The Black Ice (hb-2)

himself in the women who attracted him. Why it was this way, he never understood. It was just there. And now this woman whose name he didn’t even know was there and he was being drawn to her. Maybe it was a reflection of himself and his own needs, but it was there and he had seen it. It hooked him and made him want to know what had etched the circles beneath such sharp eyes. Like himself, he knew, she carried her scars on the inside, buried deep, each one a mystery. She was like him. He knew.
    “I’m sorry but I don’t know your name. The deputy chief just gave me the address and said go.”
    She smiled at his predicament.
    “It’s Sylvia.”
    He nodded.
    “Sylvia. Um, is that coffee I smell by any chance?”
    “Yes. Would you like a cup?”
    “That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.”
    “Not at all.”
    She got up and as she passed in front of him so did his doubts.
    “Listen, I’m sorry. Maybe I should go. You have a lot to think about and I’m intruding here. I’ve-”
    “Please stay. I could use the company.”
    She didn’t wait for an answer. The fire made a popping sound as the flames found the last pocket of air. He watched her head toward the kitchen. He waited a beat, took another look around the room and stood up and headed toward the lighted doorway of the kitchen.
    “Black is fine.”
    “Of course. You’re a cop.”
    “You don’t like them much, do you. Cops.”
    “Well, let’s just say I don’t have a very good record with them.”
    Her back was to him and she put two mugs on the counter and poured coffee from a glass pot. He leaned against the doorway next to the refrigerator. He was unsure what to say, whether to press on with business or not.
    “You have a nice home.”
    “No. It’s a nice house, not a home. We’re selling it. I guess I should say I’m selling it now.”
    She still hadn’t turned around.
    “You know you can’t blame yourself for whatever he did.”
    It was a meager offering and he knew it.
    “Easier said than done.”
    “Yeah.”
    There was a long moment of silence then before Bosch decided to get on with it.
    “There was a note.”
    She stopped what she was doing but still did not turn.
    “‘I found out who I was.’ That’s all he said.”
    She didn’t say anything. One of the mugs was still empty.
    “Does it mean anything to you?”
    She finally turned to him. In the bright kitchen light he could see the salty tracks that tears had left on her face. It made him feel inadequate, that he was nothing and could do nothing to help heal her.
    “I don’t know. My husband… he was caught on the past.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He was just-he was always going back. He liked the past better than the present or the hope of the future. He liked to go back to the time he was growing up. He liked… He couldn’t let things go.”
    He watched tears slide into the grooves below her eyes. She turned back to the counter and finished pouring the coffee.
    “What happened to him?” he asked.
    “What happens to anybody?” For a while after that she didn’t speak, then said, “I don’t know. He wanted to go back. He had a need for something back there.”
    Everybody has a need for their past, Bosch thought. Sometimes it pulls harder on you than the future. She dried her eyes with tissue and then turned and gave him a mug. He sipped it before speaking.
    “Once he told me he lived in a castle,” she said. “That’s what he called it, at least.”
    “In Calexico?” he asked.
    “Yes, but it was for a short while. I don’t know what happened. He never told me a lot about that part of his life. It was his father. At some point, he wasn’t wanted anymore by his father. He and his mother had to leave Calexico-the castle, or whatever it was-and she took him back across the border with her. He liked to say he was from Calexico but he really grew up in Mexicali. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there.”
    “Just to drive through. Never stopped.”
    “That’s the general idea. Don’t stop. But he grew up there.”
    She stopped and he waited her out. She was looking down at her coffee, an attractive woman who looked weary of this. She had not yet seen that this was a beginning for her as well as an end.
    “It was something he never got over. The abandonment. He often went back there to Calexico. I didn’t go but I know he did. Alone. I think he was watching his father. Maybe seeing what could have been. I don’t know. He kept