The Harry Bosch Novels Vol I Part 85

"What can I do for you, darling?" she cooed.

He pushed her arm away from him.

"You can start by getting out of here."

"C'mon, lover, why look at it on TV when you can be doing it? Twenty bucks. I can't go lower. I have to split it with the management."

She was pressed against him now and Bosch couldn't tell if it was his breath or hers that was lousy with cigarettes. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were hard and she was pus.h.i.+ng them against his chest. Then suddenly she froze. She had felt the gun. Their eyes held each other for a moment.

"That's right," Bosch said. "If you don't want to go for a ride to the cage, get out of here."

"No problem, Officer," she said.

She parted the curtain and was gone. Just then the screen went back to the directory. Bosch's two dollars were up.

As he walked out, he heard Magna c.u.m Loudly yelling in false joy from the other booths.

8

On the ride on the freeway to the next valley, he tried to imagine that life. He wondered what hope she might still have had and still nurtured and protected like a candle in the rain, even as she lay there on her back with distant eyes turned toward the stranger inside her. Hope must have been the only thing she had left. Bosch knew that hope was the lifeblood of the heart. Without it there was nothing, only darkness.

He wondered how the two lives - killer's and victim's - had crossed. Maybe the seed of l.u.s.t and murderous desire had been planted by the same loop Bosch had just seen. Maybe the killer had rented the video Bosch had just paid fifty dollars for. Could it have been Church? Or was there another out there? The box, Bosch thought, and pulled off at the next exit, Van Nuys Boulevard in Pacoima.

He pulled to the curb and took the video box out of the brown paper bag the small guy had provided. He turned the light on in the car and studied every surface of the box, reading every word. But there was no copyright date that would have told him when the tape was made, whether it had been made before or after Church's death.

He got back on the Golden State, which took him north into the Santa Clarita Valley. After exiting on Bouquet Canyon Road he wound his way through a series of residential streets, past a seemingly endless line of California custom homes. On Del Prado, he pulled to the curb in front of the house with the Ritenbaugh Realty sign out front.

Sylvia had been trying to sell the house for more than a year, without luck. When he thought about it, Bosch was relieved. It kept him from facing a decision about what he and Sylvia would do next.

Sylvia opened the door before he reached it.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What do you have?"

"Oh, it's something from work. I've gotta make a couple calls in a while. Did you eat?"

He bent down and kissed her and moved inside. She had on the gray T-s.h.i.+rt dress she liked to wear around the house after work. Her hair was loose and down to her shoulders, the blonde highlights catching the light from the living room.

"Had a salad. You?"

"Not yet. I'll fix a sandwich or something. I'm sorry about this. With the trial and now this new case, it's ...well, you know."

"It's okay. I just miss you. I'm sorry about how I acted on the phone."

She kissed him and held him. He felt at home with her. That was the best thing. That feeling. He had never had it before and he would forget it at times when he was away from her. But as soon as he was back with her it was there.

She took him by the hand into the kitchen and told him to sit down while she made him a sandwich. He watched her put a pan on the stove and turn on the gas. Then she put four strips of bacon in the pan. While they cooked, she sliced a tomato and an avocado and laid out a bed of lettuce. He got up, took a beer from the fridge and kissed her on the back of the neck. He stepped back, annoyed that the memory of the woman grabbing him in the booth intruded on the moment. Why had that happened?

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

She put two slices of sunflower bread into the toaster and took the bacon out of the pan. A few minutes later she put the sandwich in front of him at the table and sat down.

"Who do you have to call?"

"Jerry Edgar, maybe a guy at Ad-Vice."

"Ad-Vice? She was p.o.r.no? This new victim?"

Sylvia had once been married to a cop and she made leaps of thought like a cop. Bosch liked that about her.

"Think so. I have a line on her. But I've got court, so I want to give it to them."

She nodded. He never had to tell her not to ask too much. She always knew just when to stop.

"How was school today?"

"Fine. Eat your sandwich. I want you to hurry up and make your calls because I want us to forget about court and school and your investigation. I want us to open some wine, light some candles and get in bed."

He smiled at her.

They had fallen into such a relaxed life together. The candles were always her signal, her way of initiating their lovemaking. Sitting there, Bosch realized he had no signals. She initiated it almost every time. He wondered what that meant about him. He worried that maybe theirs was a relations.h.i.+p solely founded on secrets and hidden faces. He hoped not.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" she asked. "You're really s.p.a.ced."

"I'm fine. This is good. Thank you."

"Penny called tonight. She's got two people interested, so she's going to have an open house on Sunday."

He nodded, still eating.

"Maybe we could go somewhere for the day. I don't want to be here when she brings them through. We could even leave Sat.u.r.day and go overnight somewhere. You could get away from all of this. Maybe Lone Pine would be good."

"That sounds good. But let's see what happens."

After she left the kitchen for the bedroom, Bosch called the bureau and Edgar picked up. Bosch deepened his voice and said, "Yeah, you know that thing you showed on TV. The one that gots no name?"

"Yes, can you help us?"

"Sure can."

Bosch covered his mouth with his hand to hold back the laughter. He realized he hadn't thought of a good punch line. His mind raced as he tried to decide what it should be.

"Well, who is it, sir?" Edgar said impatiently.

"It - it's - it's..."

"It's who?"

"It's Harve Pounds in drag!"

Bosch burst out laughing and Edgar easily guessed who it was. It was stupid, not even funny, but they both laughed.

"Bosch, what do you want?"

It took him some time to stop laughing. He finally said, "Just checking in. Did you call Ray Mora?"

"Nah, I called over to Ad-Vice and they said he wasn't working tonight. I was going to talk to him tomorrow. How'd you do?"

"I think I've got a name. I'll give Mora a call at home so he can pull what they have on her first thing."

He told Edgar the name and heard the other detective laugh.

"Well, at least it's original. How - what makes you think it's her?"

Bosch answered in a low voice in case his voice was carrying to the bedroom.

"I saw a loop and I have a box from a video with her picture on it. It looks like the plaster face you got. A little off on the wig. But I think it's her. I'll drop the box off on your desk on my way into court tomorrow."

"Cool."

"Maybe Mora can get an early start on getting her real name and prints over to you. She probably had an adult entertainment license. All right if I call him?"

"That's cool. You know him."

They hung up. Bosch didn't have a home number for Mora. He called Detective Services and gave his name and badge number and asked to be put through. It took about five minutes and then Mora answered after three rings. He seemed out of breath.

"It's Bosch, you gotta minute?"

"Bosch, yeah, Bosch, what's up, man?"

"How's business?"

"Still sucks."

He laughed at what Bosch guessed was an insider's joke.

"Actually, it goes further down all the time - no pun intended. Video ruined it, Bosch. Made it too big. The industry got big, the quality got small. n.o.body cares about quality anymore."

Mora was talking more like a supporter of the p.o.r.no industry than a watchdog.

"I miss the days when it was in those smoky theaters on Cahuenga and Highland. We had a better handle on things then. At least, I did. So how's court? I hear you guys caught another one that looks like the Dollmaker. What's going on with that? How could -"

"That's why I'm calling. I've got a name - I think she was from your side of the tracks. The victim."

"Give it to me."

"Magna c.u.m Loudly. Maybe known as Maggie, too."

"Yeah, I've heard that one. She was around a while ago and then, you're right, she disappeared or dropped out."

Bosch waited for more. He thought he heard a voice in the background - in person or on TV and Mora told him to hold on a minute. He couldn't make out what had been said or whether it was a man or a woman. It made him wonder what Mora had been doing when he called. There were rumors floating around the department about Mora having gotten too close to the subject he was expert in. It was a common cop malady. Still, he knew Mora had successfully fended off any attempts to transfer him in the early years of his a.s.signment. Now, he had so much expertise, it would be ridiculous to move him. It would be like taking Orel Hers.h.i.+ser off the Dodgers pitching staff and putting him in the outfield. He was good at what he did. He had to be left there.

"Um, Harry, I don't know. I think she was around a couple years ago. What I'm saying is, if it's her, then it couldn't have been Church. You know what I'm saying? I don't know how that plays with what you've got working on this."

"Don't worry about it, Ray. If Church didn't do her, somebody else did. We still gotta get him."

"Right. So I'll get on it. By the way, how'd you make her?"

Bosch told him about his visit to X Marks the Spot.

"Yeah, I know them guys. The big one, that's Carlo Pinzi the capo's nephew, Jimmie Pinzi. They call him Jimmie Pins. He may act big and dumb but he's really the little guy Pinkie's boss. Watches over the place for his uncle. The little one's called Pinkie on account of those gla.s.ses he wears. Pinkie and Pins. It's all an act. Anyway, they charged you about forty beans too many for that video."

"That's what I guessed. Oh, and I was going to ask you, there's no copyright on the video box. Would that be on the video or is there any way I can figure out when this was made?"

"Usually they don't put the copyright on the box. Customers want fresh meat. So the players figure the customer sees a copyright on the box that's a couple years old, then they'll buy something else. It's a fast business. Perishable goods. So no dates. Sometimes they're not even on the video cartridge. Anyway, I've got catalogs at the office going back twelve years. I can find a date, no problem."

"Thanks, Ray. I might not make it by. A guy from the homicide table, Jerry Edgar, might come by to see you. I got court."

"That's fine, Harry."

Bosch had nothing else to ask and was about to say good-bye when Mora spoke in the silence.

"You know, I think about it a lot."

"What?"

"The task force. I wish I hadn't taken off early that night and I was there with you. Who knows, maybe we'd have gotten this guy alive."

"Yeah."

"Be no trial then - I mean, for you."

Bosch was silent as he looked at the picture on the back of video box. The woman's face turned to the side, just like the plaster face. It was her. He felt sure of it.

"Ray, with only this name - Magna c.u.m Loudly - can you still get a real name, get prints?"

"Sure can. No matter what anybody thinks of the product, there is legit stuff and illegit stuff out there. This girl Maggie looks like she had graduated to the legit world. She was out of loops and that s.h.i.+t and was in mainstream adult video. That means she probably had an agent, had an adult entertainment license. They gotta get 'em to prove they're eighteen. So her license will have her real name on it. I can go through them and find her - they got their pictures on them. Might take me a couple hours but I can find her."

"Okay, good, will you do that in the morning and, if Edgar doesn't come by, get the prints to him at Hollywood homicide?"