Lost Light

dead six months after laying down the track. The coincidence was that when I was young in the department, “high jingo” was a way old-guard detectives would describe a case that had taken on unusual interest from the sixth floor or carried other unseen political or bureaucratic dangers. When a case had high jingo on it, you had to be careful. You were in murky water. You had to watch your back because nobody else was watching it for you.
    I got up and went to the window. The sun was reflecting off a billion particles that hung in the air. It was orange and pink and looked beautiful. It didn’t seem like it could be poison.
    “So what’s the word from the chief-lay off it, Bosch? You’re a citizen now. Leave it to the professionals?”
    “More or less.”
    “The case is gathering dust, Kiz. Why does he care that I’m poking around when nobody in his own department does? Is he afraid I’ll embarrass him or something by closing it?”
    “Who says it’s gathering dust?”
    I turned around and looked at her.
    “Come on, don’t give me the due diligence dance. I know how that goes. A signature every six months on the log, ‘Uh yup, nothing new here.’ I mean, don’t you care about this, Kiz? You knew Angella Benton. Don’t you want to see this thing cleared?”
    “Of course I do. Don’t think for one moment that I want anything less. But things are happening, Harry. I was sent out here as a courtesy to you. Don’t get involved. You might wander into something you shouldn’t. You might hurt rather than help.”
    I sat back down and looked at her for a long moment as I tried to read between the lines. I wasn’t convinced.
    “If it is actively being worked, who is working it?”
    She shook her head.
    “I can’t tell you that. I can only tell you to leave it alone.”
    “Look, Kiz, this is me. Whatever anger you have because I pulled the pin shouldn’t stop you -”
    “From what? Doing what I am supposed to do? Following orders? Harry, you no longer have a badge. People with badges are actively working on this. Actively. You understand? Leave it at that.”
    Before I could speak she fired another round at me.
    “And don’t trouble yourself about me, okay? I have no anger toward you anymore, Harry. You left me high and dry but that was a long time ago. Yeah, I had anger but it’s a long time gone. I didn’t even want to be the one who came here today but he made me come. He thought I could convince you.”
    He being the chief, I assumed. I sat silently for a moment, waiting to see if there was more. But that was all she had. I spoke quietly then, almost as if I was putting a confession through the screen to a priest.
    “And what if I can’t leave it alone? What if for reasons that have nothing to do with this case I need to work this? Reasons for myself. What happens then?”
    She shook her head in annoyance.
    “Then you are going to get hurt. These people, they don’t fuck around. Find some other case or some other way to work out your demons.”
    “What people?”
    Rider stood up.
    “Kiz, what people?”
    “I’ve told you enough, Harry. Message delivered. Good luck.”
    She headed toward the hallway and the door. I got up and followed, my mind churning through what I knew.
    “Who is working the case?” I asked. “Tell me.”
    She glanced back at me but kept moving toward the door.
    “Tell me, Kiz. Who?”
    She stopped suddenly and turned to me. I saw anger and challenge in her eyes.
    “For old time’s sake, Harry? Is that what you want to say?”
    I stepped back. Her anger was a force field around her body that was pushing me back. I held my hands out wide in surrender and didn’t say anything. She waited a moment and then turned back to the door.
    “Good-bye, Harry.”
    She opened the door and stepped out, then pulled it closed behind her.
    “Good-bye, Kiz.”
    But she was already gone. For a long time I stood there thinking about what she had said and not said. There had been a message within a message but I couldn’t yet read it. The water was too murky.
    “High jingo, baby,” I said to myself as I locked the door.

6
    The drive out to Woodland Hills took almost an hour. It used to be in this place that if you waited, picked your spots and went against the grain of traffic, you could get somewhere in a decent amount of time. Not anymore. It seemed to me that the freeways, no matter what time and what location, were always a nightmare. There was never any respite. And