City Of Bones

angles. He led them to a living room cluttered with antiques. He sat down in the center of a couch. Bosch and Edgar took the two leather club chairs opposite. Bosch decided to keep the lead. He didn’t like the way Edgar had handled the door.
    “To be cautious and careful, I am going to read you your constitutional rights,” he said. “Then I’ll ask you to sign a waiver form. This protects you as well as us. I am also going to record our conversation so that nobody ends up putting words in anybody else’s mouth. If you want a copy of the tape I will make it available.”
    Trent shrugged and Bosch took it as reluctant agreement. When Bosch had the form signed he slipped it into his briefcase and took out a small recorder. Once he started it and identified those present as well as the time and date, he nodded to Edgar to assume the lead again. This was because Bosch thought that observations of Trent and his surroundings were going to be more important than his answers now.
    “Mr. Trent, how long have you lived in this house?”
    “Since nineteen eighty-four.”
    He then laughed.
    “What is funny about that?” Edgar asked.
    “Nineteen eighty-four. Don’t you get it? George Orwell? Big Brother?”
    He gestured toward Bosch and Edgar as the front men of Big Brother. Edgar apparently didn’t follow the statement and continued with the interview.
    “Rent or own?”
    “Own. Uh, at first I rented, then I bought the house in ’eighty-seven from the landlord.”
    “Okay, and you are a set designer in the entertainment industry?”
    “Set decorator. There is a difference.”
    “What is the difference?”
    “The designer plans and supervises the construction of the set. The decorator then goes in and puts in the details. The little character strokes. The characters’ belongings or tools. Like that.”
    “How long have you done this?”
    “Twenty-six years.”
    “Did you bury that boy up on the hillside?”
    Trent stood up indignantly.
    “Absolutely not. I’ve never even set foot on that hill. And you people are making a big mistake if you waste your time on me when the true killer of that poor soul is still out there somewhere.”
    Bosch leaned forward in his chair.
    “Sit down, Mr. Trent,” he said.
    The fervent way in which Trent delivered the denial made Bosch instinctively think he was either innocent or one of the better actors he had come across on the job. Trent slowly sat down on the couch again.
    “You’re a smart guy,” Bosch said, deciding to jump in. “You know exactly what we’re doing here. We have to bag you or clear you. It’s that simple. So why don’t you help us out? Instead of dancing around with us, why don’t you tell us how to clear you?”
    Trent raised his hands wide.
    “I don’t know how! I don’t know anything about the case! How can I help you when I don’t know the first thing about it?”
    “Well, right off the bat, you can let us take a look around here. If I can start to get comfortable with you, Mr. Trent, then maybe I can start seeing it from your side of things. But right now… like I said, I’ve got you with your record and I’ve got bones across the street.”
    Bosch held up his two hands as if he was holding those two things in them.
    “It doesn’t look that good from where I’m looking at things.”
    Trent stood up and threw one hand out in a gesture toward the interior of the house.
    “Fine! Be my guest. Look around to your heart’s content. You won’t find a thing because I had nothing to do with it. Nothing!”
    Bosch looked at Edgar and nodded, the signal being that he should keep Trent occupied while Bosch took a look around.
    “Thank you, Mr. Trent,” Bosch said as he stood up.
    As he headed into a hallway that led to the rear of the house, he heard Edgar asking if Trent had ever seen any unusual activity on the hillside where the bones had been found.
    “I just remember kids used to play up-”
    He stopped, apparently when he realized that any mention he made of kids would only further suspicion about him. Bosch glanced back to make sure the red light of the recorder was still on.
    “Did you like watching the kids play up there in the woods, Mr. Trent?” Edgar asked.
    Bosch stayed in the hallway, out of sight but listening to Trent’s answer.
    “No, I couldn’t see them if they were up in the woods. On occasion I would be driving up or walking my dog-when he was alive-and I would see the kids climbing up there. The girl