Trunk Music

want it to be.”
    “Okay, George whatever the hell you want it to be, why don’t you tell me about that suit bag over there and those clothes you’re wearing? The new shoes. Where did it all come from?”
    “It was delivered. It’s mine now.”
    “What do you mean by delivered?”
    “Delivered. That’s what I mean. Delivered. They gave it all to me.”
    Bosch took out his cigarettes, took one and offered the pack to the man. He waved them away.
    “Can’t afford it. Take me half a day to find enough cans to buy a pack of smokes. I quit.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “How long you been livin’ up here, George?”
    “All my life.”
    “When did they kick you out of Camarillo?”
    “Who told you that?”
    It had been an educated guess, Camarillo being the nearest state institution.
    “They did. How long ago was that?”
    “If they told you about me, then they would’ve told you that. I’m not stupid, you know.”
    “You got me there, George. About the bag and the clothes, when was it all delivered?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Bosch got up and went over to the suit bag. There was an identification tag attached to the handle. He turned it over and read Anthony Aliso’s name and address. He noticed the bag was lying on top of a cardboard box that was damaged from a tumble down the hill. Bosch tipped the box with his foot and read the markings on the side.
    Scotch standard HS/T-90 VHS 96-count
    He left the box and the suit bag there and went back to the man and squatted again.
    “How’s last Friday night sound for the delivery?”
    “Whatever you say is good.”
    “It’s not what I say, George. Now if you want me to leave you alone and you want to stay here, you’ve got to help me. If you go into your nut bag, you’re not helping me. When was it delivered?”
    George tucked his chin down on his chest like a boy who’d been chastised by a teacher. He brought a thumb and forefinger up and pressed them against his eyes. His voice came out as if it were being strangled with piano wire.
    “I don’t know. They just came and dropped it off for me. That’s all I know.”
    “Who dropped it off?”
    George looked up, his eyes bright, and pointed upward with one of his dirty fingers. Bosch looked up and saw a patch of blue sky through the upper limbs of the trees. He blew out his breath in exasperation. This wasn’t going anywhere.
    “So little green men dropped it down from their spaceship, is that right, George? Is that your story?”
    “I didn’t say that. I don’t know if they were green. I didn’t see them.”
    “But you saw the spaceship?”
    “Nope. I didn’t say that, neither. I didn’t see their craft. Only the landing lights.”
    Bosch looked at him a moment.
    “Perfect size,” George said. “They got an invisible beam that measures you from up there, you don’t even know it, then they send down the clothes.”
    “That’s great.”
    Bosch’s knees were beginning to ache. He stood up and they painfully cracked.
    “I’m getting too old for this shit, George.”
    “That’s a policeman’s line. I watched ‘Kojak’ when I had the house.”
    “I know. Tell you what, I’m going to take this suit bag with me, if you don’t mind. And the box of videotapes.”
    “Help yourself. I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t have no video machine, either.”
    Bosch walked toward the box and bag, wondering why they had been discarded and not just left in the Rolls. After a moment he decided they must have been in the trunk. And in order to make room for Aliso in there, the killers had yanked them out and thrown them down the hill out of sight. They were in a hurry. It was the kind of decision made in haste. A mistake.
    He picked up the suit bag by a corner, careful not to touch the handle, though he doubted there would be any prints on it other than George’s. The box was light but bulky. He would have to make a second trip for it. He turned and looked at the homeless man. He decided not to ruin his day yet.
    “George, you can keep the clothes for now.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    As he climbed back up the hill to the road, Bosch was thinking about how he should declare the area a crime scene and call out SID to process everything. But he couldn’t do that. Not without announcing he had been continuing an investigation he had been ordered away from.
    It didn’t bother him, however, because by the time he got up to the road, he knew he had a new direction. A plan was