The Drop

unlock the padlock on that gate and let me out.”
    She smiled and it was disarming. A few strands of her carefully pulled-back hair had come loose and were framing her face.
    “Unfortunately, I don’t have a key to that gate. I wouldn’t mind seeing you make that climb but why don’t I just drive you around?”
    “Sounds good.”
    He got into the passenger side of her car and they drove out through the gate and onto Woodman.
    “Who is Rico?” Bosch asked.
    “He’s our overnight orderly,” Stone said. “Works six to six.”
    “Is he from the neighborhood?”
    “Yes, but he’s a good kid. We trust him. Anything happens or anybody acts up, he calls me or the director right away.”
    “Good.”
    They came down the alley and she stopped behind his car.
    “The problem is, the trash bin is on wheels,” she said. “We can push it away from the fence but they can push it right back.”
    “Can’t you expand that gate and keep it inside the compound?”
    “If we put that in the budget, we’ll probably get it approved in about three years.”
    Bosch nodded. Every bureaucracy was in budget crisis.
    “Have Rico take the lid off the Dumpster. Then they’ll have nothing to stand on. It might make a difference.”
    She nodded.
    “Might be worth a try.”
    “And keep having Rico walk you out.”
    “Oh, I do. Every night.”
    He nodded and put his hand on the door handle. He decided to go with his instincts. He had seen no ring on her finger.
    “Where’s home from here, north or south?”
    “Oh, south. I live in North Hollywood.”
    “Well, I’m heading to Jerry’s Deli to pick up some chicken noodle soup for my daughter. You want to meet me there and maybe get something to eat?”
    She hesitated. He could see her eyes in the dim light from the dash.
    “Um, Detective . . .”
    “You can call me Harry.”
    “Harry, I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
    “Really? Why? I’m talking about a quick sandwich. I have to bring soup home.”
    “Well, because . . .”
    She paused and then started laughing.
    “What?”
    “I don’t know. Never mind. Yes, I’ll meet you there.”
    “Good. Then I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
    He got out of the car and headed to his own. The whole way to Jerry’s he kept checking the rearview mirror. She was following him and he half expected her to suddenly take a screaming turn to the left or right when she changed her mind.
    But she never did and soon they were sitting across from each other in a booth. In the well-lit deli he noticed her eyes for the first time. There was a sadness in them he had not noticed before. Maybe it was from the work. She dealt with the lowest form of human life. The predators. Those who took advantage of the smaller and the weaker. Those the rest of society couldn’t stand to look at.
    “How old is your daughter?”
    “Fifteen going on thirty.”
    She smiled.
    “She’s home sick from school today and I barely got the chance to check in on her. It’s been a busy day.”
    “It’s just you and her?”
    “Yes. Her mother—my ex—died a couple years ago. I went from living alone to trying to raise a thirteen-year-old. It’s been . . . interesting.”
    “I bet.”
    He smiled.
    “The truth is, I’ve loved every minute of it. It’s changed my life for the better. I just don’t know if she’s better off.”
    “But there’s no other choice, is there?”
    “No, that’s the thing. She’s stuck with me.”
    “I’m sure she’s happy, even if she doesn’t express it. It’s hard to read teenage girls.”
    “Yeah.”
    He checked his watch. He felt guilty now that he had put himself first. He wouldn’t get home till at least eight thirty with the soup. The waiter came and asked for their drink order and Bosch told him that they needed to order everything to save time. Stone ordered half a turkey sandwich. Bosch ordered a whole turkey sandwich and the soup to go.
    “What about you?” he asked when they were left alone.
    Stone told him she had been divorced for over ten years and had had only one serious relationship in the time since. She had a grown son who lived up in the San Francisco area and she rarely saw him. She was pretty much dedicated to her job at the Buena Vista, where she had worked for four years after a midlife change in direction. She went from being a therapist who specialized in treating narcissistic professionals to retooling for a year in school before treating sex offenders.
    Bosch got the