Trunk Music

righteous and angry and saying, ‘You are telling this jury that while in the middle of handling evidence from this case you got up and handled evidence from another?’ And you don’t have to be F. Lee Bailey anymore to make it sound good to a jury. Now leave me alone. Come back in a half hour.”
    “Fine, Artie, I’ll leave you alone.”
    “And buzz me when you come back. Don’t just come in. We gotta get that combination changed.”
    The last line he said more to himself than to Bosch.
    Bosch left the way he had come in and took the elevator down to go outside and have a smoke. He had to walk out to the curb and light up because it was now against departmental rules to stand outside the front door of Parker Center and smoke. So many cops working there were addicted to cigarettes that there had often been a crowd outside the building’s main doors and a permanent haze of blue smoke had begun to hang over the entrance. The chief thought this was unsightly and instituted the rule that if you left the building to smoke, you had to leave the property as well. Now the front sidewalk along Los Angeles Street often looked like the scene of a labor action, with cops, some even in uniform, pacing back and forth in front of the building. The only thing missing from the scene was picket signs. The word was that the police chief had consulted with the city attorney to see if he could outlaw smoking on the sidewalk as well, but he was told that the sidewalk was beyond the bounds of his control.
    As Bosch was lighting a second cigarette off the first, he saw the huge figure of FBI agent Roy Lindell waltzing leisurely out of the glass doors of the police headquarters. When he got to the sidewalk, he turned right and headed toward the federal courthouse. He was coming directly toward Bosch. Lindell didn’t see Bosch until he was a few feet away. It startled him.
    “What is this? Are you waiting for me?”
    “No, I’m having a cigarette, Lindell. What are you doing?”
    “None of your business.”
    He made a move to pass but Bosch stopped him with the next line.
    “Have a nice chat with Chastain?”
    “Look, Bosch, I was asked to come over and give a statement and I obliged. I told the truth. Let the chips fall.”
    “Trouble is you don’t know the truth.”
    “I know you found that gun and I didn’t put it there. That’s the truth.”
    “Part of it, at least.”
    “Well, it’s the only part I know, and that’s what I told him. So have a good day.”
    He passed by Bosch and Harry turned around to watch him go. Once again he stopped him.
    “You people might be satisfied with only part of the truth. But I’m not.”
    Lindell turned around and stepped back to Bosch.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Figure it out.”
    “No, you tell me.”
    “We were all used, Lindell. I’m going to find out by who. When I do, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
    “Look, Bosch, you don’t have the case anymore. We’re working it and you better stay the fuck away from it.”
    “Yeah, you guys are working the case, all right,” Bosch said sarcastically. “I’m sure you’re pounding the pavement on this one. Let me know when you figure it out.”
    “Bosch, it’s not like that. We care about it.”
    “Give me one answer, Lindell.”
    “What?”
    “In the time you were under, did Tony Aliso ever bring his wife over there to make a pickup?”
    Lindell was quiet a moment while he decided whether to answer. He finally shook his head.
    “Not once,” he said. “Tony always said she hated the place. Too many bad memories, I guess.”
    Bosch tried to remain cool.
    “Memories of Vegas?”
    Lindell smiled.
    “For somebody who supposedly has all the answers, you don’t know much, do you, Bosch? Tony met her in the club something like twenty years ago. Long before my time. She was a dancer and Tony was going to make her a movie star. Same story he was using on ’em to the end. Only, after her I guess he got wise and learned not to marry every one of them.”
    “Did she know Joey Marks?”
    “Your one question is now up to three, Bosch.”
    “Did she?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What was her name back then?”
    “That’s another one I don’t know. I’ll see you around, Bosch.”
    He turned and walked away. Bosch threw his cigarette into the street and walked back toward the Glass House. A few minutes later, after being properly buzzed through the door into the SID offices, Bosch found Donovan at his desk