Lost Light

me to the library now beckoned to me at the door. I went to her and she led me down a hall thickly carpeted in a soft green that whispered money with every step I took. She led me to an office where a woman I didn’t recognize was waiting behind a desk. She stood up and offered her hand.
    “Hello, Mr. Bosch, I’m Roxanne, Ms. Langwiser’s assistant. Would you like a bottle of water or coffee or anything?”
    “Uh, no, I’m fine.”
    “You can go on in, then. She’s waiting.”
    She pointed me toward a closed door to the side of her desk and I walked to it, knocked once on it, and went in. I was carrying a briefcase I had borrowed from Burnett Biggar.
    Janis Langwiser was sitting behind a desk that reminded me of a two-car garage. She also had the twelve-foot ceiling and the cherry wood paneling and shelves. She wasn’t a small woman. Rather, she was tall and slim. But the office made her look diminutive. She smiled when she saw me and I did likewise.
    “They never asked me if I wanted bottled water or coffee when I came to see you at the DA’s office.”
    “I know, Harry. Times have certainly changed.”
    She stood up and reached her hand across the desk. She had to lean forward to make it. We shook hands. I met her when she was a rookie filing deputy in downtown criminal courts. I watched her grow up and handle some of the biggest and toughest cases. She was a good prosecutor. Now she was trying to be a good criminal defense attorney. Rare was the prosecutor who made a whole career of it. The money was too good at the other table. Judging by the office I was in, Janis Langwiser was sitting pretty at that other table.
    “Have a seat,” she said. “You know I’ve been meaning to track you down and call you. You just turning up like this today is great.”
    I was confused.
    “Track me down for what? You’re not repping anybody I put in the clink, are you?”
    “No, no, nothing like that. I wanted to talk to you about a job.”
    I raised my eyebrows. She smiled like she was offering me the keys to the city.
    “I don’t know what you know about us, Harry.”
    “I know you were pretty hard to find. You’re not listed in the phone book. I had to call a friend of mine at the DA’s office and he got me the number.”
    She nodded.
    “That’s right. We’re not listed. We don’t need to be. We have very few clients and we handle every legal detail that crops up in their lives.”
    “And you handle the criminal details.”
    She hesitated. She was trying to judge where I was coming from.
    “That’s right. I’m the firm’s criminal expert. That’s why I was meaning to call you. When I heard you retired I thought this would be perfect. Not full-time, but sometimes-depending on the case-it gets hot and heavy. We could really use somebody with your skills, Harry.”
    I took a moment to compose my answer. I didn’t want to offend her. I wanted to hire her. So I decided not to tell her that what she was suggesting was impossible. That I could never move to the other table, no matter what the money was. It wasn’t in me. Retired or not, I had a mission in life. Working for a defense attorney wasn’t part of it.
    “Janis,” I said, “I’m not looking for a job. I sort of already have one. The reason I’m here is because I want to hire you.”
    She giggled.
    “You’re kidding,” she said. “Are you in trouble?”
    “Probably. But that’s not why I want to hire you. I need a lawyer I can trust to hold something for me and take the appropriate actions with it if necessary.”
    She leaned forward in her desk. She still was at least six feet away from me.
    “Harry, this is getting mysterious. What is going on?”
    “First off, what is your normal retainer? Let’s get the client thing out of the way first.”
    “Harry, our minimum retainer is twenty-five thousand dollars. So forget about that. I owe you for all of those airtight cases you brought me. Consider yourself a client.”
    I pushed the surprise off my face.
    “Really? Twenty-five grand just to open a file?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well, they got the right person for it.”
    “Thank you, Harry. Now what is this thing you want me to do?”
    I opened the briefcase Burnett Biggar had given me to carry the second round of equipment I borrowed from him along with the memory card and the three CDs containing copies of the clock surveillance. Andre had made the copies. I put the card and the CDs on her desk.
    “This is a surveillance