Trunk Music

there, anyway. According to the computer, neither case went to court. She pleaded out and paid a fine each time.”
    Bosch nodded. It sounded like a routine disposal of routine cases.
    “That’s all I’ve got on that. As far as the Times goes, there was nothing on the search. And my friend at Variety didn’t do much better. Veronica Aliso was barely mentioned in the review of Casualty of Desire. Both she and the movie were panned, but I’d like to see it anyway. Do you still have the tape, Harry?”
    “On my desk.”
    “Does she get naked in it?” Edgar asked. “If she does, I’d like to see it, too.”
    He was ignored.
    “Okay, what else?” Rider said. “Uh, Veronica also got a couple mentions in stories about movie premieres and who attended. It wasn’t a lot. When you said she had fifteen minutes, I think you confused minutes with seconds. Anyway, that’s it from me. Jerry?”
    Edgar cleared his throat and explained that he had gone up to the gatehouse at Hidden Highlands and run into a problem when Nash insisted on a new search warrant to look at the complete gate log. Edgar said he then spent the afternoon typing up the search warrant and hunting for a judge who hadn’t left early for the weekend. He eventually was successful and had a signed warrant which he planned to deliver the next morning.
    “Kiz and I are goin’ up there in the morning. We’ll get a look at the gate log and then we’re probably going to hit some of the neighbors, do some interviews. Like you said, we’re hopin’ the widow will look out her window and catch our act, maybe get a little spooked. Maybe panic, make a mistake.”
    It was then Bosch’s turn, and he recounted his afternoon efforts, including his run-in with Roy Lindell and the agent’s recollection that Veronica Aliso had started her show business career as a stripper in Vegas. He also discussed Salazar’s finding that Tony Aliso had been hit in the face with a blast of pepper spray shortly before his death and shared the deputy coroner’s hunch that it might have been a woman who sprayed him.
    “Does he think she could have pulled this off by herself after hitting him with the pepper spray?” Billets asked.
    “It doesn’t matter, because she wasn’t alone,” Bosch answered.
    He pulled his briefcase onto his lap and took out the copies of the shoe prints Donovan had recovered from the body and the bumper of the Rolls. He slid the pages to the middle of the table so the three others could look.
    “That’s a size eleven shoe. It belongs to a man, Artie says. A big man. So the woman, if she was there, could have sprayed him with the pepper, but this guy finished the job.”
    Bosch pointed to the shoe prints.
    “He put his foot right on the victim so he could lean in close and do the job point-blank. Very cool and very efficient. Probably a pro. Maybe someone she knew since her Vegas days.”
    “Probably the one who planted the gun in Vegas?” Billets asked.
    “That’s my guess.”
    Bosch had been keeping his eye on the front gate of the courtyard, just in case the drunk who had been tossed out decided to come back and make his point. But when he glanced over now, he didn’t see the drunk. He saw Officer Ray Powers, wearing mirrored glasses despite the lateness of the day, entering the courtyard and being met halfway across by the bartender. Waving his arms in an animated fashion, the bartender told the big cop about the drunk and the threats. Powers glanced around at the tables and saw Bosch and the others. When he had disengaged from the bartender he sauntered over.
    “So, the detective bureau brain trust takes five,” he said.
    “That’s right, Powers,” Edgar said. “I think the guy you’re looking for is out there pissing in the bushes.”
    “Yes, suh, I’ll jus’ go out there ’n’ fetch him, boss.”
    Powers looked around the table at the others with a satisfied smirk on his face. He saw the copies of the shoe prints on the table and pointed at them with his chin.
    “Is this what you dicks call an investigative strategy session? Well, I’ll give you a tip. Those there are what they call shoe prints.”
    He smiled at his remark, proud of it.
    “We’re off duty, Powers,” Billets said. “Why don’t you go do your job and we’ll worry about ours.”
    Powers saluted her.
    “Somebody’s got to do the job, don’t they?”
    He walked away and out through the gate without waiting for a reply.
    “He’s got one hell of a