Michael Connelly - The Concrete Blonde

“Bosch, yeah, Bosch, what’s up, man?”

“How’s business?”

“Still sucks.”

He laughed at what Bosch guessed was an insider’s joke.

“Actually, it goes further down all the time-no pun intended. Video ruined it, Bosch. Made it too big. The industry got big, the quality got small. Nobody cares about quality anymore.”

Mora was talking more like a supporter of the porno industry than a watchdog.

“I miss the days when it was in those smoky theaters on Cahuenga and Highland. We had a better handle on things then. At least, I did. So how’s court? I hear you guys caught another one that looks like the Dollmaker. What’s going on with that? How could-”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’ve got a name-I think she was from your side of the tracks. The victim.”

“Give it to me.”

“Magna Cum Loudly. Maybe known as Maggie, too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one. She was around a while ago and then, you’re right, she disappeared or dropped out.”

Bosch waited for more. He thought he heard a voice in the background-in person or on TV and Mora told him to hold on a minute. He couldn’t make out what had been said or whether it was a man or a woman. It made him wonder what Mora had been doing when he called. There were rumors floating around the department about Mora having gotten too close to the subject he was expert in. It was a common cop malady. Still, he knew Mora had successfully fended off any attempts to transfer him in the early years of his assignment. Now, he had so much expertise, it would be ridiculous to move him. It would be like taking Orel Hershiser off the Dodgers pitching staff and putting him in the outfield. He was good at what he did. He had to be left there.

“Um, Harry, I don’t know. I think she was around a couple years ago. What I’m saying is, if it’s her, then it couldn’t have been Church. You know what I’m saying? I don’t know how that plays with what you’ve got working on this.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ray. If Church didn’t do her, somebody else did. We still gotta get him.”

“Right. So I’ll get on it. By the way, how’d you make her?”

Bosch told him about his visit to X Marks the Spot.

“Yeah, I know them guys. The big one, that’s Carlo Pinzi the capo’s nephew, Jimmie Pinzi. They call him Jimmie Pins. He may act big and dumb but he’s really the little guy Pinkie’s boss. Watches over the place for his uncle. The little one’s called Pinkie on account of those glasses he wears. Pinkie and Pins. It’s all an act. Anyway, they charged you about forty beans too many for that video.”

“That’s what I guessed. Oh, and I was going to ask you, there’s no copyright on the video box. Would that be on the video or is there any way I can figure out when this was made?”

“Usually they don’t put the copyright on the box. Customers want fresh meat. So the players figure the customer sees a copyright on the box that’s a couple years old, then they’ll buy something else. It’s a fast business. Perishable goods. So no dates. Sometimes they’re not even on the video cartridge. Anyway, I’ve got catalogs at the office going back twelve years. I can find a date, no problem.”

“Thanks, Ray. I might not make it by. A guy from the homicide table, Jerry Edgar, might come by to see you. I got court.”

“That’s fine, Harry.”

Bosch had nothing else to ask and was about to say good-bye when Mora spoke in the silence.

“You know, I think about it a lot.”

“What?”

“The task force. I wish I hadn’t taken off early that night and I was there with you. Who knows, maybe we’d have gotten this guy alive.”

“Yeah.”

“Be no trial then-I mean, for you.”

Bosch was silent as he looked at the picture on the back of video box. The woman’s face turned to the side, just like the plaster face. It was her. He felt sure of it.

“Ray, with only this name-Magna Cum Loudly-can you still get a real name, get prints?”

“Sure can. No matter what anybody thinks of the product, there is legit stuff and illegit stuff out there. This girl Maggie looks like she had graduated to the legit world. She was out of loops and that shit and was in mainstream adult video. That means she probably had an agent, had an adult entertainment license. They gotta get ’em to prove they’re eighteen. So her license will have her real name on it. I can go through them and find her-they got their pictures on them. Might take me a couple hours but I can find her.”

“Okay, good, will you do that in the morning and, if Edgar doesn’t come by, get the prints to him at Hollywood homicide?”

“Jerry Edgar. I’ll do it.”

Neither spoke for a few moments as they thought about what they were doing.

“Hey, Harry?”

“Yeah.”

“The paper said that there was a new note, that true?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it legit? Did we fuck up?”

“I don’t know yet, Ray, but I appreciate you saying ‘we.’ A lot of people just want to point at me.”

“Yeah, listen, I ought to tell you, I got subpoenaed today by that Money bitch.”

It didn’t surprise Bosch, since Mora had been on the Dollmaker task force.

“Don’t worry about it. She’s probably papered everybody who was on the task force.”

“Okay.”

“But try to keep this new stuff under your hat if you can.”

“As long as I can.”

“She’s got to know what to ask before she can ask it. I’m just looking for some time to work with this, see what it means.”

“No problem, man. You and I both know the right guy went down. No doubt about that, Harry.”

But saying it out loud like that put a doubt to it, Bosch knew. Mora was wondering the same things Bosch was.

“You need me to drop this video box off tomorrow so you know what she looks like before flipping through the files?”

“No, like I said, we’ve got all sorts of catalogs. I’ll just look up Tails from the Crypt and get it from there. If that don’t work I’ll go through the agency books.”

They hung up and Bosch lit a cigarette, though Sylvia didn’t like him doing it in the house. It wasn’t that she had a problem with his smoking but she thought potential buyers might be turned off if they thought it had been a smoker’s house. He sat there alone for several minutes, peeling the label off the empty beer bottle and thinking about how quickly things could change. Believe something for four years and then find out you might be wrong.

He brought a bottle of Buehler zinfandel and two glasses into the bedroom. Sylvia was in bed with the covers pulled up to her naked shoulders. She had a lamp on and was reading a book called Never Let Them See You Cry . Bosch walked to her side of the bed and sat down next to her. He poured out two glasses, they tapped them together and sipped.

“To victory in court,” she said.

“Sounds good to me.”

They kissed.

“Were you smoking out there again?”

“Sorry.”

“Was it bad news? The calls?”

“No. Just bullshit.”

“You want to talk?”

“Not now.”

He went into the bathroom with his glass and took a quick shower. The wine, which had been beautiful, tasted terrible after he brushed his teeth. When he came out, the reading light was out and the book put away. There were candles burning on both night tables and the bureau. They were in silver votive candle holders with crescent moons and stars cut out on the sides. The flickering flames threw blurry, moving patterns on the walls and curtains and in the mirror, like a silent cacophony.

She lay propped on three pillows, the covers off. He stood naked at the foot of the bed for a few moments and they smiled at each other. She was beautiful to him, her body tan and almost girlish. She was thin, with small breasts and a small, flat stomach. Her chest was freckled from too many summer days at the beach while growing up.