City Of Bones

his way through the squad room. He wanted to get going before Edgar started his coffee, doughnut and sports-page ritual.
    “Well, I’m saying good-bye now, okay? I’m in the middle of something here and I gotta run.”
    “Harry…”
    “What?”
    “I thought you were going to hang up on me or something.”
    “I’m not, but I gotta go. Look, come by before you go up for roll call, okay? I’ll probably be back by then.”
    “All right. I’ll see you.”
    Bosch hung up and stood up just as Edgar got to the homicide table and dropped the folded sports page at his spot.
    “You ready?”
    “Yeah, I was just going to get-”
    “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep the lady waiting. And she’ll probably have coffee there.”
    On the way out Bosch checked the incoming tray on the fax machine. His search warrant addendum had been signed and returned by Judge Houghton.
    “We’re in business,” Bosch said to Edgar, showing him the warrant as they walked to the car. “See? You come in early, you get stuff done.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean? Is that a crack on me?”
    “It means what it means, I guess.”
    “I just want some coffee.”

Chapter 24
    SHEILA Delacroix lived in a part of the city called the Miracle Mile. It was a neighborhood south of Wilshire that wasn’t quite up to the standards of nearby Hancock Park but was lined with nicely kept homes and duplexes with modest stylistic adjustments to promote individuality.
    Delacroix’s home was the second floor of a duplex with pseudo-Beaux Arts styling. She invited the detectives into her home in a friendly manner, but when the first question Edgar asked was about coffee, she said it was against her religion. She offered tea, and Edgar reluctantly accepted. Bosch passed. He wondered which religion outlawed coffee.
    They took seats in the living room while the woman made Edgar his tea in the kitchen. She called out to them, saying she only had an hour and then had to leave for work.
    “What is it you do?” Bosch asked as she came out with a mug of hot tea, the tag from the tea bag looped over the side. She put it down on a coaster on a side table next to Edgar. She was a tall woman. She was slightly overweight with blonde hair cut short. Bosch thought she wore too much makeup.
    “I’m a casting agent,” she said as she took a seat on the couch. “Mostly independent films, some episodic television. I’m actually casting a cop show this week.”
    Bosch watched Edgar sip some tea and make a face. He then held the mug so he could read the tea bag tag.
    “It’s a blend,” Delacroix said. “Strawberry and Darjeeling. Do you like it?”
    Edgar put the mug down on its coaster.
    “It’s fine.”
    “Ms. Delacroix? If you’re in the entertainment business, did you by any chance know Nicholas Trent?”
    “Please, just call me Sheila. Now, that name, Nicholas Trent. It sounds familiar but I can’t quite place it. Is he an actor or is he in casting?”
    “Neither. He’s the man who lived up on Wonderland. He was a set designer-I mean, decorator.”
    “Oh, the one on TV, the man who killed himself. Oh, no wonder it was familiar.”
    “So you didn’t know him from the business, then?”
    “No, not at all.”
    “Okay, well I shouldn’t have asked that. We’re out of order here. Let’s just start with your brother. Tell us about Arthur. Do you have a picture we can look at?”
    “Yes,” she said, as she stood up and walked behind his chair. “Here he is.”
    She went to a waist-high cabinet Bosch hadn’t noticed behind him. There were framed photos on it displayed in much the same way he had seen the photos on Julia Brasher’s mantel. Delacroix chose one and turned around and handed it to Bosch.
    The frame contained a photo of a boy and a girl sitting on a set of stairs Bosch recognized as the stairs they had climbed before knocking on her door. The boy was much smaller than the girl. Both were smiling at the camera and had the smiles of children who have been told to smile-a lot of teeth but not a legitimately turned-up mouth.
    Bosch handed the photo to Edgar and looked at Delacroix, who had returned to the couch.
    “Those stairs… was that taken here?”
    “Yes, this is the home we grew up in.”
    “When he disappeared, it was from here?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are any of his belongings still here in the house?”
    Delacroix smiled sadly and shook her head.
    “No, it’s all gone. I gave his things to the charity rummage sale at