Trunk Music by Michael Connelly Page B

was.
    “It’s her movie,” he said. “I want to watch it.”
    “Oh, me too.”
    Outside, Bosch stood in the small courtyard by a bronze statue of a man he guessed was Tyrone Power and lit a cigarette. It was a cool night and the smoke in his chest warmed him. The studio grounds were very quiet now.
    He walked over to a trash can next to a bench in the courtyard and used it to tip his ashes. He noticed a broken coffee mug at the bottom of the can. There were several pens and pencils scattered in the can as well. He recognized the Archway insignia, the Arc de Triomphe with the sun rising in the middle of the arch, on one of the fragments. He was about to reach into the trash can to pick out what looked like a gold Cross pen when he heard Meachum’s voice and turned around.
    “She’s going places, isn’t she? I can tell.”
    He was lighting his own cigarette.
    “Yeah, that’s what I hear. It’s our first case together. I don’t really know her, and from what I hear I shouldn’t try. She’s going to the Glass House as soon as the time is right.”
    Meachum nodded and flicked his ashes onto the pavement. Bosch watched him glance up toward the roofline above the second floor and give another one of his casual salutes. Bosch looked up and saw the camera moored to the underside of the roof eave.
    “Don’t worry about it,” Bosch said. “He can’t see you. He’s reading about the Dodgers last night.”
    “S’pose you’re right. Can’t get good people these days, Harry. I get guys who like driving around in the carts all day, hoping they’re going to be discovered like Clint Eastwood or something. Had a guy run into a wall the other day ’cause he was so intent on talking with a couple creative execs walking by. There’s one of them oxymorons for you. Creative executive…”
    Bosch was silent. He didn’t care about anything that Meachum had just said.
    “You ought to come work here, Harry. You’ve gotta have your twenty in by now. You should pull the pin and then come work for me. Your lifestyle will rise a couple of notches. I guarantee it.”
    “No thanks, Chuck. Somehow I just don’t see myself tooling around in one of your golf carts.”
    “Well, the offer’s there. Anytime, buddy. Anytime.”
    Bosch put his cigarette out on the side of the trash can and dropped the dead butt inside. He decided that he didn’t want to go picking through the can with Meachum watching. He told Meachum he was heading back in.
    “Bosch, I gotta tell you something.”
    Bosch looked back at him and Meachum raised his hands.
    “We’re going to have a problem if you want to take anything out of that office without a warrant. I mean, I heard what you said about that tape and now she’s in there stacking stuff on the desk to go. But I can’t let you take anything.”
    “Then you are going to be here all night, Chuck. There are a lot of files in there and a lot of work to do. It’d be a lot easier for us to haul it all back to the bureau now.”
    “I know that. I’ve been there. But this is the position I’ve been instructed to take. We need the warrant.”
    Bosch used the phone on the receptionist’s desk to call Edgar, who was still in the detective bureau just beginning the paperwork the case would generate. Bosch told him to drop that work for the moment and start drawing up search warrants for all financial records in Aliso’s home and the Archway offices and any being held by his attorney.
    “You want me to call the duty judge tonight?” Edgar asked. “It’s almost two in the morning.”
    “Do it,” Bosch said. “When you have ’em signed, bring them out here to Archway. And bring some boxes.”
    Edgar groaned. He was getting all the shit work. Nobody liked waking up a judge in the middle of the night.
    “I know, I know, Jerry. But it’s got to be done. Anything else going on?”
    “No. I called the Mirage, talked to a guy in security. The room Aliso used was rebooked over the weekend. It’s