The Black Ice (hb-2)

pictures from when he was growing up. Sometimes at night when he thought I was asleep, he’d take them out and look at them.”
    “Is he still alive, the father?”
    She handed him a mug of coffee.
    “I don’t know. He rarely spoke of his father and when he did he said his father was dead. But I don’t know if that was metaphorically dead or that he actually was dead. He was dead as far as Cal went. That was what mattered. It was a very private thing with Cal. He still felt the rejection, all these years later. I could not get him to talk about it. Or, when he would, he would just lie, say the old man meant nothing and that he didn’t care. But he did. I could tell. After a while, after years, I have to say that I stopped trying to talk with him about it. And he would never bring it up. He’d just go down there-sometimes for a weekend, sometimes a day. He’d never talk about it when he came back.”
    “Do you have the photos?”
    “No, he took them when he left. He’d never leave them.”
    Bosch sipped some coffee to give himself time to think.
    “It seems,” he said, “I don’t know, it seems like… could this have had anything to do with…”
    “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that it had a lot to do with us. It was an obsession with him. It was more important to him than me. It’s what ended it for us.”
    “What was he trying to find?”
    “I don’t know. In the last few years he shut me out. And I have to say that after a while I shut him out. That’s how it ended.”
    Bosch nodded and looked away from her eyes. What else could he do? Sometimes his job took him too far inside people’s lives and all he could do was stand there and nod. He was asking questions he felt guilty asking because he had no right to the answers. He was just the messenger boy here. He wasn’t supposed to find out why somebody would hold a double-barrel shotgun up to his face and pull the triggers.
    Still, the mystery of Cal Moore and the pain on her face wouldn’t let him go. She was captivating in a way that went beyond her physical beauty. She was attractive, yes, but the hurt in her face, the tears and yet the strength in her eyes tugged at him. The thought that occurred to him was that she did not deserve this. How could Cal Moore have fucked up so badly?
    He looked back at her.
    “There was another thing he told me once. Uh, I’ve had some experience with the IAD, uh, that’s Internal-”
    “I know what it is.”
    “Yes, well, he asked me for some advice. Asked me about if I knew somebody that was asking questions about him. Name of Chastain. Did Cal tell you about this? What it was about?”
    “No, he didn’t.”
    Her demeanor was changing. Bosch could actually see the anger welling up from inside again. Her eyes were very sharp. He had struck a nerve.
    “But you knew about it, right?”
    “Chastain came here once. He thought I would cooperate with whatever it was he was doing. He said I made a complaint about my husband, which was a lie. He wanted to go through the house and I told him to leave. I don’t want to talk about this.”
    “When did Chastain come?”
    “I don’t know. Couple months ago.”
    “You warned Cal?”
    She hesitated and then nodded.
    Then Cal came to the Catalina and asked me for advice, Harry realized.
    “You sure you don’t know what it was about?”
    “We were separated by then. We didn’t talk. It was over between us. All I did was tell Cal that this man had come and that he had lied about who made the complaint. Cal said that was all they do. Lie. He said don’t worry about it.”
    Harry finished his coffee but held the mug in his hand. She had known her husband had somehow fallen, had betrayed their future with his past, but she had stayed loyal. She had warned him about Chastain. Bosch couldn’t fault her for that. He could only like her better.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked.
    “What?”
    “If you are investigating my husband’s death, I would assume you already know about IAD. You are either lying to me, too, or don’t know. If that’s the case, what are you doing here?”
    He put the mug down on the counter. It gave him a few extra seconds.
    “I was sent out by the assistant chief to tell you what was-”
    “The dirty work.”
    “Right. I got stuck with the dirty work. But like I said, I sort of knew your husband and…”
    “I don’t think it’s a mystery you can solve, Detective Bosch.”
    He nodded-the old standby.
    “I