Trunk Music

fresh binder from the supply closet, put his copies of the reports on the rings and dropped it into a file cabinet drawer that had his business card taped to it. He then told his two partners where it was if they needed it.
    “Harry,” Rider said in a low voice, “you’re thinking of doing a little freelancing on it, aren’t you?”
    He looked at her a moment, unsure of how to answer. He thought about her relationship with Billets. He had to be careful.
    “If you are,” she said, perhaps sensing his indecision, “I’d like to be in on it. You know the bureau isn’t going to work it with any due diligence. They’re going to let it drop.”
    “Count me in, too,” Edgar added.
    Bosch hesitated again, looked from one to the other and then nodded.
    “How ’bout we meet at Musso’s at twelve-thirty?” he said. “I’m buying.”
    “We’ll be there,” Edgar said.
    When he got back to the front of the bureau, he saw through the glass window of her office that Billets was off the phone and looking at some paperwork. Her door was open and Bosch stepped in, knocking on the doorjamb as he entered.
    “Good morning, Harry.” There was a wistfulness to her voice and demeanor, as if maybe she was embarrassed that he was her front-desk man. “Anything happening I should know about right away?”
    “I don’t think so. It looks pretty tame. Uh, there’s a hot prowler working the strip hotels again, though. At least it looks like one guy. Did one at the Chateau and another at the Hyatt last night. People never woke up. Looks like the same MO on both.”
    “Were the vics anybody we should know and care about?”
    “I don’t think so but I don’t read People magazine. I might not recognize a celebrity if they came up and bit me.”
    She smiled.
    “How much were the losses?”
    “I don’t know. I’m not done with that pile yet. That’s not why I came in. I just wanted to say thanks again for sticking up for me like you did yesterday.”
    “That was hardly sticking up for you.”
    “Yes it was. In those kinds of circumstances what you said and did was sticking your neck way out. I appreciate it.”
    “Well, like I said, I did it because I don’t believe it. And the sooner IAD and the bureau get on with it, the sooner they won’t believe it. When’s your appointment, by the way?”
    “Two.”
    “Who is your defense rep going to be?”
    “Guy I know from RHD. Name’s Dennis Zane. He’s a good guy and he’ll know what to do for me. You know him?”
    “No. But listen, let me know if there is anything else I can do.”
    “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
    “Grace.”
    “Right. Grace.”
    When Bosch went back to his desk he thought about his appointment with Chastain. In accordance with departmental procedures, Bosch would be represented by a union defense rep who was actually a fellow detective. He would act almost as an attorney would, counseling Bosch on what to say and how to say it. It was the first formal step of the internal investigation and disciplinary process.
    When he looked up, he saw a woman standing at the counter with a young girl. The girl had red-rimmed eyes and a marble-sized swelling on her lower lip that looked like it might have been the result of a bite. She was disheveled and stared at the wall behind Bosch with a distance in her eyes that suggested that a window was there. But there wasn’t.
    Bosch could have asked how he could help them without moving from his desk, but it didn’t take a detective to guess why they were there. He got up, came around the desk and approached the counter so they could speak confidentially. Rape victims were the people who evoked the most sadness in Bosch. He knew he wouldn’t be able to last a month on a rape squad. Every victim he had ever seen had that stare. It was a sign that all things in their lives were different now and forever. They would never get back to what they had had before.
    After speaking briefly to the mother and daughter, Bosch asked if the girl needed immediate medical attention and the mother said she didn’t. He opened the half door in the counter and ushered them both back to one of the three interview rooms off the hallway to the rear of the bureau. He then went to the sex crimes table and approached Mary Cantu, a detective who had been handling for years what Bosch knew he couldn’t handle for a month.
    “Mary, you’ve got a walk-in back in room three,” Bosch said. “She’s fifteen. Happened last night. She got