The Black Echo

house and Bosch cut the engine.

    ***

    A man wearing a white apron that was as clean as his shaven head came to the screen at the front door.
    “Mr. Scales here?” Bosch asked.
    “Colonel Scales, you mean? No, he is not. It’s almost time for chow, though. He’ll be coming in from the fields then.”
    The man did not invite them to come in out of the sun, and so Bosch and Wish went back and sat in the car. A few minutes later a dusty white pickup truck drove up. It had an eagle inside a large letter C painted on the driver’s door. Three men got out of the cab and six more piled out of the back. They moved quickly toward the ranch house. They ranged in age from late thirties to late forties. They wore military green pants and white T-shirts soaked with sweat. No one wore a bandanna or sunglasses or had his sleeves rolled up. No one’s hair was longer than a quarter inch. The white men were burned brown like stained wood. The driver, wearing the same uniform but at least ten years older than the rest, slowed to a stop and let the others go inside. As he approached, Bosch put him on the early side of his sixties, but a guy who was almost as solid as he had been in his twenties. His hair, what could be seen of it against his gleaming skull, was white and his skin was like walnut. He was wearing work gloves.
    “Help you?” he asked.
    “Colonel Scales?” Bosch said.
    “That’s right. You police?”
    Bosch nodded and made introductions. Scales didn’t seem too impressed, even with the FBI being mentioned.
    “You remember about seven, eight months ago the FBI asked you for some information on a William Meadows, who spent some time here?” Wish asked.
    “Sure I do. I remember every time you people call up or come around asking about one of my boys. I resent it, so I remember it. You want more information on Billy? Is he in some trouble?”
    “Not anymore,” Bosch said.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Scales said. “Sounds like you’re saying he’s dead.”
    “You didn’t know?” Bosch said.
    “ ’Course I didn’t. Tell me what happened to him.”
    Bosch thought he saw genuine surprise and then a flashing hint of sadness cross Scales’s face. The news had hurt.
    “He was found dead three days ago in L.A. A homicide. We think it is related to a crime he took part in last year, that you may have heard about from the FBI’s previous contact.”
    “The tunnel thing? At that bank in L.A.?” he asked. “I know what I was told by the FBI. That’s it.”
    “That’s fine,” Wish said. “What we need from you is more complete information about who was here when Meadows was. We went over this ground before, but we are rechecking, looking for anything that might help. Will you cooperate with us?”
    “I always cooperate with you people. I don’t like it because half the time I think you got your wires crossed. Most of my boys, when they leave here, they don’t get mixed up again. We have a good record here. If Meadows did what you’re saying he did, he is the rarity.”
    “We understand that,” she said. “And this will be strictly confidential.”
    “O’right then, come into my office and you can ask your questions.”
    As they went through the front door Bosch saw two long tables in what was probably once the ranch house’s living room. About twenty men sat before plates of what looked like chicken-fried steaks and mounds of vegetables. Not one looked at Eleanor Wish. That was because they were silently saying grace, their heads down, eyes closed and hands folded. Bosch could see tattoos on almost every arm. When they stopped their prayer a chorus of forks struck home on the plates. A few of the men took the time then to look at Eleanor approvingly. The man in the apron who had come to the screen door earlier now stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
    “Colonel, are you eating with the men today, sir?” he called.
    Scales nodded and said, “I’ll be through in a few minutes.”
    They went down a hallway and through the first door into an office that was supposed to be a bedroom. It was crowded by a desk with a top the size of a door. Scales pointed to two chairs in front of it and Bosch and Wish sat down, while he took the upholstered job behind the desk.
    “Now, I know exactly what I am required by law to give you and what I don’t have to even speak to you about. But I am inclined to do more, if it will help and we have an understanding. Meadows-I sort of knew he would end