The Black Ice (hb-2)

was of no interest to them. He was a symbol of what could happen, of how easily one could fall.
    “Sheehan still around?” he asked the duty detective who sat at the front desk and handled the phone lines, incoming reports and all the other shitwork.
    “Gone for the day,” she said without looking up from a staff vacation schedule she was filling out. “Called from the ME’s office a few minutes ago and said he was code seven until theA.M.”
    “There a desk I can use for a few minutes? I have to make some phone calls.”
    He hated to ask for such permission, having worked in this room for eight years.
    “Just pick one,” she said. She still didn’t look up.
    Bosch sat down at a desk that was reasonably clear of clutter. He called the Hollywood homicide table, hoping there would still be someone there. Karen Moshito answered and Bosch asked if he had any messages.
    “Just one. Somebody named Sylvia. No last name given.”
    He took the number down, feeling his pulse quicken.
    “Did you hear about Moore?” Moshito asked.
    “You mean the ID? Yeah, I heard.”
    “No. The cut is screwed up. Radio news says the autopsy is inconclusive. I never heard of a shotgun in the face being inconclusive.”
    “When did this come out?”
    “I just heard it on KFWB at five.”
    Bosch hung up and tried Porter’s number once more. Again there was no answer and no tape recording picked up. Harry wondered if the broken-down cop was there and just not answering. He imagined Porter sitting with a bottle in the corner of a dark room, afraid to answer the door or the phone.
    He looked at the number he had written down for Sylvia Moore. He wondered if she had heard about the autopsy. That was probably it. She picked up after three rings.
    “Mrs. Moore?”
    “It’s Sylvia.”
    “This is Harry Bosch.”
    “I know.”
    She didn’t say anything further.
    “How are you holding up?”
    “I think I’m okay. I… I called because I just want to thank you. For the way you were last night. With me.”
    “Oh, well, you didn’t-it was…”
    “You know that book I told you about last night?”
    “
The Long Goodbye
?”
    “There’s another line in it I was thinking about. ‘A white knight for me is as rare as a fat postman.’ I guess nowadays there are a lot of fat postmen.” She laughed very softly, almost like her crying. “But not too many white knights. You were last night.”
    Bosch didn’t know what to say and just tried to envision her on the other end of the silence.
    “That’s very nice of you to say. But I don’t know if I deserve it. Sometimes I don’t think the things I have to do make me much of a knight.”
    They moved on to small talk for a few moments and then said good-bye. He hung up and sat still for a moment, staring at the phone and thinking about things said and unsaid. There was something there. A connection. Something more than her husband’s death. More than just a case. There was a connection between them.
    He turned the pages of the notebook back to the chronological chart he had made earlier.
    Nov. 9 Dance arrested
    Nov. 13 Jimmy Kapps dead
    Dec. 4 Moore, Bosch meet
    He now started to add other dates and facts, even some that did not seem to fit into the picture at the moment. But his overriding feeling was that his cases were linked and the link was Calexico Moore. He didn’t stop to consider the chart as a whole until he was finished. Then he studied it, finding that it gave some context to the thoughts that had jumbled in his head in the last two days.
    Nov. 1 BANG cya memo on black ice
    Nov. 9 Rickard gets tip-from Jimmy Kapps
    Nov. 9 Dance arrested, case kicked
    Nov. 13 Jimmy Kapps dead
    Dec. 4 Moore, Bosch meet-Moore holds back
    Dec. 11 Moore receives DEA briefing
    Dec. 18 Moore finds body-Juan Doe #67
    Dec. 18 Porter assigned Juan Doe case
    Dec. 19 Moore checks in, Hideaway-suicide?
    Dec. 24 Juan Doe #67 autopsy-bugs?
    Dec. 25 Moore’s body found
    Dec. 26 Porter pulls pin
    Dec. 26 Moore autopsy-inconclusive?
    But he couldn’t study it too long without thinking of Sylvia Moore.

Chapter 9
    Bosch took Los Angeles Street to Second and then up to the Red Wind. In front of St. Vibiana’s he saw an entourage of bedraggled, homeless men leaving the church. They had spent the day sleeping in the pews and were now heading to the Union Street mission for dinner. As he passed the
Times
building he looked up at the clock and saw it was exactly six. He turned on KFWB for the news. The