The Black Echo

fireplug was empty. Since they had come back from dinner Bosch hadn’t seen the white LTD, which he’d been sure was an IAD car. He didn’t know if Lewis and Clarke were around or had called it a night.
    “Harry, good detective work pays off with cases that come together,” Eleanor told him. “I mean, we aren’t out of the dark on this by a long shot. But I think we finally have a measure of control. Damned sight better than we were three days ago. So why the worry when a few things finally start coming together?”
    “Three days ago Sharkey was still alive.”
    “Well, while you’re taking the blame for that, why don’t you add everybody else who has ever made a choice and gotten themselves killed. You can’t change those things, Harry. And you’re not supposed to be a martyr.”
    “What do you mean, choice? Sharkey didn’t make any choice.”
    “Yes, he did. When he chose the streets, he knew he might die on the streets.”
    “You don’t believe that. He was a kid.”
    “I believe that shit happens. I believe that the best you can do in this job is come out even. Some people win and some lose. Hopefully, half the time it is the good guys who win. That’s us, Harry.”
    Bosch drank his cup dry and they sat in silence for a while after that. They had a clear view of the vault sitting at the center of the glass room like a throne. Out there in the open, polished and shiny under the bright ceiling lights, it said “Take me” to the world, he thought. And somebody would. We’re going to let them.
    Wish picked up the radio handset, keyed the transmit button twice and said, “Broadway One to First, do you guys copy?”
    “We copy, Broadway. Anything?” It was Houck’s voice on the comeback. There was a lot of static, as the radio waves ricocheted off the tall buildings in the area.
    “Only checking. What’s your position?”
    “We are due south of the front door of the pawnshop. A clear view of nothing going on.”
    “We’re east. Can see the-” She clicked off the mike and looked at Bosch. “We forgot a code for the vault. Got any ideas?”
    Bosch shook his head no, but then said, “Saxophone. I’ve seen saxophones hanging in pawnshop windows. Musical instruments, lots of them.”
    She clicked the mike open again. “Sorry, First Street, had technical difficulty. We are east of the pawnshop, have the piano in the window in sight. No activity inside.”
    “Stay awake.”
    “That’s a K. Broadway out.”
    Bosch smiled and shook his head.
    “What?” she said. “What?”
    “I’ve seen lots of musical instruments in pawnshops, but I don’t know about a piano. Who is going to take a piano to a pawnshop? You’d need a truck. We’ve blown our cover now.”
    He picked up the radio mike, but without clicking the transmit button, and said, “Uh, First Street, check that. It’s not a piano in the window. That’s an accordion. Our mistake.”
    She slugged him on the shoulder and told him to never mind the piano. They settled into an easy silence. Surveillance jobs were the bane of most detectives’ existence. But in his fifteen years on the job Bosch had never minded a single stakeout. In fact, many times he enjoyed them when he was with good company. He defined good company not by the conversation but by the lack of it. When there was no need to talk to feel comfortable, that was the right company. Bosch thought about the case and watched the traffic pass by the vault. He recapped the events as they had occurred, in order, from start to present. Revisiting scenes, listening to the dialogue over again. He found that often this reaccounting helped him make the next choice or step. What he mulled over now, poking at it like a loose tooth with his tongue, was the hit-and-run. The car that had come at them the night before. Why? What did they know at that point that made them so dangerous? It seemed to be a foolish move to kill a cop and a federal agent. Why was it undertaken? His mind then drifted to the night they had spent together after all the questions were asked by all the supervisors. Eleanor was spooked. More so than he. As he had held her in her bed, he felt as though he were calming a frightened animal. Holding and caressing her as she breathed into his neck. They had not made love. Just held each other. It had somehow seemed more intimate.
    “Are you thinking about last night?” she asked then.
    “How did you know?”
    “A guess. Any ideas?”
    “Well, I think it was