The Burning Room

9



Bosch stayed late at the office, rereading the reports and summaries in the murder book and writing down any new observations or questions that came to him. His daughter was always busy on Wednesday nights with the Police Explorer unit she had joined at Hollywood Station. It was a group open to high school kids who were considering careers in law enforcement. They got a firsthand look at police work and often took part in ride-alongs and other operations. It was usually a full evening of activities, so there was no reason for him to go home, even though the day had started before dawn with the phone call from Captain Crowder.

The football field–size squad room had cleared out for the day and Bosch enjoyed the complete silence of the space and the darkness beyond the windows. He intermittently got up from his cubicle and walked the length of the room, wandering among the other cubicles and looking at the way other detectives set up and decorated their desks. He noticed that in several of the pods the detectives had gotten rid of the Department-issued, government-grade desk chairs and replaced them with high-end models with adjustable arms and lumbar-support systems. Of course, this being the LAPD, the owners of these chairs had secured them to their desks with bicycle locks when they left for the day.

Bosch thought it was all pretty sad. Not because personal property wasn’t safe in the Police Administration Building, but because the Department was more and more becoming a deskbound institution. Keyboards and cell phones were the main tools of the modern investigator. Detectives sat in twelve-hundred-dollar chairs and wore sleek designer shoes with tassels. Gone were the days of thick rubber soles and function over form, when a detective’s motto was “Get off your ass and go knock on doors.” Bosch’s tour of the squad room left him feeling melancholy, like maybe it was the right time for him to be winding down his career.

He worked till eight and then packed everything into his briefcase, left the building, and walked down Main Street to the Nickel Diner. He sat at a table by himself and ordered the flat iron steak and a bottle of Newcastle. He was just getting used to eating alone again. His relationship with Hannah Stone had ended earlier in the year and that meant a lot of evenings by himself. He was about to pull some of his work materials out of his briefcase but then decided to give the work a rest while he ate. He passed the time talking with Monica, the owner, and she topped off his meal with a maple-glazed-bacon doughnut on the house. It put a new charge in his bloodstream and he decided it was too early to go home to his empty house.

On the way back to the PAB he stopped by the Blue Whale to see who was playing and who was coming later in the month, and he was pleasantly surprised to see Grace Kelly on the stage with a four-piece band. Grace was a young saxophonist with a powerful sound. She also sang. Bosch had some of her music on his phone and at times thought she was channeling the late, great Frank Morgan, one of his favorite sax men. But he had never seen her perform live, so he paid the cover, ordered another beer, and sat at the back of the room, his briefcase on the floor between his feet.

He enjoyed the set, particularly the interplay between Grace and her rhythm section. But she closed with a solo and it stabbed deeply into Bosch’s heart. The song was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and she produced a sound from the horn that no human voice could ever touch. It was plaintive and sad but it came with an undeniable wave of underlying hope. It made Bosch think that there was still a chance for him, that he could still find whatever it was he was looking for, no matter how short his time was.

Bosch left after the first set to go back to the PAB. Along the two-block walk he texted his daughter to see if she was still out with the Explorers. She texted back right away saying she was already at home and about to go to sleep, tired from the day of school followed by the Explorers gig. Bosch checked his watch and realized time had moved swiftly. It was almost eleven. He then called Maddie to say good night and tell her he would work late since she was already going to bed.

“You’ll be all right if I don’t get home until later?”

“Of course, Dad. Are you working?”

“Yeah, I’m heading back to the PAB from eating. Just need to go over some stuff.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re drinking.”

“I had a beer at dinner. I’m fine. I’ll only be a couple more hours.”

“Be safe.”

“I will. What did they have you kids doing tonight?”

“We were at a DUI roadblock. Mostly just observing. There was one guy. He wasn’t drunk but he was completely naked. It was gross.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to Hollyweird Division. I hope you’re not scarred for life by that.”

“I’ll get over it. They wrapped him in a blanket and booked him.”

“Good. Now go to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning before school.”

Bosch disconnected and wondered once again if his daughter really wanted to be a cop or if she was going through the motions to please him in some way. He thought maybe he should talk to Dr. Hinojos about it. Maddie spent an hour with her every month, seeing the police psychologist in an unofficial capacity. Hinojos did it as a favor, having volunteered her time since Maddie had come to live with Bosch following her mother’s death.

When he got back to the squad room, it was still deserted, but his eyes immediately stopped at his partner’s desk. Soto’s handbag was sitting on her chair. She usually dropped it there in the morning when she came in and went to get coffee. She’d take out just the money she needed and leave the purse on her chair. But it was now 11 p.m. and there was the purse. He wondered at first if she had forgotten it when she left earlier but that seemed impossible because she kept her keys and, when off duty, her weapon in the large leather bag.

He did a 360 and scanned the squad room. There was no sign of her. But now he thought he had picked up the slight whiff of coffee. Soto was there. Somewhere.

He pulled his phone and shot her a text asking where she was. Her answer made him even more confused.

Home. About to hit the hay. Why?



Now Bosch didn’t know what to do. He texted back.

Nothing. Just wondering.



When he sent the second text, he thought he heard a slight bell tone from somewhere close by. Bosch always kept his text notification on vibration alert, since most of his messages came from his daughter and he didn’t want a dinging text to interrupt something at work. But Soto was different. She had hers set to an audible tone, and Bosch was sure he had just heard it. He typed out another text.

See you tomorrow.