Michael Connelly: The Narrows

"Oh, you're giving me surveillance one-oh-one lessons now."

Without responding I drove around to the back of the plaza and saw the brown UPS van parked by the open rear door of Book Carnival. We drove on by and during the brief glimpse I had of the back of the truck and the open door of the stockroom, I saw the deliveryman struggling to carry several boxes up a ramp to the back of his truck. The returns, I guessed. I kept driving without hesitation.

"He's legit," Rachel said.

"Yeah."

"You didn't give yourself away with Thomas, did you?"

"No. He was suspicious but then I was sort of saved by the bell. I wanted to talk to you first. I think we need to bring him in on it." "Harry, we talked about this. If we bring him into it he may change his routine and demeanor. It might be a giveaway. If Backus has been watching him, any little change could be a tell."

"And if we don't warn him and this thing goes wrong, then we…"

I didn't finish. We had been over this argument twice before, each of us alternately taking the other side. It was a classic contradiction of intentions. Do we ensure Thomas's safety at the risk of losing Backus? Or do we risk Thomas's safety to ensure getting close to Backus? It was all about the means to an end and neither of us would be happy no matter which way we went.

"I guess that means we can't let anything go wrong," she said.

"Right. What about backup?" "I also think it's too risky. The more people we bring into this, the greater the chance of tipping our hand."

I nodded. She was right. I found a spot on the opposite end of the parking lot from where we had parked and watched before. I wasn't kidding myself, though. There were only so many cars in the lot in the middle of a rainy weekday and we were noticeable. I started to think that maybe we were like Ed Thomas's cameras. Strictly a deterrent. Maybe Backus had seen us and it had stopped him from moving forward with his plan. For now.

"Customer," Rachel said.

I looked across the lot and saw a woman heading toward the store. She looked familiar to me and then I remembered her from the Sportsman's Lodge. "That's his wife. I met her once. I think her name is Pat."

"She bringing him lunch, you think?"

"Maybe. Or maybe she works there."

We watched for a while but there was no sign of Thomas or his wife in the front of the store. I grew concerned and took out my cell phone and called the store, hoping the call would bring them to the front counter, where the phone was.,

But a woman answered right away and there was still no one at the counter. I quickly hung up.

"There must be a phone in the stockroom."

"Who answered?"

"The wife."

"Should I take a walk and go in?"

"No. If Backus is watching he'll recognize you. You can't be seen."

"All right, then what?"

"Then nothing. They're probably at the table I saw in the back room having lunch. Be patient."

"I don't want to be patient. I don't like just sitting-"

She stopped when we saw Ed Thomas walk out the front of the store. He was wearing a raincoat and carrying an umbrella and a briefcase. He got into the car we had seen him arrive at the store in that morning, a green Ford Explorer. Through the store's front window I saw his wife take a seat on a stool behind the front counter.

"Here we go," I said.

"Where's he going?"

"Maybe he's going to get lunch."

"Not with a briefcase. We stay on him, right?" I restarted the car.

"Right."

We watched as Thomas pulled out of a parking space in his Ford SUV. He headed toward the exit and turned right on Tustin Boulevard. After his car was absorbed into the passing traffic I pulled up to the exit and followed him into the rain. I pulled out my phone and called the store. Ed Thomas's wife answered.

''Hi, is Ed there?"

"No, he's not. Can I help you?"

"Is this Pat?"

"Yes, it is. Who's this?"

"It's Bill Gilbert. I think we met at the Sportsman's Lodge a while back. I used to work with Ed in the department. I was going to be in the area and thought I'd drop by the store today to say hello. Will he be back later?"

"That's hard to say. He went to do an appraisal and who knows, it might take the rest of the day. With this rain and the distance he had to go."

"An appraisal? What do you mean?"

"A book collection. Someone wants to sell his collection and Ed just left to go see what it is worth. It's all the way up in the San Fernando Valley and from what I understand it's a big collection. He told me I'd probably be closing the store tonight."

"Is it more of the Rodway collection? He told me about that the last time we talked."

"No, that's just about all been sold. This is a man named Charles Turrentine and he has over six thousand books."

"Wow, that's a lot." "He's a well-known collector but I guess he needs the money because he told Ed he wants to sell everything."

"Strange. A guy spends all that time collecting and then he sells it all.". "We see it happen."

"Well, Pat, I'll let you go. And I'll catch Ed next time. Tell him I said hello."

"What was your name again?"

"Tom Gilbert. Bye now."

I closed the phone.

"You were Bill Gilbert at the start of the conversation."

"Whoops."

I recounted the conversation for Rachel. I then called information in the 818 area code but there was no listing for a Charles Turrentine. I asked Rachel if she had a connection in the bureau's Los Angeles field office who could get an address for Turrentine and maybe an unlisted number.

"Don't you have somebody in the LAPD you can use?"

"At the moment I think I've used up all the favors owed me. Besides, I'm an outsider. You're not."

"I don't know about that."

She pulled out her phone and went to work on it and I concentrated on the taillights of Thomas's SUV, just fifty yards ahead of me on the 22 freeway. I knew Thomas had a choice up ahead. He could turn north on the 5 and go through downtown L.A., or he could keep on going and take the 405 north. Both routes would lead him to the Valley.

Rachel got a call back in five minutes with the information she had asked for. "He lives on Valerio Street in Canoga Park. Do you know where that is?"

"I know where Canoga Park is. Valerio runs east-west across the whole Valley. Did you get a phone number?"

She answered by punching in a number on her cell phone. She then held it to her ear and waited. After thirty seconds she closed the phone.

"There was no answer. I got the tape."

We drove in silence as we thought about that.

Thomas passed by the exit to the 5 north and proceeded on toward the 405. I knew he would turn north there and take the Sepulveda Pass into the Valley. Canoga Park was on the west side. With the weather we were talking about at least an hour's drive. If we were lucky.

"Don't lose him, Bosch," Rachel said quietly.

I knew what she meant. She was telling me she had the vibe, that she thought this was it. That she believed Ed Thomas might be leading us to the Poet. I nodded because I had it, too, almost like a humming coming from the center of my chest. I knew without really knowing that we were there.

"Don't worry," I said. "I won't."

The rain was getting to Rachel. The relent-lessness of it. It never let up, never paused. It just came down and hit the windshield in a nonstop torrent that overpowered the wipers. Everything was a blur. There were cars pulled off on the shoulders of the freeway. Lightning cracked the sky to the west, somewhere out over the ocean. They passed accident after accident and these just made Rachel all the more nervous. If they got into an accident and lost Thomas, they would carry an awful burden of responsibility for what happened to him.