"I don't want to work for no pimp. Some asshole comes up and says he's now your man, I show 'em the shit and say I got the virus, you know, and he splits. They don't want girls with AIDS. Bad for their business."
She smiled slyly and Bosch changed his mind about her. She might be saved after all. She had the instincts of a survivor.
The Hollywood Station detective bureau was completely deserted, which was not unusual for nine on a Sunday morning. After stealing a cup of coffee from the watch office while the sergeant was busy at the wall map, Bosch went to the homicide table and called Sylvia but got no answer. He wondered if she was gardening out back and hadn't heard the phone or had gone out, maybe to get the Sunday paper to read the story about Beatrice Fontenot.
Bosch leaned back in his chair. He didn't know what his next move was. He used the rover to check with Sheehan and once again was told that there had been no movement at Locke's house.
"Think we should go up and knock?" Sheehan asked.
He wasn't expecting an answer and Bosch didn't give one. But he started thinking about it. It gave him another idea. He decided he would go to Locke's house to finesse him. To run the story about Mora by him and see how Locke reacted and if he would say the vice cop was probably the Follower.
He threw the empty coffee cup in the trash can and looked over at his slot in the memo and mail box on the wall. He saw he had something in there. He got up and took three pink phone message forms and a white envelope back to his desk. He looked at the messages and one by one dismissed them as unimportant and put them on his message spike to be considered later. Two were from TV reporters and one was from a prosecutor asking about evidence in one of his other cases. All the calls had come in Friday.
Then he looked at the envelope and felt a chill, like a cold steel ball rolling down the back of his neck. It had only his name on the outside but the distinctive printing style could mean it was from nobody else. He dropped the envelope on the table, opened his drawer and dug around in the notebooks, pens and paper clips until he found a pair of rubber gloves. Then he carefully opened the Follower's message.
Long aft's the body stops stinkingOf me you'll be thinkingFor taking your precious blondeOft'your bloody handsI'll make her my dollyAft' I've had my sweet jollyAnd maybe to leave thenFor other soft landsNo air for her to swallowAft' me dare you not followHer last word, my gosh!A sound like Boschhhhhh
As he left the station, he ran through the watch commander's office, almost knocked down the startled duty sergeant and yelled: "Get hold of Detective Jerry Edgar! Tell'm to come up on the rover. He'll know what I mean."
29.
Getting to the freeway was so frustrating that Bosch believed he could actually feel his blood pressure rising. His skin began to feel tight around his eyes, his face grew warm. There was some kind of Sunday morning performance at the Hollywood Bowl and traffic on Highland was backed up to Fountain. Bosch tried taking some side streets but so were many of the people going to the Bowl. He was deep into this quagmire before he cursed himself for not remembering that he had the bubble and siren. Working homicide, it had been so long since he had to race to get anywhere that he had forgotten.
After he slid the bubble onto the roof and hit the siren, the cars began to part in front of him and he remembered how easy it could be. He had just gotten onto the Hollywood Freeway and was speeding north through the Cahuenga Pass when Jerry Edgar's voice came up on the rover on the seat next to him.
"Harry Bosch?"
"Yeah, Edgar, listen. I want you to call the sheriff's department, Valencia station, and tell them to get a car to Sylvia's house code three. Tell them to make sure she's okay."
Code three meant lights and siren, an emergency. He gave Edgar her address.
"Make the call now and then come back up."
"Okay, Harry. What's going on?"
"Make the call now!"
Three minutes later Edgar was back on the radio.
"They're on the way. What've you got?"
"I'm on my way, too. What I want you to do is go in to the division. I left a note on my desk. It's from the Follower. Secure it and then call Rollenberger and Irving and tell 'em what's happening."
"What is happening?"
Bosch had to swerve into the median to avoid hitting a car that pulled into the lane in front of him. The driver hadn't seen Bosch coming and Bosch knew he was going too fast-a steady ninety-three-for the siren to give much of a warning to the cars ahead of him.
"The note's another poem. He says he is going to take the blonde off my hands. Sylvia. There's no answer at her house but there still may be time. I don't think I was supposed to find the note until Monday, when I came in for work."
"On my way. Be careful, buddy. Stay cool."
Stay cool, Bosch thought. Right. He thought of what Locke had told him about the Follower being angry, wanting to get back at him for putting down the Dollmaker. Not Sylvia, he hoped. He wouldn't be able to live with it.
He picked the radio back up.
"Team One?"
"Yo," Sheehan replied.
"Go get him. If he's there, bring him in."
"You sure?"
"Bring him in."
There was a lone sheriff's car in front of Sylvia's house. When Bosch pulled to a stop, he saw a uniform deputy standing on the front step, back to the door. It looked as if he was guarding the place. As if he was protecting a crime scene.
As he started to get out, Bosch felt a sharp stabbing pain on the left side of his chest. He held still for a moment and it eased. He ran around the car and across the lawn, working his badge out of his pocket as he went.
"LAPD, what've you got?"
"It's locked. I walked around, all windows and doors secured. No answer. Looks like nobody's-"
Bosch pushed past him and used his key to open the door. He ran from room to room, making a quick search for obvious signs of foul play. There were none. The deputy had been right. Nobody was home. Bosch looked in the garage and Sylvia's Cherokee was not there.
Still, Bosch made a second sweep of the house, opening closets, looking under beds, looking for any indication that something was amiss. The deputy was standing in the living room when Bosch finally came out of the bedroom wing.
"Can I go now? I was pulled off a call that seems a little more important than this."
Bosch noted the annoyance in the deputy's voice and nodded for him to go. He followed him out and got the rover out of the Caprice.
"Edgar, you up?"
"What do you have there, Harry?"
There was the sound of genuine dread in his voice.
"Nothing here. No sign of her or anything else."
"I'm at the station, you want me to put a BOLO out?"
Bosch described Sylvia and her Cherokee for the Be On Look Out dispatch that would go out to all patrol cars.
"I'll put it out. We got the task force coming in. Irving, too. We'll be meeting here. There's nothing else to do but wait."
"I'm going to wait here a while. Keep me posted... . Team One, you up?"
"Team One," Sheehan said. "We went up to the door. Nobody home. We're standing by. If he shows, we'll bring him in."
Bosch sat in the living room, his arms folded in front of him, for more than an hour. He now knew why Georgia Stern had held herself this way at Sybil Brand. There was comfort in it. Still, the silence of the house was nerve-wracking. He was staring at the portable phone he had put on the coffee table, waiting for it to ring, when he heard a key hit the lock on the front door. He jumped up and was moving toward the entry when the door opened and a man stepped in. It wasn't Locke. It wasn't anyone Bosch knew, but he had a key.
Without hesitating Bosch moved into the entrance and slammed the man up against the door as he turned to close it.
"Where is she?" he shouted.
"What? What?" the man cried out.
"Where is she?"
"She couldn't come. I'm going to watch it for her. She's got another open in Newhall. Please!"
Bosch realized what was happening just as the pager on his belt sounded its shrill tone. He stepped away from the man.
"You're the Realtor?"
"I work for her. What are you doing? Nobody's supposed to be here."
Bosch pulled the pager off his belt and saw the readout was his home phone number.
"I have to make a call."
He went back to the living room. Over his shoulder he heard the real estate man say, "Yeah, you do that! What the hell is going on here."
Bosch punched the number into the phone and Sylvia picked up after one ring.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, Harry, where are you?"
"At your place. Where have you been?"
"I picked up a pie at Marie Callendar's and took it and the flowers I cut to the Fontenots. I just felt like doing-"
"Sylvia, listen to me. Is the door locked?"
"What? I don't know."
"Put the phone down and go make sure. Make sure the sliding door to the porch is locked, too. And the door to the carport. I'll wait."
"Harry, what is-"
"Go do it now!"
She was back in a minute. Her voice sounded very timid.
"Okay, everything's locked."
"Okay, good. Now listen, I'm coming there right now and it will only take me half an hour. In the meantime, no matter who comes to the door, don't answer it and don't make any sound. Understand?"
"You're scaring me, Harry."
"I know that. Do you understand what I said?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Bosch thought for a moment. What else could he tell her?
"Sylvia, after we are done here. I want you to go to the closet near the front door. On the shelf there is a white box. Take it down and take out the gun. There are bullets in the red box in the cabinet over the sink. The red box, not the blue. Load the gun."
"I can't do-what are you telling me?"
"Yes, you can, Sylvia. Load the gun. Then wait for me. If anybody comes through the door and it's not me, protect yourself."
She didn't say anything.
"I'm on my way. I love you."
While Bosch was on the freeway going south, Edgar came up on the radio and told him Sheehan and Opelt still had made no sighting of Locke. The presidents had been dispatched to USC but Locke was not at his office, either.
"They're going to sit on both locations. I'm working on a warrant for the house now. But I don't think the PC is there."
Bosch knew he was probably right. Mora's identification of Locke as the man hanging around porno sets and the names of three of the victims in his book were not probable cause to search his house.
He told Edgar that he had located Sylvia and was headed to her now. After signing off, he realized that her trip to the Fontenot house might have saved her life. He saw a symbiotic grace in that. A life taken, a life saved.
Before opening the door to his house he loudly announced he was there, then turned the key and walked into Sylvia's trembling arms. He held her to his chest and said into the radio, "We're all safe here," then turned it off.
They sat down on the couch and Bosch told her everything that had happened since they had last been together. He could tell by her eyes that it scared her more knowing what was going on than not.
She, in turn, explained that she had to get out of the house because the Realtor was holding an open house. That was why she had gone to Bosch's house after visiting the Fontenots. He explained that he had forgotten about the open house.
"You might need to get a new Realtor after today," he said.
They laughed together to let some of the tension go.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This should never have involved you."
They sat in silence for a while after that. She leaned against him as if she was weary of everything.