Trunk Music
tilt of the jaw were there. He knew her.
“Harry,” Eleanor whispered then. “Is that…it looks like the dancer. The girl in that photo you had, the one I saw Tony with.”
“Layla,” Bosch said, not answering her but just to say the name.
“It’s her, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t used to believe in coincidences,” he said.
“Are you going to call the bureau? The money’s probably right here on the island with her.”
Bosch watched the woman moving away. Her back was to him now and from that angle it was almost as if she were naked. Just a few strings from her suit were visible. The glare came back on his glasses at this angle and his vision of her was distorted. She was disappearing in the glare and the mist coming in from the Pacific.
“No, I’m not calling anybody,” he finally said.
“Why not?”
“She didn’t do anything,” he said. “She let some guy give her money. Nothing wrong with that. Maybe she was even in love with him.”
He watched for another moment, thinking about Veronica’s last words to him.
“Anyway, who’s going to miss the money?” he said. “The bureau? The LAPD? Some fat old gangster in a Chicago suburb with a bunch of bodyguards around him? Forget it. I’m not calling anybody.”
He took one last look at her. She was far away now and as she walked she was looking out to sea, the sun holding her face. Bosch nodded to her, but of course she didn’t see this. He then lay back down on the lounge and closed his eyes. Almost immediately he felt the sun begin penetrating his skin, doing its healing work. And then he felt Eleanor’s hand on top of his. He smiled. He felt safe. He felt like nobody could ever hurt him again.
***
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