to the edge of loan-sharking but doesn’t cross the line. It’s legal and that’s the road Albert went down. He took out three different loans totaling a hundred thousand, got upside down, and couldn’t pay them because his lawsuits were delayed and delayed. So, soon his loan guy takes over the business. He leaves Albert in charge and running the place, he pays him a salary, and — and this is the thing — he makes him take out a key person insurance policy in case something happens to him.”
“Oh, shit. How much?”
“A million.”
“So Albert gets whacked and the loan guy gets paid.”
“Exactly.”
“But you couldn’t make a case.”
“Couldn’t get it there.”
Bosch gestured to the stack of documents on the table.
“Like this one. I have a pretty good idea who did it, but I can’t get it there. But unlike this family, Albert went down the road with his killer. For some people, the wolf breaks into the house. With people like Albert, they invite the wolf in.”
“So no sympathy for the guy who invites the wolf in. How does that fit with ‘everybody counts or nobody counts’？”
“The guy who opens the door still counts. But the innocents come first. When I get all of those solved, we can talk about the next wave. Everybody still counts. There are only so many hours in the day and days in the year.”
“And this is why a guy who kills an entire family is on the top of your pile.”
“You got it.”
Ballard nodded as she digested Bosch’s view of what it took to either get hooked by a case or be able to put it at the end of the line.
“So,” she finally said. “On the Albert Lee case, who was the factor?”
“It was a doctor,” Bosch said. “A dentist, actually. His name was John William James. His offices were down in the Marina and I guess he made so much money capping teeth that he started factoring.”
“You said ‘was.’ His name ‘was’ John William James.”
“Yeah, that’s going to be a problem with your case. John William James is dead. A couple years after Albert Lee got murdered, James got himself whacked as well. He was sitting in his Mercedes in the parking lot outside his office when somebody put a twenty-two in his head too.”
“Shit.”
“There goes your lead, huh?”
“Maybe. But I’d still like to see if you can find the chrono on the case, and whatever else you’ve got.”
“Sure. It’s either in the carport closet or under the house.”
“Under?”
“Yeah, I built a storage room under there after I retired. It’s pretty nice. I even have a bench for when I go down and look through cases.”
“Which I’m sure you do often.”
Bosch didn’t respond, which she took as confirmation.
“By the way,” Ballard said. “How are you doing with everything … from the radiation case?”
She hesitated saying the word leukemia.
“I’m still kicking, obviously,” Bosch said. “I take my pills and that seems to keep it in check. It could come back but for now I’ve got no complaints.”
“Good to hear,” Ballard said. “So do you mind looking for that chrono now?”
“Sure, I’ll be right back. It might take me a few. You want me to put the music back on?”
“That’s okay, but I was going to ask, what was that you were playing when I pulled up? It had a groove.”
“ ‘Compared to What.’ Some people say it was the first jazz protest song: ‘Nobody gives us rhyme or reason. Have one doubt, they call it treason.’ ”
“Okay, put it back on. Who is it?”
Bosch got up and went to the stereo to hit the play button. Then he adjusted the volume down.
“Originally Eddie Harris and Les McCann, but this version is John Legend and The Roots.”