Trunk Music

him to see if he was serious.
    “I read it in the Times. The ‘Only in L.A.’ column.”
    “Well, Jerry, this is the Philharmonic. It’s a different crowd, know what I mean? And I don’t want this to end up in ‘Only in L.A.,’ okay?”
    “Okay, Harry.”
    Bosch looked at Rider. She hadn’t said much of anything yet.
    “What do you think, Kiz?”
    “I don’t know. You’re the three.”
    Rider was small, five feet and no more than a hundred pounds with her gun on. She would never have made it before the department relaxed the physical requirements to attract more women. She had light brown skin. Her hair was straightened and kept short. She wore jeans and a pink oxford shirt beneath a black blazer. On her small body, the jacket did not do much to disguise a 9mm Glock 17 holstered on her right hip.
    Billets had told him that she had worked with Rider in Pacific. Rider had worked robbery and fraud cases but was called out on occasion to work homicides in which there were overlying financial aspects. Billets had said Rider could break a crime scene down as well as most veteran homicide detectives. She had pulled strings to get Rider’s transfer approved but was already resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t stay long in the division. Rider was marked for travel. Her double minority status coupled with the facts that she was good at what she did and had a guardian angel-Billets wasn’t sure who-at Parker Center practically guaranteed her stay in Hollywood would be short. It was a bit of final seasoning before she headed downtown to the Glass House.
    “What about the OPG?” Bosch asked.
    “Held up on that,” Rider said. “Thought we’d be here a while before we moved the car.”
    Bosch nodded. It was what he expected her to say. The official police garage was usually last on the call-out list. He was just stalling, trying to make a decision while asking questions he already knew the answers to.
    Finally he made his decision on what to do.
    “Okay, go ahead and call,” he said. “Tell them to come now. And tell them to bring a flatbed. Okay? Even if they’ve got a hook in the neighborhood, make ’em turn around. Tell ’em it’s gotta be a flat. There’s a phone in my briefcase.”
    “Got it,” Rider said.
    “Why the flatbed, Harry?” Edgar asked.
    Bosch didn’t answer.
    “We’re moving the whole show,” Rider said.
    “What?” Edgar asked.
    Rider went to the briefcase without answering. Bosch held back a smile. She knew what he was doing, and he began to see some of the promise Billets had talked about. He got out a cigarette and lit it. He put the burnt match into the cellophane around the pack and replaced it in the pocket of his coat.
    He noticed as he smoked that the sound at the edge of the clearing, where he could look directly down into the Bowl, was much better. After a few moments he was even able to identify the piece being played.
    “Sheherazade,” he said.
    “What’s that, Harry?” Edgar asked.
    “The music. It’s called Sheherazade. Ever heard it?”
    “I’m not sure I’m hearing it now. All the echoes, man.”
    Bosch snapped his fingers. Out of the blue a thought had pushed through. In his mind he saw the studio’s arched gate, the replica of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.
    “That address on Melrose,” Bosch said. “That’s near Paramount. One of those feeder-fish studios right nearby. I think it’s Archway.”
    “Yeah? I think you’re right.”
    Rider walked up then.
    “We got a flat on the way,” she said. “ETA is fifteen. I checked on SID and ME. Also on the way. SID has somebody just wrapped up a home invasion in Nichols Canyon, so they should be right over.”
    “Good,” Bosch said. “Either of you go over the story with the swinging stick, yet?”
    “Not since the preliminary,” Edgar said. “Not our type. Thought we’d leave him for the three.”
    The unspoken meaning of this was that Edgar had sensed the racist animosity Powers radiated toward himself and Rider.
    “Okay, I’ll take him,” Bosch said. “I want you two to finish the charting, then do another sweep of the immediate area. Take different areas this time.”
    He realized he had just told them things he didn’t need to tell them.
    “Sorry. You know what to do. All I’m saying is let’s take this one by the numbers. I’ve got a feeling it’s going eight by ten on us.”
    “What about OCID?” Edgar asked.
    “I told you, not yet.”
    “Eight by ten?” Rider said,