The Black Ice (hb-2)

Investigator Aguila. But I have to inform you, the business you mentioned on the phone yesterday, EnviroBreed, I have personally interviewed the manager and he has assured me that your Juan Doe did not work there. I have saved you that much time.”
    Grena nodded as if to say his efforts were no inconvenience at all. Think nothing of it.
    “How can they be sure when we don’t have the ID yet?”
    Grena dragged on his cigarette to give him time to think about that one. He said, “I provided the name Fernal Gutierrez-Llosa to him. No such employee at any time. This is an American contractor, we must be careful… You see, we do not wish to step on the toes of the international trade.”
    Grena stood up, dropped his cigarette in the ash tray and nodded to Aguila. Then he left the office. Bosch looked at the mirrored glasses and wondered if Aguila had understood a word of what had just been said.
    “Don’t worry about the Spanish,” Aguila said after Grena was gone. “I speak your language.”

Chapter 21
    Bosch insisted that he drive, saying he did not want to leave the Caprice-it wasn’t his, he explained-in the parking lot. What he didn’t explain was that he wanted to be near his gun, which was still in the trunk. On their way through the plaza, they waved away the children with their hands out.
    In the car, Bosch said, “How’re we going to make the ID without prints?”
    Aguila picked the file up off the seat.
    “His friends and wife will look at the photos.”
    “We going to his house? I can lift prints, take ’em back to L.A. to have someone take a look. It would confirm it.”
    “It is not a house, Detective Bosch. It is a shack.”
    Bosch nodded and started the car. Aguila directed him farther south to Boulevard Lazaro Cardenas on which they headed west for a short while before turning south again on Avenida Canto Rodado.
    “We go to the barrio,” Aguila said. “It is know as Ciudad de los Personas Perdidos. City of Lost Souls.”
    “That’s what the tattoo means, right? The ghost? Lost Souls?”
    “Yes, that is correct.”
    Bosch thought a moment before asking, “How far is it from Lost Souls barrio to Saints and Sinners?”
    “It is also in the southwest sector. Not far from Lost Souls. I will show it to you if you wish.”
    “Yeah, maybe.”
    “Is there a reason you ask?”
    Bosch thought of Corvo’s admonition not to trust the local police.
    “Just curious,” he said. “It’s another case.”
    He immediately felt guilty at not being truthful with Aguila. He was a cop and Bosch felt he deserved the benefit of the doubt. But not according to Corvo. They drove in silence for a while after that. They were moving away from the city and the comfort of buildings and traffic. The commercial businesses and the shops and restaurants gave way to more shacks and cardboard shanties. Harry saw a refrigerator box near the side of the road that was somebody’s home. The people they passed, sitting on rusted engine blocks, oil drums, stared at the car with hollow eyes. Bosch tried to keep his eyes on the dusty road.
    “They called you Charlie Chan back there, how come?”
    He asked primarily because he was nervous and thought conversation might distract him from his uneasiness and the unpleasantness of the journey they were making.
    “Yes,” Aguila said. “It is because I am Chinese.”
    Bosch turned and looked at him. From the side, he could look behind the mirrors and see the slight rounding of the eyes. It was there.
    “Partly, I should say. One of my grandfathers. There is a large Chinese-Mexican community in Mexicali, Detective Bosch.”
    “Oh.”
    “Mexicali was created around 1900 by the Colorado River Land Company. They owned a huge stretch of land on both sides of the border, and they needed cheap labor to pick their cotton, their vegetables,” Aguila said. “They established Mexicali. Across the border from Calexico. Like mirror images, I suppose, at least according to plan. They brought in ten thousand Chinese, all men, and they had a town. A company town.”
    Bosch nodded. He had never heard the story but found it interesting. He had seen many Chinese restaurants and signs on his drive through the city but did not recall seeing many Asians.
    “They all stayed-the Chinese?” he asked.
    “Most of them, yes. But like I said, ten thousand Chinamen. No women. The company wouldn’t allow it. Thought it would take away from the work. Later, some women came. But most of the