City Of Bones

times.
    When he was finished it was almost dark. He took another cursory look around the area but knew that a flashlight search was useless and the ground would need to be exhaustively covered in the morning. Using a small penknife attached to his key chain, he began cutting four-foot lengths of the crime scene tape off the roll.
    Making his way back down the hill, he tied the strips off at intervals on tree branches and bushes. He heard voices as he got closer to the street and used them to maintain his direction. At one point on the incline the soft ground suddenly gave way and he fell, tumbling hard into the base of a pine tree. The tree impacted his midsection, tearing his shirt and badly scratching his side.
    Bosch didn’t move for several seconds. He thought he might have cracked his ribs on the right side. His breathing was difficult and painful. He groaned loudly and slowly pulled himself up on the tree trunk so that he could continue to follow the voices.
    He soon came back down into the street where Dr. Guyot was waiting with his dog and another man. The two men looked shocked when they saw the blood on Bosch’s shirt.
    “Oh my, what happened?” Guyot cried out.
    “Nothing. I fell.”
    “Your shirt is… there’s blood!”
    “Comes with the job.”
    “Let me look at your chest.”
    The doctor moved in to look but Bosch held his hands up.
    “I’m okay. Who is this?”
    The other man answered.
    “I’m Victor Ulrich. I live there.”
    He pointed to the house next to the lot. Bosch nodded.
    “I just came out to see what was going on.”
    “Well, nothing is going on at the moment. But there is a crime scene up there. Or there will be. We probably won’t be back to work it until tomorrow morning. But I need both you men to keep clear of it and not to tell anybody about this. All right?”
    Both of the neighbors nodded.
    “And Doctor, don’t let your dog off the leash for a few days. I need to go back down to my car to make a phone call. Mr. Ulrich, I am sure we will want to talk to you tomorrow. Will you be around?”
    “Sure. Anytime. I work at home.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Writing.”
    “Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Bosch headed back down the street with Guyot and the dog.
    “You really need me to take a look at your injury,” Guyot insisted.
    “It’ll be fine.”
    Bosch glanced to his left and thought he saw a curtain quickly close behind a window of the house they were passing.
    “The way you are holding yourself when you walk-you’ve damaged a rib,” Guyot said. “Maybe you’ve broken it. Maybe more than one.”
    Bosch thought of the small, thin bones he had just seen beneath the acacia trees.
    “There’s nothing you can do for a rib, broken or not,” he said.
    “I can tape it. You’ll breathe a hell of a lot easier. I can also take care of that wound.”
    Bosch relented.
    “Okay, Doc, you get out your black bag. I’m going to get my other shirt.”
    Inside Guyot’s house a few minutes later, the doctor cleaned the deep scratch on the side of Bosch’s chest and taped his ribs. It did feel better, but it still hurt. Guyot said he could no longer write a prescription but suggested Bosch not take anything more powerful than aspirin anyway.
    Bosch remembered that he had a prescription bottle with some Vicodin tablets left over from when he’d had a wisdom tooth removed a few months earlier. They would smooth out the pain if he wanted to go that way.
    “I’ll be fine,” Bosch said. “Thanks for fixing me up.”
    “Don’t mention it.”
    Bosch pulled on his good shirt and watched Guyot as he closed up his first-aid kit. He wondered how long it had been since the doctor had used his skills on a patient.
    “How long have you been retired?” he asked.
    “Twelve years next month.”
    “You miss it?”
    Guyot turned from the first-aid kit and looked at him. The tremor was gone.
    “Every day. I don’t miss the actual work-you know, the cases. But it was a job that made a difference. I miss that.”
    Bosch thought about how Julia Brasher had described homicide work earlier. He nodded that he understood what Guyot was saying.
    “You said there was a crime scene up there?” the doctor asked.
    “Yes. I found more bones. I’ve got to make a call, see what we’re going to do. Can I borrow your phone? I don’t think my cell will work around here.”
    “No, they never do in the canyon. Use the phone on the desk there and I’ll give you some privacy.”
    He