The Black Echo

And Sharkey.
    He said, “Do you think Binh would give Tran to us?”
    “He didn’t report his fortune was taken from the vault, so he doesn’t seem like the type that’s going to tell us about Tran.”
    “Right. I think we should try finding him ourselves before we go to Binh. Let’s make Binh the last resort.”
    “I’ll start on the computer.”
    “Right.”

    ***

    The FBI computer and the computer networks it could access did not divulge the location of Nguyen Tran. Bosch and Wish found no mention of him in DMV, INS, IRS or Social Security files. There was nothing in the fictitious name filings in the Los Angeles County recorder’s office, no mention of him in DWP records or the voter or property tax rolls. Bosch called Hector Villabona and confirmed that Tran entered the United States on the same day as Binh, but there was no further record. After three hours of staring at the amber letters on the computer screen, Eleanor turned it off.
    “Nothing,” she said. “He’s using another name. But he hasn’t legally changed it, at least in this county. Nobody has the guy.”
    They sat there dejected and quiet. Bosch took the last swallow of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. It was after five and the squad room was deserted. Rourke had gone home, after being informed of the latest developments and deciding not to send anyone into the tunnels.
    “You know how many miles of underground flood-control tunnels there are in L.A.?” he had asked. “It’s like a freeway system down there. These guys, if they are really down there, could be anywhere. We would be stumbling around in the dark. They’ll have the advantage and one of us could get hurt.”
    Bosch and Wish knew he was right. They gave him no argument and set to work finding Tran. And they had failed.
    “So now we go to Binh,” Bosch said after finishing his coffee.
    “You think he’ll cooperate?” she said. “He’ll know that if we want Tran, then we must know about their past. About the diamonds.”
    “I don’t know what he’ll do,” he said. “I’ll go see him tomorrow. You hungry?”
    “We’ll go see him tomorrow,” she corrected and smiled. “And yes, I’m hungry. Let’s get out of here.”
    They ate at a grill on Broadway in Santa Monica. Eleanor picked the place, and since it was near her apartment Bosch’s spirits were high and he was relaxed. There was a trio playing in the corner on a wooden stage, but the place’s brick walls made the sound harsh and mostly unnotable. Afterward, Harry and Eleanor sat in a comfortable silence while nursing espressos. There was a warmness between them that Bosch felt but couldn’t explain to himself. He didn’t know this woman who sat across from him. One look at those hard brown eyes told him that. He wanted to get behind them. They had made love, but he wanted to be in love. He wanted her.
    Always seeming to know his thoughts, she asked, “Are you coming home with me tonight?”

    ***

    Lewis and Clarke were on the second level of the parking garage across the street and down a half block from the Broadway Bar & Grill. Lewis was out of the car and crouched at the guardrail, watching through the camera. Its foot-long lens was steadied on a tripod and pointed at the front door of the restaurant, a hundred yards away. He was hoping the lights over the door, by the valet’s stand, would be enough. He had high-speed film in the camera, but the blinking red dot in the viewfinder was telling him not to take the shot. There still wasn’t enough light. He decided he would try anyway. He wanted a hand shot.
    “You’re not going to get it,” Clarke said from behind him. “Not in this light.”
    “Let me do my work. If I don’t get it, I don’t get it. Who cares?”
    “Irving.”
    “Well, fuck him. He tells us he wants more documentation. He’ll get it. I’m only trying to do what the man says.”
    “We should try to go down there by that deli, get a closer-”
    Clarke shut up and turned around at the sound of footsteps. Lewis kept his eye to the camera, waiting for the shot at the restaurant. The steps belonged to a man in a blue security uniform.
    “Can I ask you what you guys are doing?” the guard asked.
    Clarke badged him and said, “We’re on the job.”
    The guard, a young black man, stepped closer to look at the badge and ID and raised his hand to hold it steady. Clarke jerked it up out of his reach.
    “Don’t touch it, bro. Nobody touches my badge.”
    “That says