A Darkness More Than Night

haven’t written it up. There’s not much to it. The watch sergeant called him and told him Gunn was in the drunk tank on a DUI.”
    McCaleb nodded.
    “And?”
    “And he came in to look at the guy. That was it. He said they didn’t even talk because Gunn was too blitzed.”
    “Well…, I still want to talk to Harry. I worked a case with him once. He’s a good cop. Intuitive and observant. He might know something I could use.”
    “That is, if you can get to talk to him.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You don’t know? He’s riding the prosecution table on the David Storey murder case. Up in Van Nuys. Don’t you watch the news?”
    “Ah, damn, I forgot about that. I remember reading his name in the newspapers after they took Storey down. That was, what, in October? They’re already in trial?”
    “They sure are. No delays and they didn’t need a prelim because they went through the grand jury. They started jury selection right after the first. Last I heard, they had the panel so openers will probably be this week, maybe even today.”
    “Shit.”
    “Yeah, good luck getting to Bosch. I’m sure this is just what he’ll want to hear about.”
    “Are you saying you don’t want me to talk to him?”
    Winston shrugged her shoulders.
    “No, I’m not saying that at all. Do whatever you want to do. I just didn’t think you’d be doing so much legwork on this. I can talk to my captain about maybe getting a consulting fee for you but -”
    “Don’t worry about it. The sheriff’s buying breakfast. That’s enough.”
    “Doesn’t seem like it.”
    He didn’t tell her that he’d work the case for free, just to be back in the life for a few days. And he didn’t tell her that he couldn’t take any money from her anyway. If he made any “official” income he would lose his eligibility for the state medical assistance that paid for the fifty-four pills he swallowed every day. The pills were so expensive that if he had to pay for them himself he’d be bankrupt inside six months, unless he happened to be drawing a six-figure salary. It was the ugly secret behind the medical miracle that had saved him. He got a second chance at life, just as long as he didn’t use it to try to earn a living. It was the reason the charter business was in Buddy Lockridge’s name. Officially, McCaleb was an unpaid deckhand. Buddy simply rented the boat for charter from Graciela, the rent being 60 percent of all charter fees after expenses.
    “How are your pancakes?” he asked Winston.
    “The best.”
    “Damn right.”

Chapter 8
    The Grand Royale was a two-story eyesore, a deteriorating stucco box whose attempt at style began and ended with the modish design of the letters of its name tacked over the entranceway. The streets of West Hollywood and elsewhere in the flats were lined with such banal designs, the high-density apartments that crowded out smaller bungalow courts in the fifties and sixties. They replaced true style with phony ornamental flourishes and names that reflected exactly what they were not.
    McCaleb and Winston entered the second-floor apartment that had belonged to Edward Gunn with the building manager, a man named Rohrshak – “Like the test, only spelled different.”
    If he hadn’t known where to look, McCaleb would have missed what was left of the bloodstain on the carpet where Gunn had died. The carpet had not been replaced. Instead it had been shampooed, leaving only a small, light brown trace stain that would probably be mistaken by the next renter as the remnant of a soda or coffee spill.
    The place had been cleaned and readied for renting. But the furnishings were the same. McCaleb recognized them from the crime scene video.
    He looked across the room at the china cabinet but it was empty. There was no plastic owl perched atop it. He looked at Winston.
    “It’s gone.”
    Winston turned to the manager.
    “Mr. Rohrshak. The owl that was on top of that cabinet. We think it was important. Are you sure you don’t know what happened to it?”
    Rohrshak spread his arms wide and then dropped them to his side.
    “No, I don’t know. You asked before and I thought, ‘I don’t remember any owl.’ But if you say so…”
    He shrugged his shoulders and jutted his chin, then nodded as if reluctantly agreeing that there had been an owl on the china cabinet.
    McCaleb read his body language and words as the classic mannerisms of a liar. Deny the existence of the object you have stolen and you