The Concrete Blonde (hb-3)

notebook.
    Edgar came in then and said, “We’re ready for him upstairs.”
    Staring out the window, Bosch said, “Jerry, can you take him up? I just thought of something I need to do.”
    Locke stood up and looked at the two detectives.
    “Fuck you,” he said. “Both of you. Fuck you... There, I just had to say that. Now, let’s forget about it and go to work.”
    He crossed the room to Edgar. Bosch stopped him at the door.
    “Dr. Locke?”
    He turned back to Bosch.
    “When we catch this guy, he’ll want to gloat, won’t he?”
    Locke thought for a while and said, “Yes, he’ll be very pleased with himself, his accomplishments. That might be the hardest part for him, keeping quiet when he knows he should. He’ll want to gloat.”
    They left then and Bosch looked out the window for a few more minutes before getting up.

    * * *

    Some of the reporters who knew who he was pressed against the yellow tape and began shouting questions as he came out. He ducked under the tape and said he could make no comment and that Chief Irving was coming out soon. That seemed to mollify them temporarily and he started walking down the street to his car.
    He knew Bremmer was the master of the anti-pack. He always let the pack move in and do their thing, then he came in after, by himself, to get what he wanted. Bosch wasn’t mistaken. Bremmer showed up at the car.
    “Pullin’ out already, Harry?”
    “No, I just need to get something.”
    “Pretty bad in there?”
    “Is this on or off the record?”
    “Whatever you like.”
    Bosch opened the car door.
    “Off the record, yes, it’s pretty bad in there. On the record, no comment.”
    He leaned in and made a show of looking in the glove compartment and not finding what he wanted.
    “What are you guys calling this one? I mean, you know, since the Dollmaker was already taken.”
    Bosch got back out.
    “The Follower. That’s off the record, too. Ask Irving.”
    “Catchy.”
    “Yeah, I thought you reporters would like that.”
    Bosch pulled the empty cigarette pack out of his pocket, crumpled it and threw it into the car and closed the door.
    “Give me a smoke, will you?”
    “Sure.”
    Bremmer pulled a soft pack of Marlboros out of his sport coat and shook one out for Bosch. Then he lit it for him with a Zippo. With his left hand.
    “Hell of a city we live in, Harry, isn’t it.”
    “Yeah. This city...”

Chapter 31
    At 7:30 that night, Bosch was sitting in the Caprice in the back parking lot of St. Vibiana’s in downtown. From his angle, he could look a half block up Second Street to the corner at Spring. But he couldn’t see the
Times
building. That didn’t matter, though. He knew that every
Times
employee without parking privileges in the executive garage would have to cross the corner of Spring and Second to get to one of the employee garages a half block down Spring. He was waiting for Bremmer.
    After leaving the scene at Honey Chandler’s house, Bosch had gone home and slept for two hours. Then he had paced in his house on the hill, thinking about Bremmer and seeing how perfectly he fit the mold. He called Locke and asked a few more general questions about the psychology of the Follower. But he did not tell Locke about Bremmer. He told no one about this, thinking three strikes and you’re out. He came up with a plan, then dropped by Hollywood Division to gas up the Caprice and get the equipment he would need.
    And now he waited. He watched a steady procession of homeless people walking down Second. As if heeding a siren’s call, they were heading toward the Los Angeles Mission a few blocks away for a meal and a bed. Many carried with them or pushed in shopping carts their life’s belongings.
    Bosch never took his eyes off the corner but his mind drifted far from there. He thought of Sylvia and wondered what she was doing at that moment and what she was thinking. He hoped she didn’t take too long to decide, because he knew his mind’s instinctual protective devices and responses had begun to react. He was already looking at the positives that would come if she didn’t come back. He told himself she made him weak. Hadn’t he thought of her immediately when he found the note from the Follower? Yes, she had made him vulnerable. He told himself she might not be good for his life’s mission, let her go.

    * * *

    His heartbeat jacked up a notch when he saw Bremmer step onto the corner and then walk in the direction of the parking garages. A