A Darkness More Than Night

him.
    “Harry, are you listening?”
    “Yeah. What was that last part?”
    “I said do you think Shootin’ Houghton will delay the trial if we open up an investigation.”
    Bosch didn’t have to think long to answer that.
    “No way. The show must go on.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I figure. I’m going to call Roger and see what he wants to do. Anyway, it’s the least of our worries. As soon as you mention Alicia Lopez on the stand there’s going to be a brutal fight.”
    “I thought we already won that. Houghton ruled -”
    “It doesn’t mean Fowkkes won’t try a new attack. We’re not clear yet.”
    There was a pause. There had not been much confidence in her voice.
    “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.”
    “All right, Janis, I’ll see you.”
    Bosch clicked the phone off and put it back in its cradle in the kitchen. When he stepped back out McCaleb was standing in the living room, looking at the shelves over the stereo, at a framed photograph of Bosch’s wife in particular.
    “Terry, what’s up?”
    “Hey, Harry, sorry to drop in unannounced like this. I didn’t have your home number to call first.”
    “How’d you find the place? You want a beer or something?”
    Bosch pointed to his chest.
    “Can you have a beer?”
    “I can now. Just got clearance, in fact. I can drink again. With moderation. A beer sounds good.”
    Bosch went into the kitchen. McCaleb continued talking from the living room.
    “I’ve been here before. You don’t remember?”
    Bosch came out with two open bottles of Anchor Steam. He handed one to McCaleb.
    “You need a glass? When were you here?”
    McCaleb took the bottle.
    “Cielo Azul.”
    He took a long pull from the bottle, answering Bosch’s question about the glass.
    Cielo Azul, Bosch thought and then he remembered. They had gotten drunk on the back porch once, both of them dulling the edges of a case that was too terrible to think deeply about with a sober mind. He remembered being embarrassed about it the next day, about how he had lost control and kept rhetorically asking in an alcohol-slowed voice, “Where is God’s hand, where is God’s hand?”
    “Oh, yeah,” Bosch said. “One of my finer existential moments.”
    “Yeah. Except the place is different now. The old one slide down the hill in the quake?”
    “Just about. Red-tagged, the whole bit. Started over from the ground up.”
    “Yeah, I didn’t recognize it. I drove up here looking for the old place. But then I saw the Shamu and figured there couldn’t be another cop in the neighborhood.”
    Bosch thought about the black-and-white parked in the carport. He hadn’t bothered to take it to the station to exchange for his personal car. It would save him time in the morning by allowing him to drive straight to court. The car was a slickback – a black-and-white without the emergency lights on top. Detectives from the divisions used them as part of a program designed to make it look as if there were more cops on the street than there really were.
    McCaleb reached over and clicked Bosch’s bottle with his own.
    “To Cielo Azul,” he said.
    “Yeah,” Bosch said.
    He drank from the bottle. It was ice cold and good. His first beer since the start of the trial. He decided he would keep it to one, even if McCaleb pressed on.
    “This your ex?” McCaleb asked, pointing to the photo on the shelves.
    “My wife. Not my ex, yet – at least as far as I know. But I guess it’s heading that way.”
    Bosch stared at the photo of Eleanor Wish. It was the only picture of her he had.
    “That’s too bad, man.”
    “Yeah. So what’s up, Terry? I’ve got some stuff I have to go over for -”
    “I know, the trial. I’m sorry to intrude, man. I know that’s gotta be all-consuming. I just had a couple things on the Gunn case I wanted to clear up. But also I wanted to tell you something. I mean, show you, too.”
    He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, opened it and took out a photo. He handed it to Bosch. The photo had taken on the contour line of the wallet. It showed a dark-haired baby in the arms of a dark-haired woman.
    “That’s my daughter, Harry. And my wife.”
    Bosch nodded and studied the photo. Both mother and child had dark hair and skin and were quite beautiful. He knew they were probably even more so to McCaleb.
    “Beautiful,” he said. “The baby looks brand-new. So tiny.”
    “She’s about four months now. That picture’s a month old, though. Anyway, I forgot to