Trunk Music

badge wallet, but it was still ignored. The guard was writing on his clipboard. Bosch saw his name tag said Nash. He also saw that the tin badge said CAPTAIN across it.
    “They expecting you at the Aliso place?”
    “I don’t think so. It’s police business.”
    “Okay, but I’ve got to call ahead. It’s the development’s rules, you know.”
    “I prefer you didn’t do that, Captain Nash.”
    Bosch hoped his use of the security guard’s title would win him over. Nash thought a moment.
    “Tell you what,” he said. “You go on ahead and I’ll come up with a reason for delaying making the call a few minutes. I’ll just say I’m up here by myself t’night and I got kind of busy, if there’s a complaint.”
    He stepped back and reached in the open door of the gatehouse. He pressed a button on the inside wall and the crossguard went up.
    “Thanks, Captain. You work out of Hollywood?”
    Bosch knew he didn’t. He could tell Nash wasn’t even a cop. He didn’t have the cold eyes of a cop. But Bosch was playing to him, just in case he became a useful source of information later on.
    “Nah,” Nash said. “I’m full-time. That’s why they made me captain of the watch. Everybody else is part-time out of Hollywood or West Hollywood sheriffs. I run the schedule.”
    “Then how’d you get stuck on the night shift on Sunday night?”
    “Everybody can use some OT now and then.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “You’re right about that. Hillcrest, where’s that?”
    “Oh, yeah, forgot. Take your second left. That’s Hillcrest. The Aliso place is about the sixth house on the right. Nice view of the city from the pool.”
    “Did you know him?” Rider asked, leaning down so she could see Nash through Bosch’s window.
    “Aliso?” Nash said, bending further to look in at her. He thought a moment. “Not really. Just like I know people when they come through here. I’m just the same to them as the pool man, I guess. I notice you asked did I know him. Am I not going to get the chance?”
    “Smart man, Mr. Nash,” Rider said.
    She straightened up, finished with the conversation. Bosch nodded his thanks and drove through the gate to Hillcrest. As he passed the broad, manicured lawns surrounding houses the size of apartment buildings, he filled Rider in on what he had learned at the print shed and from Edgar. He also admired the properties they were passing. Many of them were surrounded by walls or tall hedges that looked as though they were trimmed into sharp edges every morning. Walls within walls, Bosch thought. He wondered what the owners did with all of their space besides fearfully guard it.
    It took them five minutes to find the Aliso house on a cul-de-sac at the top of the hill. He passed through the open gates of an estate with a Tudor-style mansion set behind a circular driveway made of gray paver stones. Bosch got out with his briefcase and looked up at the place. It was intimidating in its size, but its style was not much to speak of. He wouldn’t want it, even if he had the money.
    After getting to the door and pushing the doorbell button, he looked at Rider.
    “You ever done this before?”
    “No. But I grew up in South L.A. A lot of drive-bys. I was around when people got the news.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Not to belittle that experience, but this is different. What is important is not what you hear said, it’s what you observe.”
    Bosch pushed the lighted button again. He could hear the bell sound from inside the house. He looked at Rider and could tell she was about to ask a question, when the door was opened by a woman.
    “Mrs. Aliso?” Bosch asked.
    “Yes?”
    “Mrs. Aliso, I’m Detective Harry Bosch with the LAPD. This is my partner, Detective Kizmin Rider. We need to speak with you concerning your husband.”
    He held out his badge wallet and she took it from his hand. Usually, they didn’t do that. Usually, they recoiled from it or looked at it like it was some strange and fascinating object not to be touched.
    “I don’t under-”
    She stopped when the sound of a phone ringing began somewhere behind her in the big house.
    “Would you excuse me a moment. I have to-”
    “That’s probably Nash at the gate. He said he had to call ahead, but there was a lineup of cars behind us. I guess we beat him here. We need to come in to talk to you, ma’am.”
    She stepped back in and opened the door wide for him. She looked about five to ten years younger than her husband had been. She was