The Burning Room

Bosch’s daughter had a rare night at home. With Explorer meetings and activities and even a part-time volunteer job delivering dinners to shut-ins, she seemed to use the house only for sleeping these days. This bothered Bosch because he knew his time with her was short, but he also knew she was pursuing things she wanted. And all the activities counted as public service at her school and would help round out her application package for college. She had her eye on Cal State, Los Angeles, where there were top criminal justice and forensics programs. Bosch was pleased with her choice because it was still in the city. Besides that, the school was located on the same site as the lab, which would afford him the opportunity to see her at school on occasion during his last few months on the job.

They spent the evening preparing a swordfish steak dinner and talking about the Explorer assignment for the following Tuesday. Maddie and others in her Explorer unit were going to be used in an undercover sting operation in which they would be wired and sent into convenience stores in Hollywood to see if employees would allow them to purchase alcohol. Maddie was excited about it, and as undercover operations go it was relatively safe. But Bosch wanted to make sure she understood that in any operation, there was always a possibility of things going sideways. She couldn’t rely on the undercover officer who went into the store ahead of her or the patrol units waiting nearby. She had to keep her eyes open at all times.

“I will, Dad, I will,” she said.

In recent months she had perfected the dismissive, I-know-this-already tone when speaking with him on almost any subject.

“It doesn’t hurt to repeat it,” Bosch said. “You want me to be there?”

“No, that would be embarrassing!”

She said it as though he had suggested tagging along on a prom date.

“Okay, okay, just checking.”

They were on the back deck, where he was grilling the fish on a small gas grill. He flipped the steaks and changed the direction of the conversation.

“So I’m hoping to be back by Sunday afternoon,” he said. “Maybe we can have dinner again that night.”

He had already told her about the trip to Tulsa. She was used to his frequent work trips and was always fine by herself.

“Sunday I have M-O-W,” she said. “Sorry.”

Meals on Wheels. Her volunteer work for the organization had greatly cut into the time Bosch enjoyed most with her—sharing a meal and talking.

“Maybe I need to sign up for that. It might be the best way for me to see you at night.”

“Dad, you know I need to do this. I want to get into Cal State and get some scholarship money. This will all help.”

“I know, baby, I know. Here I am complaining and I’m the one going to Tulsa.”

He used a fork to push the steaks onto a plate. Dinner was ready.

“You have to go,” she said. “You don’t have many cases left.”

Bosch nodded. She was right about that.

On the way inside to the table, she told him she was thinking about getting a nose ring over the weekend so she could really look the part for the sting operation.

Bosch managed not to drop the plate.

“You mean you are going to put a hole through your nose where there isn’t supposed to be a hole?”

“Yeah, I think it will be kind of cool. I won’t have to keep it. Less permanent than a tattoo.”

The food smelled great but Bosch wasn’t sure he was hungry anymore.