A02 The Black Ice by Michael Connelly

Author:Michael Connelly
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Police - Mortality - Fiction, Police, Los Angeles (Calif.) - Fiction, Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Police - Mortality, Bosch, Mortality, FIC031000, Harry (Fictitious character), California, Police - California - Los Angeles - Fiction, Los Angeles, Police Procedural, Detective and mystery stories, Harry (Fictitious character) - Fiction, Thrillers, Los Angeles (Calif.), Mystery & Detective, Police - California - Los Angeles, General, Suspense
ISBN: 9780316153829
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 1993-06-01T19:58:13+00:00

"To tell you the truth, I don't know why now. I haven't been sleeping—I mean at all—since it . . . since he was found. I don't know. I just felt like taking a drive. I just got the key to the place today, anyway."

"Who gave it to you?"

"Assistant Chief Irving. He came by, said they were through with the apartment and if there was anything I wanted I could take it. Trouble is, there isn't. I had hoped I'd never see this place. Then the man at the funeral home called and said he needed the dress uniform if I had it. Here I am."

Bosch picked the bag of photographs up off the couch and held it out to her.

"What about these? Do you want them?"

"I don't think so."

"Ever see them before?"

"I think some of them. At least, some of them seemed familiar. Some of them I know I never saw."

"Why do you think that is? A man keeps photographs his whole life and never shows some of them to his wife?"

"I don't know."

"Strange." He opened the bag and while he was looking through the photos said, "What happened to his mother, do you know?"

"She died. Before I knew him. Had a tumor in her head. He was about twenty, he said."

"What about his father?"

"He told me he was dead. But I told you, I don't know if that was true. Because he never said how or when. When I asked, he said he didn't want to talk about it. We never did."

Bosch held up the photo of the two boys on the picnic table.

"Who's this?"

She stepped close to him and looked at the photo. He studied her face. He saw flecks of green in her brown eyes. There was a light scent of perfume.

"I don't know who it is. A friend, I guess."

"He didn't have a brother?"

"Not one he ever told me about. He told me when we got married, he said I was his only family. He said . . . said he was alone except for me."

Now Bosch looked at the photo.

"Kinda looks like him to me."

She didn't say anything.

"What about the tattoo?"

"What about it?"

"He ever tell you where he got it, what it means?"

"He told me he got it in the village he grew up in. He was a boy. Actually, it was a barrio. I guess. They called it Saints and Sinners. That's what the tattoo means. Saints and Sinners. He said that was because the people that lived there didn't know which they were, which they would be."

He thought of the note found in Cal Moore's back pocket. I found out who I was. He wondered if she realized the significance of this in terms of the place he grew up. Where each young boy had to find out who he was. A saint or a sinner.

Sylvia interrupted his thoughts.

"You know, you didn't really say why you were already here. Sitting in the dark thinking. You had to come here to do that?"

"I came to look around, I guess.

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