The Concrete Blonde (hb-3)

Edgar.”
    Edgar walked quickly down the hallway so that he could stay ahead of Bosch. At the elevator he pushed the button but then without breaking stride walked past the elevator and into the stairwell to go down. Bosch followed and after they had gone down one floor, Edgar stopped and whipped around.
    “What are you following me for?”
    “Coffee.”
    “Oh, bullshit.”
    “Did—“
    “No, I didn’t talk to Pounds yet. I’ve been busy, remember?”
    “Good, then don’t.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “If you haven’t talked to Pounds about it, then don’t. Forget about it.”
    “Serious?”
    “Yeah.”
    He stood there looking at Bosch, still skeptical.
    “Learn from it. So will I. I already have. Okay?”
    “Thanks, Harry.”
    “No, don’t ‘Thanks, Harry’ me. Just say ‘okay.’“
    “Okay.”
    They walked down to the next floor and to the cafeteria. Rather than sit in front of Rollenberger and talk, Bosch suggested they take their coffee to one of the tables.
    “Hans Off, what a trip, man,” Edgar said. “I keep picturing this cuckoo clock, only it’s him that comes out and says, ‘Great idea, Chief! Great idea, Chief!’“
    Bosch smiled and Edgar laughed. Harry could tell a great burden had been lifted off the man and so he was heartened by what he had done. He felt good about it.
    “So, nothing on the survivor yet?” he said.
    “She’s out there somewhere. But the four years since she escaped from the Follower have not been good to Georgia Stern.”
    “What happened?”
    “Well, by reading her sheet and talking to some guys in street vice, it looks like she got on the needle. After that, she probably got too skaggy-looking to make movies. I mean, who wants to watch a film like that and the girl’s got track marks up her arms or her thighs or her neck. That’s the problem with the porno business if you’re a hype. You’re naked, man, you can’t hide that shit.
    “Anyway, I talked to Mora, just to make a routine contact and to tell him I was looking for her. He kinda gave me that rundown on how needle marks are the quickest way out of the business. But he had nothing else. You think that was cool, talking to him?”
    Bosch considered it a few moments and then said, “Yeah, I do. Best way to keep him from being suspicious is to act like he knows as much as we do. If you hadn’t asked him and then he heard from a source or somebody else in vice that you were looking for her, then he’d probably tumble to us.”
    “Yeah, that’s the way I figured it, so I called him this morning and asked a few questions and then went on. Far as he knows, you and me are the only ones working this new case. He doesn’t know anything about our task force. So far.”
    “Only problem with asking him about the survivor is that if he knows you’re looking, he may go looking for her. We’ll have to be careful about that. Let the surveillance teams know.”
    “Yeah, I will. Maybe Hans Off can tell ‘em. You ought to hear this guy on the rovers, sounds like a fuckin’ Eagle Scout.”
    Bosch smiled. He imagined Hans Off cut no slack in the use of radio code designations.
    “Anyway, so that’s why she isn’t in the porno biz anymore,” Edgar said, getting back to the survivor. “In the last three years, we got check charges, a couple of possessions, a couple prostitution rousts and many, many under-the-influence beefs. She’s been in and out. Always time served, never anything serious. Two, three days at a time. Not enough to help her kick, either.”
    “So where’s she work?”
    “The Valley. I’ve been on the phone with Valley Vice all morning. They say she usually works the Sepulveda corridor with the other street pros.”
    Bosch remembered the young women he had seen the other afternoon while tracing down Cerrone, Rebecca Kaminski’s manager/pimp. He wondered if he had seen or even talked to Georgia Stern and not known it.
    “What is it?”
    “Nothing. I was out there the other day and was wondering if I’d seen her. You know, not knowing who she was. Did the vice guys say whether she had protection?”
    “Nah, no pimp that they know of. I got the idea she’s bottom drawer stuff. Most pimps have better ponies.”
    “So, is Vice up there looking for her?”
    “Not yet,” Edgar said. “They have training today, but they’ll be out on Sepulveda tomorrow night.”
    “Any recent photos?”
    “Yeah.”
    Edgar reached into his sport coat and pulled out a stack