The Overlook

teach them at Quantico and it seeps into the bones of every agent in every field office in every city.
Do not embarrass the bureau
. So when we are done here and we cut that guy loose he’s not going to tell a single soul what we did or that we were even here. Why do you think they had him sitting on the house? Because he’s F-B-Einstein? Uh-uh. He’s working off an embarrassment-either to himself or the bureau. And he’s not going to do or say a thing that brings him any more heat.”
    Bosch paused to allow Ferras to respond. He didn’t.
    “So let’s just move quickly here and check out the house,” Bosch continued. “When I was here this morning it was all about the widow and dealing with her and then we had to run out the door to Saint Aggy’s. I want to take my time but be quick, you know what I mean? I want to see the place in daylight and grind the case down for a while. This is how I like to work. You’d be surprised what you come up with sometimes. The thing to remember is that there’s always a transfer. Those two killers left their mark somewhere in this house and I think SID and everybody else missed it. There’s got to be a transfer. Let’s go find it.”
    Ferras nodded.
    “Okay, Harry.”
    Bosch clapped him on the shoulder.
    “Good. I’ll start in the bedroom. You check the office.”
    Bosch moved down the hallway and was to the threshold of the bedroom when Ferras called his name again. Bosch turned and went back down the hallway to the office alcove. His partner was standing behind the desk.
    “Where’s the computer?” Ferras asked.
    Bosch shook his head in frustration.
    “It was on the desk. They took it.”
    “The FBI?”
    “Who else? It wasn’t on the SID log, only the mouse pad. Just look around, go through the desk. See what else you can find. We’re not taking anything. We’re just looking.”
    Bosch went down the hall to the master bedroom. It appeared to be undisturbed since he had last seen it. There was still a slight odor of urine due to the soiled mattress.
    He walked over to the night table on the left side of the bed. He saw black fingerprint powder dusted across the knobs on the two drawers and its flat surfaces. On top of the table were a lamp and a framed photograph of Stanley and Alicia Kent. Bosch picked up the photo and studied it. The couple was standing next to a rosebush in full bloom. Alicia had dirt smudged on her face but was smiling broadly, as if she were standing proudly next to her own child. Bosch could tell that the rosebush was hers and in the background he could see others just like it. Farther up the hillside were the first three letters of the Hollywood sign and he realized the photo was probably taken in the backyard of the house. There would be no more pictures of the happy couple like this.
    Bosch put the photo down and slid open the table’s drawers one by one. They were full of personal items belonging to Stanley. Various reading glasses, books and prescription bottles. The lower drawer was empty and Bosch remembered that it was the place where Stanley had kept his gun.
    Bosch closed the drawers and stepped into the corner of the room on the other side of the table. He was looking for a new angle, some sort of fresh take on the crime scene. He realized that he needed the crime scene photos and he had left them in a file in the car.
    He walked down the hallway toward the front door. When he got to the living room he saw Maxwell lying on the floor in front of the chair he had been placed in. He had managed to move his handcuffed wrists down over his hips. His knees were bent up with his wrists cuffed behind them. He looked up at Bosch with a red and sweating face.
    “I’m stuck,” Maxwell said. “Help me out.”
    Bosch almost laughed.
    “In a minute.”
    He walked out the front door and went to the car, where he retrieved the files containing the SID crime scene reports and photos. He had put the copy of the e-mailed photo of Alicia Kent in there as well.
    As he walked back into the house and headed toward the hallway to the rear rooms, Maxwell called out to him.
    “Come on, help me out, man.”
    Bosch ignored him. He walked down the hallway and glanced into the home office as he passed. Ferras was going through the drawers of the desk, stacking things he wanted to look at on top of it.
    In the bedroom Bosch got the e-mail photo out and put the files down on the bed. He held the photo up so he could compare it to the room. He then