City Of Bones

settle into a hard, thin line. A perfect funeral smile.
    Bosch was the first to look away.
    It was a beautiful day for a funeral. Brisk overnight winds from the Pacific had temporarily cleared the smog out of the sky. Even the view of the Valley from Bosch’s home had been clear that morning. Cirrus clouds scudded across the upper reaches of the sky along with contrails left by high-flying jets. The air in the cemetery smelled sweet from all the flowers arranged near the grave. From his standpoint, Bosch could see the crooked letters of the Hollywood sign, high up on Mount Lee, presiding over the service.
    The chief of police did not deliver the eulogy as was his custom in line-of-duty deaths. Instead, the academy commander spoke, using the moment to talk about how danger in police work always comes from the unexpected corner and how Officer Brasher’s death might save other cops by being a reminder never to let down the guard of caution. He never called her anything but Officer Brasher during his ten-minute speech, giving it an embarrassingly impersonal touch.
    During the whole thing Bosch kept thinking about photos of sharks with open mouths and volcanoes disgorging their molten flows. He wondered if Julia had finally proven herself to the person she believed she needed to.
    Amidst the blue uniforms surrounding the silver casket was a swath of gray. The lawyers. Her father and a large contingent from the firm. In the second row behind Brasher’s father Bosch could see the man from the photo on the mantel of the Venice bungalow. For a while Bosch fantasized about going up to him and slapping him or bringing a knee up into his genitals. Doing it right in the middle of the service for all to see, then pointing to the casket and telling the man that he sent her on the path to this.
    But he let it go. He knew that explanation and assignment of blame was too simple and wrong. Ultimately, he knew, people chose their own path. They can be pointed and pushed, but they always get the final choice. Everybody’s got a cage that keeps out the sharks. Those who open the door and venture out do so at their own risk.
    Seven members of Brasher’s rookie class were chosen for the salute. They pointed rifles toward the blue sky and fired three rounds of blanks each, the ejected brass jackets arcing through the light and falling to the grass like tears. While the shots were still echoing off the stones, the helicopters made their pass overhead and then the funeral was over.
    Bosch slowly made his way toward the grave, passing people heading away. A hand tugged his elbow from behind and he turned around. It was Brasher’s partner, Edgewood.
    “I, uh, just wanted to apologize about yesterday, about what I did,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
    Bosch waited for him to make eye contact and then just nodded. He had nothing to say to Edgewood.
    “I guess you didn’t mention it to OIS and I, uh, just want to say I appreciate it.”
    Bosch just looked at him. Edgewood became uncomfortable, nodded once and walked away. When he was gone Bosch found himself looking at a woman who had been standing right behind the cop. A Latina with silver hair. It took Bosch a moment to recognize her.
    “Dr. Hinojos.”
    “Detective Bosch, how are you?”
    It was the hair. Almost seven years earlier, when Bosch had been a regular visitor to Hinojos’s office, her hair had been a deep brown without a hint of gray. She was still an attractive woman, gray or brown. But the change was startling.
    “I’m doing okay. How’re things in the psych shop?”
    She smiled.
    “They’re fine.”
    “I hear you run the whole show now.”
    She nodded. Bosch felt himself getting nervous. When he had known her before, he had been on an involuntary stress leave. In twice-a-week sessions he had told her things he had never told anyone before or since. And once he was returned to duty he had never spoken to her again.
    Until now.
    “Did you know Julia Brasher?” he asked.
    It wasn’t unusual for a department shrink to attend a line-of-duty funeral; to offer on-the-spot counseling to those close to the deceased.
    “No, not really. Not personally. As head of the department I reviewed her academy application and screening interview. I signed off on it.”
    She waited a moment, studying Bosch for a reaction.
    “I understand you were close to her. And that you were there. You were the witness.”
    Bosch nodded. People leaving the funeral were passing on