The Black Box by Michael Connelly

have seen Washburn’s photo and been told he was a high-priority pickup. The legal cause would be the child-support warrant, but once Washburn was in custody, Bosch would be alerted and he would go see him with something else to talk about entirely.
    Still, Bosch could not rest on a BOLO. He had work to do. Forgetting it was his birthday, he had brought the murder book home with the plan of combing through every page, looking for any reference to Washburn and anything else he had missed or not followed up on.
    But now he was rethinking that plan. His daughter was making him a birthday dinner and that would be his priority. There could be nothing better in the world than to have her full attention.
    Beer in hand, Bosch looked out across the canyon where he had lived for more than twenty years. He knew its colors and contours by heart. He knew the sound of the freeway from down at the bottom. He knew the trail the coyotes took into the deeper vegetation. And he knew he never wanted to leave this place. He was here till the end.
    “Okay, it’s ready. I hope it’s good.”
    Bosch turned. Maddie had slid the door open without him hearing it. He smiled. She had also slipped out of the kitchen and put on a dress for the sit-down meal.
    “Can’t wait,” he said.
    The food was already on the table. Pork chops and applesauce and roasted potatoes. A handmade cake had been placed to the side of the table.
    “I hope you like it,” she said as they sat down.
    “Smells great and looks great,” he said. “I’m sure I will.”
    Bosch smiled broadly. She had not gone to such lengths on the previous two birthdays during which she had lived with him.
    She held up her wineglass filled with Dr Pepper.
    “Cheers, Dad.”
    He held up his beer. It was almost empty.
    “To good food and music, and most of all to good company.”
    They clinked glasses.
    “There’s more beer in the fridge if you want more,” she said.
    “Yeah, where did that come from?”
    “Don’t worry, I have ways.”
    She narrowed her eyes like a schemer.
    “That’s what I am worried about.”
    “Dad, don’t start. Can you please enjoy the dinner I made?”
    He nodded, letting it go—for the moment.
    “I sure can.”
    He started to eat, noticing as they began that “Helen’s Song” was coming from the stereo. It was a wonderful song and hecould feel the love George Cables put into it. Bosch had always assumed that Helen was a wife or a girlfriend.
    The blend of the perfectly sautéed pork with the apple was wonderful. But he had been wrong about it being simply applesauce. That would have been too easy. This was a warm apple reduction that Maddie had cooked on the stove. Like the filling of the apple pie from Du-par’s.
    His smile came back.
    “This is really delicious, Mads. Thank you.”
    “Wait till you taste the cake. It’s marble, like you.”
    “What?”
    “Not like marble marble but, you know, the dark and light mixed together. Because of what you do and what you’ve seen.”
    Bosch thought about that.
    “I guess that’s the most profound food thing anybody’s ever said about me. I’m like a marble cake.”
    They both laughed.
    “I also have presents!” Maddie exclaimed. “But I didn’t have time to wrap them yet, so that comes later.”
    “You really went all out. Thank you, baby.”
    “You go all out for me, Dad.”
    That made him feel good and somber at the same time.
    “I hope I do.”
    After the meal they decided to digest a bit before they attacked the marble cake. Madeline retreated to her bedroom to wrap gifts and Bosch took the murder book off the shelf. He sat down on the couch and noticed his daughter’s school backpack had been left on the floor by the coffee table.
    He thought for a few moments about it, trying to decide whether he should wait till the end of the night, when she was in bed. He knew, however, she might take the backpack into her room then and the door would be closed.
    He decided not to wait. He