The Narrows

meant the blast. Could you tell what books they were?"
    "Not really. I didn't have time. There was one I picked out. It was the least burned of what I could see. It looked like it was poetry. I think."
    She looked at me and nodded but didn't say anything.
    "What I don't get is why he burned the books. He set the whole trailer to go up but he takes the time to go out to the barrel and burn some books. Almost like…"
    I stopped talking and tried to put the pieces together.
    "Almost like what, Harry?"
    "I don't know. Like he didn't want to leave the trailer thing to chance. He wanted to make sure those books were destroyed."
    "You are assuming that both things are together. Who knows, maybe he burned the books six months ago or something. You can't just connect the two things."
    I nodded. She was right about that but still the incongruity bothered me.
    "The book I found was near the top of the barrel," I said. "It was burned the last time the barrel was used. There was also a receipt in it. Half burned. But maybe they can trace it."
    "When I get back I'll check it out. But I don't remember seeing that barrel after the blast."
    I shrugged.
    "Neither do I."
    She stood up and so did I. "There's one other thing," I said as I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket. I pulled out the photo and handed it to her.
    "I must've grabbed it while I was in the trailer and then sort of forgot about it. I found it in my pocket."
    It was the photo taken from the printer tray. The two-story house with the old man out front next to the station wagon.
    "Great, Harry. How am I going to explain this?"
    "I don't know but I figured you'd want to try to ID the place or the old man."
    "What's the difference now?"
    "Come on, Rachel, you know it's not over."
    "No, I don't know that."
    It bothered me that she could not talk to me after we had been so intimate just a few minutes before.
    "Okay."
    I picked up my box and the clothing I had on hangers.
    "Wait a minute, Harry. You're just going to leave it like that? What do you mean it's not over?"
    "I mean we both know that wasn't Backus in there. If you and the bureau aren't interested in it, that's fine. But don't bullshit me, Rachel. Not after what we went through today, and not after what we just did."
    She relented.
    "Look, Harry, it's out of my hands, okay? Right now we are waiting on forensics to make a call on it. The bureau's official position probably won't be formulated until tomorrow when the director holds a press conference."
    "I'm not interested in the official position of the bureau. I was talking to you."
    "Harry, what do you want me to say?" "I want you to say you are going to get this guy, no matter what the director says tomorrow."
    I headed to the door and she followed. We left the efficiency and she pulled the door closed for me.
    "Where's your car?" I asked. "I'll walk you over."
    She pointed the way and we went down the steps and to her car, parked near the office. After she opened the door we turned and faced each other.
    "I want to get this guy," she said. "More than you could know."
    "Okay, good. I'll be in touch."
    "Well, what are you going to do?"
    "I don't know. When I do, I'll let you know."
    "Okay. See you, Bosch."
    "Good-bye, Rachel."
    She kissed me and then she got in the car. I walked to my car, ducking between the two buildings that made up the Double X to get to the other parking lot. I was pretty sure it was not the last time I would see Rachel Walling.

CHAPTER 37
    On the way out of town I could have avoided the traffic of the strip but I decided not to. I thought all the lights might cheer me up. I knew I was leaving my daughter behind. I was going to Los Angeles to rejoin the department. I would see my daughter again but I wouldn't be able to spend the kind of time with her I needed and wanted to. I was leaving to join the depressing legions of weekend fathers, the men who have to compress their love and duty into twenty-four-hour stands with their children. The thought of it raised a dark dread in my chest that a billion kilowatts of light could not cut through. There was no doubt I was leaving Las Vegas as a loser.
    Once I cleared the lights and the city limits the traffic grew sparse and the skies dark. I tried to ignore the depression my choice had put upon me. Instead, I worked the case as I drove, following the logic of the moves from the perspective of Backus, grinding it down until the story was smooth powder and I had only unan- swered questions