The Concrete Blonde (hb-3)

now.”
    Bosch noticed how Rollenberger didn’t dare call them the presidents when they were in the same room with him.
    “Anything happen today?”
    “No. The subject spent the morning at home, then a little while ago he went up to the Valley, visited a few more warehouses. Nothing suspicious.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “At home.”
    “What about Edgar?”
    “Edgar was here. He went over to Sybil to interview the survivor. He found her last night but she apparently was too dopey to talk to. He’s giving it another try, now.”
    Then in a lower voice, he said, “If she confirms an ID of Mora, do we move?”
    “I don’t think it would be a good idea. It’s not enough. And we’d tip our hand.”
    “My thoughts exactly,” he said louder now, so the presidents would know he was clearly in command here. “We stick to him like glue and we’ll be there when he makes his move.”
    “Hopefully. How’re you working this with the surveillance teams? They giving you blow by blow?”
    “Absolutely. They’re on rovers and I’m listening here. I know every move the subject makes. I’m staying on late tonight. I have a feeling.”
    “About what?”
    “I think t’night’s the night, Bosch.”

    * * *

    Bosch woke Sylvia at five but then sat on the bed and rubbed her back and neck for a half hour. After that, she got up and took a shower. Her eyes still looked sleepy when she came out to the living room. She wore her gray cotton T-shirt dress. Her blonde hair was tied in a tail behind her head.
    “When do you have to go?”
    “A little while.”
    She didn’t ask where he was going or what for. He didn’t offer to tell her.
    “You want me to make you some soup or something?” he asked.
    “No, I’m fine. I don’t think I’m going to be hungry tonight.”
    The phone rang and Harry answered it in the kitchen. It was a reporter from the
Times
who had gotten the number from Mrs. Fontenot. The reporter wanted to speak with Sylvia about Beatrice.
    “About what?” Bosch asked.
    “Well, Mrs. Fontenot said Mrs. Moore said several nice things about her daughter. We are doing a major story on this because Beatrice was such a good kid. I thought Mrs. Moore would want to say something.”
    Bosch told her to hold on and went to find Sylvia. He told her about the reporter and Sylvia quickly said she wanted to talk about the girl.
    She stayed on the phone fifteen minutes. While she was talking, Bosch went out to his car, turned on the rover and switched it to Symplex five, the DWP frequency. He heard nothing.
    He pressed the transmit button and said, “Team One?”
    A few seconds passed and he was about to try again when Sheehan’s voice came back on the rover.
    “Who’s that?”
    “Bosch.”
    “What it be?”
    “How’s our subject?”
    The next voice was Rollenberger’s coming in over Sheehan.
    “This is Team Leader, please use your code designations when on the air.”
    Bosch smirked. The guy was an ass.
    “Leader of the team, what’s my designation?”
    “You are Team Six, this is Team Leader, out.”
    “Rrrrrogaaahhhh that, dream leader.”
    “Say again?”
    “Say again?”
    “Your last transmission, Team Five, what was that?”
    Rollenberger’s voice had a frustrated quality to it. Bosch was smiling. He could hear a clicking sound over the radio and he knew it was Sheehan punching his transmit button, showing his approval.
    “I asked who was on my team.”
    “Team Six, you are solo at this time.”
    “Then should I have another code, Team Leader? Perhaps, Solo Six?”
    “Bo—uh, Team Six, please keep off the air unless you need or are giving information.”
    “Rrrogaahhh!”
    Bosch put the radio down for a moment and laughed. He had tears in his eyes and he realized he was laughing too hard at something that was mildly humorous at best. He figured it was the release of some of the tension of the day. He picked up the radio again and called Sheehan back.
    “Team One, is the subject moving?”
    “That’s affirmative, Solo-I mean, Team Six.”
    “Where is he?”
    “He is code seven at the Ling’s Wings at Hollywood and Cherokee.”
    Mora was eating at a fast-food restaurant. Bosch knew that would not give him enough time to do what he planned, especially since he was a half hour’s drive from Hollywood.
    “Team One, how’s he look? Is he staying out tonight?”
    “Looking good. Looks like he is going cruising.”
    “Talk to you later.”
    “Rrrrrogah!”

    * * *

    He could