The Black Ice (hb-2)

I have a body with no identification. I think the man may have come from down there, maybe Mexicali. This is a guess more than anything else.”
    “Hang tight,” Capetillo said and he left the cubicle again.
    Bosch studied the poster again, noticing how the matador’s face betrayed no sign of indecision or fear, only concentration on the horns of death. The bullfighter’s eyes were flat and dead like a shark’s. Capetillo was back quickly.
    “Nice hunch. I have three reports received in the last two weeks. They all concern men that sound like your guy, but one more than the others. I think we got lucky.”
    He handed a single piece of paper to Bosch and said, “This one came from the consulate on Olvera Street yesterday.”
    It was a photocopy of a telex to the consulate by a State Judicial Police officer named Carlos Aguila. Bosch studied the letter, which was written in English
    Seeking information regarding the disappearance of Fernal Gutierrez-Llosa, 55, day laborer, Mexicali. Whereabouts unknown. Last sighting: 12/17-Mexicali.
    Description: 5-foot-8, 145 pounds. Brown eyes, brown hair, some gray. Tattoo right upper chest (blue ink ghost symbol-City of Lost Souls barrio).
    Contact: Carlos Aguila, 57-20-13, Mexicali, B.C.
    Bosch reread the page. There wasn’t much there but it was enough. Fernal Gutierrez-Llosa disappeared in Mexicali on the seventeenth and early the next morning the body of Juan Doe #67 was found in Los Angeles. Bosch looked quickly at the other two pages Capetillo had but they dealt with men who were too young to be Juan Doe #67. He went back to the first sheet. The tattoo was the clincher.
    “I think this is it,” he said. “Can I get a copy?”
    “Of course. You want me to call down there? See if they can send some prints up?”
    “Nah, not yet. I want to check a few other things out.” Actually, he wanted to limit Capetillo’s involvement to just the help he had given.
    “There’s one thing,” Bosch said. “You know what this City of Lost Souls description means? This reference to the tattoo.”
    “Yeah. Basically, the tattoo is a barrio symbol. Fernal Gutierrez-Llosa resided in the barrio Ciudad de los Personas Perdidos-City of Lost Souls. Many of the barrio dwellers down there do this. Mark themselves. It’s similar to graffiti up here. Only down there, they mark themselves and not the frigging walls as much. The police down there know what tattoos symbolize what barrios. It is fairly common in Mexicali. When you contact Aguila he can tell you. Maybe he can send you a photo, if you need it.”
    Bosch was silent for a moment as he pretended to reread the consulate paper. City of Lost Souls, he thought. A ghost. He tumbled this piece of information in his mind the way a boy who has found a baseball turns it in his hands to study the seams for wear. He was reminded of the tattoo on Moore’s arm. The devil with a halo. Was that from a Mexicali barrio?
    “You say the cops there keep track of these tattoos?”
    “That’s right. It’s one of the few decent jobs they do.”
    “How d’you mean?”
    “I mean, have you ever been down there? On a detail? It’s third world, man. The police, uh, apparatus, I guess you’d call it, is very primitive by our standards. Fact, it would not surprise me if they have no fingerprints on this man to send you. I’m surprised they even sent anything to the consul here in the first place. This Aguila, he must’ve had a hunch like you.”
    Bosch took one last look at the poster on the wall, thanked Capetillo for his help and the copy of the consulate’s telex and then left the office.

    * * *

    He got on an elevator to go down and saw Sheehan already on it. The car was crowded and Sheehan was at the back, behind the pile. They didn’t talk until they got off on three.
    “Hey, Frankie,” Bosch said. “Didn’t get a chance to talk to you Christmas night.”
    “What’re you doing here, Harry?”
    “I’m waiting for you. You must be running late, or do you check in on the fifth floor nowadays?”
    That was a little poke at Sheehan. The IAD squads were on the fifth floor. It was also to let Sheehan know that Harry had an idea of what was going on with the Moore case. Since Sheehan was going down, he had come from either the fifth or sixth floors. That was either IAD or Irving’s office. Or maybe both.
    “Don’t fuck with me, Bosch. Reason I haven’t been in is I’ve been busy this morning, thanks to the games you like to