9 Dragons

and how solid it might be.
    The knob was old and loose. Bosch had to decide whether to kick the door in and use the element of complete surprise, or to pick the lock and possibly make a sound that would alert whoever was on the other side of the door.
    He dropped to one knee and looked closely at the doorknob. It would be a simple pick but there could be a bolt lock or a security chain inside. He thought of something and reached into his pocket.
    “Go to our room,” he whispered. “Find out if there’s a dead bolt or a security chain.”
    He handed her the key to room 1504.
    “Now?” Eleanor whispered.
    “Yeah, now,” Bosch whispered back. “I want to know what’s inside here.”
    She took the key and hurried down the hall. Bosch pulled his badge wallet out. Before going through airport security he had slid his two best picks behind the badge. He knew the badge would light up on the X-ray but that the two thin metal strips behind it would likely be mistaken for part of the badge. His plan had worked and now he removed the picks and quietly maneuvered them into the doorknob lock.
    It took him less than a minute to turn the lock. He held the knob without pushing the door open until Eleanor came hurrying back down the dimly lit hallway.
    “There’s a security chain,” she whispered.
    Bosch nodded and stood up, still holding the knob with his right hand. He knew he could easily shoulder the door past a security chain.
    “Ready?” he whispered.
    Eleanor nodded. Bosch then reached back and under his jacket and pulled the gun. He thumbed off the safety and looked at Eleanor. In unison, they mouthed the words
one, two, three
and he pushed the door open.
    There was no security chain in place. The door moved all the way open and Bosch quickly entered the room. Eleanor came in right behind him.
    The room was empty.

29
    B osch stepped through the room to the tiny bathroom. He slapped the dirty plastic shower curtain back from a small, tiled shower space but it was empty. He walked back into the room and looked at Eleanor. He said the words he dreaded.
    “She’s gone.”
    “Are you sure this is even the room?” she asked.
    Bosch was. He had already looked at the pattern of cracks and nail holes on the wall over the bed. He took the folded photo print out of his jacket and handed it to her.
    “This is the room.”
    He put the gun back under his jacket and in the waistband of his pants. He tried to keep the searing sense of futility and dread from engulfing him. But he wasn’t sure where to go from here.
    Eleanor dropped the photo on the bed.
    “There’s got to be some sign that she was here. Something.”
    “Let’s go. We’ll talk to the guy downstairs. We’ll find out who rented the room Friday.”
    “No, wait. We have to look around first.”
    She dropped down and looked under the bed.
    “Eleanor, she’s not under the bed. She’s gone and we need to keep moving. Call Sun and tell him not to come up. Tell him to get the car.”
    “No, this can’t be.”
    She moved from looking under the bed to kneeling next to it, elbows on top, as if she were a child praying before bedtime.
    “She can’t be gone. We…”
    Bosch came around the bed and leaned down behind her. He put his arms around her and pulled her up standing.
    “Come on, Eleanor, we have to go. We’re going to find her. I told you we would. We just have to keep moving. That’s all. We have to stay strong and keep moving.”
    He ushered her toward the door, but she broke free and headed toward the bathroom. She had to see it empty for herself.
    “Eleanor, please.”
    She disappeared into the room and Bosch heard her pull the shower curtain back. But then she didn’t return.
    “Harry?”
    Bosch quickly crossed the room and entered the bathroom. Eleanor was leaning over the side of the toilet and lifting the wastebasket. She brought it around to him. At the bottom of the basket was a small wad of toilet paper with blood on it.
    Eleanor retrieved it with two fingers and held it up. The blood had made a stain smaller than a dime. The size of the stain and the wadding of the tissue suggested it had been held against a small cut or wound to stanch the flow of blood.
    Eleanor leaned into Bosch, and Harry knew that she was assuming that they were looking at their daughter’s blood.
    “We don’t know what this means yet, Eleanor.”
    His counsel was ignored. Her body language suggested a breakdown was coming.
    “They drugged her,” she