City of Bones by Michael Connelly Page A

moving through a tunnel. But he wasn’t crawling. It was as if he were underwater and moving like an eel through the labyrinth. He came to a dead end and there was a boy sitting against the curve of the tunnel’s wall. He had his knees up and his face down, buried in his folded arms.
    “Come with me,” Bosch said.
    The boy peeked his eyes over one arm and looked up at Bosch. A single bubble of air rose from his mouth. He then looked past Bosch as if something was coming up behind him. Bosch turned around but there was only the darkness of the tunnel behind him.
    When he looked back at the boy, he was gone.

12
     
    L ATE Sunday morning Bosch drove Brasher to the Hollywood station so she could get her car and he could resume work on the case. She was off duty Sundays and Mondays. They made plans to meet at her house in Venice that night for dinner. There were other officers in the parking lot when Bosch dropped her next to her car. Bosch knew that word would get around quickly that it appeared they had spent the night together.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have thought it out better last night.”
    “I don’t really care, Harry. I’ll see you tonight.”
    “Hey, look, you should care. Cops can be brutal.”
    She made a face.
    “Oh, police brutality, yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
    “I’m serious. It’s also against regs. On my part. I’m a D-three. Supervisor level.”
    She looked at him a moment.
    “Well, that’s your call, then. I’ll see you tonight. I hope.”
    She got out and closed the door. Bosch drove on to his assigned parking slot and went into the detective bureau, trying not to think of the complications he might have just invited into his life.
    It was deserted in the squad room, which was what he was hoping for. He wanted time alone with the case. There was still a lot of office work to do but he also wanted to step back and think about all the evidence and information that had been accumulated since the discovery of the bones.
    The first thing to do was put together a list of what needed to be done. The murder book—the blue binder containing all written reports pertaining to the case—had to be completed. He had to draw up search warrants seeking medical records of brain surgeries at local hospitals. He had to run routine computer checks on all the residents living in the vicinity of the crime scene on Wonderland. He also had to read through all the call-in tips spawned by the media coverage of the bones on the hill and start gathering missing person and runaway reports that might match the victim.
    He knew it was more than a day’s work if he labored by himself but decided to keep with his decision to allow Edgar the day off. His partner, the father of a thirteen-year-old boy, had been greatly upset by Golliher’s report the day before and Bosch wanted him to take a break. The days ahead would likely be long and just as emotionally upsetting.
    Once Bosch had his list together he took his cup out of a drawer and went back to the watch office to get coffee. The smallest he had on him was a five-dollar bill but he put it in the coffee fund basket without taking any change. He figured he’d be drinking more than his share through the day.
    “You know what they say?” someone said behind him as he was filling the cup.
    Bosch turned. It was Mankiewicz, the watch sergeant.
    “About what?”
    “Fishing off the company dock.”
    “I don’t know. What do they say?”
    “I don’t know either. That’s why I was asking you.”
    Mankiewicz smiled and moved toward the machine to warm up his cup.
    So already it was starting to get around, Bosch thought. Gossip and innuendo—especially anything with a sexual tone—moved through a police station like a fire racing up a hill in August.
    “Well, let me know when you find out,” Bosch said as he started for the door of the watch office. “Could be useful to know.”
    “Will do. Oh, and one other thing, Harry.”
    Bosch turned, ready for