Lost Light

years-the last half of it in South Bureau homicide-and then retired to open up a small business with his son near the airport. Biggar amp; Biggar Professional Security was on Sepulveda near La Tijera. The building was nondescript, the offices unpretentious. Biggar’s business was primarily geared toward providing security systems and patrols to the warehouse industries around the airport. The last time I had spoken to him-which was probably two years earlier-he had told me he had more than fifty employees and business was going good.
    But out of the other side of his mouth he confided that he missed what he called the real work. The vital work, the work that made a difference. Protecting a warehouse full of blue jeans made in Taiwan could be profitable. But it didn’t even begin to touch what you got out of putting a stone killer on the floor and the cuffs on his wrists. It wasn’t even close, and that was what Biggar missed. It was because of that I thought I could approach him for help with what I wanted to do for Lawton Cross.
    There was a small waiting room with a coffee machine but I wasn’t there that long. Burnett Biggar came down a hallway and invited me back to his office. As befitting his name, he was a large man. I had to follow him down the hallway rather than walk next to him. His head was shaved, which was a new look for him as far as I knew.
    “So Big, I see you traded the Julius for the Jordan, huh?”
    He rubbed a hand over his polished scalp.
    “Had to do it, Harry. It’s the style. And I’m getting gray.”
    “Aren’t we all.”
    He led me into his office. It wasn’t small and it wasn’t big. It was basic, with wood paneling and framed commendations, news clips and photos from his days with the department. It was probably all very impressive to the clients.
    Biggar swung around behind a cluttered desk and pointed me to a chair in front of it. As I sat down I noticed a framed slogan on the wall behind him. It said “Biggar amp; Biggar is getting Better amp; Better.”
    Biggar leaned forward and folded his arms on his desk.
    “So, Harry Bosch, I don’t think I was expecting to see you maybe ever again. It’s funny seeing you in that chair.”
    “Funny seeing you, too. I don’t think I was expecting it either.”
    “You come here for a job? I heard you quit last year. You were the last guy I ever thought about quitting.”
    “Nobody goes the distance, Big. And I appreciate the offer but I already have a job. I’m just looking for a little help.”
    Biggar smiled, the skin pulling tight around his eyes. He was intrigued. He knew I wasn’t ever going to be the corporate or industrial security type.
    “I never heard you ask for help on a goddamn thing. What do you need?”
    “I need a setup. Electronic surveillance. One room, nobody can know the camera is there.”
    “How big’s the room?”
    “Like a bedroom. Maybe fifteen by fifteen.”
    “Ah, man, Harry, don’t go down that road. You start that sort of snooping and you’ll lose sight of yourself. Come work for me. I can find some -”
    “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s actually an offshoot of a homicide I’m working. The guy’s in a wheelchair. He sits and watches TV all day. I just want to be able to make sure he’s okay, you know? There’s something going on with the wife. At least I think so.”
    “You mean like abuse?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know. Something.”
    “Does the guy know you’re going to do this?”
    “No.”
    “But you’ve got access to the room?”
    “Pretty much. Think you can help me out?”
    “Well, we got cameras. But you have to understand most of our work is industrial application. Heavy-duty stuff. Sounds to me like all you need is a nanny cam, something that you can just pick up at Radio Shack.”
    I shook my head.
    “I don’t want to be too obvious about it. The guy was a cop.”
    Biggar nodded, digested it quickly and stood up.
    “Well, come on back to the tech room and take a look at what we’ve got. Andre’s back there and he can fix you up.”
    He led me back into the hallway and toward the back of the building. We entered the tech room, which was about the size of a double garage and was crowded with workbenches and shelves of all manner of electronics equipment. There were three men gathered around one of the workbenches. They were looking at the screen of a small television. A grainy black-and-white surveillance tape was playing. I recognized one of the men, the