Trunk Music

search of the house.
    “What about the women?” Bosch asked.
    “The uniforms will watch them until these boys are done,” Iverson said.
    “Yeah, but as soon as they leave they’ll be on the phone. We’ll have Goshen’s lawyer down our throat before we even get started.”
    “I’ll take care of that. Goshen’s got one car here, right? Where’s the keys?”
    “Kitchen counter,” one of the other detectives said.
    “Okay,” Iverson said. “We’re out of here.”
    Bosch followed him through the kitchen, watching him pocket the keys that were on the counter, and then out into the carport by the Corvette. There was a little workroom here with tools hanging on a peg board. Iverson selected a shovel and then stepped out of the carport and around to the back yard.
    Bosch followed and watched as Iverson found the spot where the telephone line came in from a pole at the street and connected to the house. He swung the shovel up and with one strike disconnected the line.
    “Amazing how strong the wind can get out here in the open desert,” he said.
    He looked around behind the house.
    “Those girls have no car and no phone,” he said. “Nearest house is a half mile, city’s about five. My guess is they’ll stay put a while. That’ll give us time. All we need.”
    Iverson took a baseball swing with the shovel and launched it out over the property wall and into the scrub brush. He started walking toward the front of the house and his car.
    “What do you think?” Bosch asked.
    “I think the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Goshen’s ours, Harry. Yours.”
    “No. I mean about the gun.”
    “What about it?”
    “I don’t know…It seems too easy.”
    “Nobody said criminals gotta be smart. Goshen’s not smart. He’s just been lucky. But not anymore.”
    Bosch nodded but he still didn’t like it. It wasn’t really a question of being smart or not. Criminals followed routines, instincts. This didn’t make sense.
    “I saw something in his eyes when he saw the gun. Like he was just as surprised to see it as we were.”
    “Maybe. Maybe he’s just a good actor. And maybe it’s not even the right gun. You’ll have to take it back with you to run tests. Find out if it’s the gun, Harry, then worry about if it’s too easy.”
    Bosch nodded. He took out a cigarette and lit it.
    “I don’t know. I feel like I’m missing something.”
    “Look, Harry, you want to make a case or not?”
    “I want a case.”
    “Then let’s take him in and put him in a room, see what he has to say.”
    They were at the car. Bosch realized he had left the photo of Layla inside. He told Iverson to start the car and he’d be right back. When he came back with the photo and got in, he checked Goshen in the back and saw a trickle of blood running down from the corner of his mouth. Bosch looked at Iverson, who was smiling.
    “I don’t know, he must’ve bumped his face getting in. Either that or he did it on purpose to make it look like I did it.”
    Goshen said nothing and Bosch just turned around. Iverson pulled the car out onto the road and they headed back toward the city. The temperature was climbing rapidly and Bosch could already feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back. The air conditioner labored to overcome the heat that had built up in the car while they were inside the house. The air was as dry as old bones. Bosch finally took out the Chap Stick and rolled it across his sore lips. He didn’t care what Iverson or Goshen thought about it.
    They took Goshen up to the detective bureau in a back elevator in which Goshen audibly farted. Then Bosch and Iverson walked him down a hallway off the squad room and into an interview room barely larger than a rest-room stall. They handcuffed him to a steel ring bolted to the center of the table and locked him in. Then they left him there. As Iverson closed the door, Goshen called after him that he wanted to make his phone call.
    Bosch noticed that the squad room was almost deserted as they walked back toward Felton’s office.
    “Somebody die?” Bosch asked. “Where is everybody?”
    “They’re out picking up the others.”
    “What others?”
    “The captain wanted to bring in your pal, Gussie, throw a scare at him. They’re bringing in the girl, too.”
    “Layla? They found her?”
    “No, not her. The one you had us run last night. The one that played with your victim at the Mirage. Turns out she’s got a jacket.”
    Bosch reached over and yanked