The Crossing

25

There was a line of light under the door of his daughter’s room when Bosch got home. He hesitated in the hallway for a moment and then lightly knocked. He expected there would be no reply because she usually had her earbuds in and was listening to music. But he was surprised.

“You can come in,” she called.

Bosch opened the door and stepped in. Maddie was under the bedcovers with her laptop open in front of her. She had her earbuds in.

“Hey, I’m home,” he said.

She pulled out the buds.

“I know.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Just music.”

Bosch came over and sat on the edge of her bed, trying not to show any frustration with her one- and two-word answers.

“What music?”

“Death Cab.”

“That the song or the band?”

“The band is Death Cab for Cutie. The song I like is ‘Black Sun.’”

“Sounds uplifting.”

“It’s a great song, Dad. It reminds me of you.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. It just does.”

“Did you look at those profiles?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Well, first of all, they were amazingly repetitive. Like you could apply the same stuff to every case even though they were different cases and different kinds of murders.”

“Well, they say it’s an inexact science.”

She folded her arms across her chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know, that they try to cover all the bases,” he said. “So that when someone gets caught, they’re covered by the generics.”

“Let me ask you something, Dad. Did a profile of a killer or a crime scene ever help you solve a case? Tell the truth.”

Bosch had to think for a moment because there wasn’t a ready answer.

“I guess that answers my question,” Maddie said.

“No, wait,” Bosch said. “I was just thinking. I haven’t had a case where I got a profile and it was so dead-on that it pointed me right to the killer. But they’ve been helpful to me a lot of times. Your mother...”

She waited but he didn’t go on.

“My mother what?”

“No, I was just going to say that she wasn’t really a profiler but she was still the best profiler I ever knew. She could read people. I think her life experiences helped make her empathic. She always had a good feel for a crime scene and for the killer’s motivations. I’d show her pictures from my cases and she’d tell me what she thought.”

“She never told me that.”

“Well, you know, you were young. She didn’t want to talk about murder with you, I think.”

Bosch was silent for a moment as he realized he had not thought about Eleanor Wish in a long time. It made him feel bad.

“You know, she had this theory,” he said quietly. “She always said that the motivation for all murders could be dialed back to shame.”

“Just shame, that’s it?” Maddie asked.

“Yeah, just shame. People covering up shame and finding any kind of way to do it. I don’t know, I think it was pretty smart.”

Maddie nodded.

“I miss her,” she said.

Bosch nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that. It will probably always be that way.”

“I wonder what it would be like, you know, if she were still around,” she said. “Like when I have to decide things, I wish she was here.”

“You can always talk to me,” Bosch said. “You know that, right?”

“I’m talking about girl things.”

“Right.”

Bosch wasn’t sure what to say. He was happy that Maddie was opening up for the first time in a long time but he felt ill equipped to seize the moment. It underlined his failings as a father.

“Is it school?” he asked. “Are you worried about anything?”

“No, school is school. It’s like all the girls talk about how their mothers are dumb or about how they want to control them and everything about graduation and college and all of that. I kind of wish I had that sometimes, you know. A mother to tell me stuff.”

Bosch nodded.

“I should talk,” she said. “You didn’t have a mother or a father.”

“It was a little different, I think,” Bosch said. “I think a girl really needs a mother.”

“Oh, well. I lost my chance.”

Bosch leaned over and kissed the top of her head. For the first time in a long time he picked up no vibe of resistance from her. He stood up from the bed and saw her big gray duffel bag on the floor, all packed and ready to go. He realized that she was leaving from school for the camping trip the very next day.

“Shit,” he said.

“What?” she said.

“I forgot tomorrow’s the day you leave. I shouldn’t have gone out.”

“It’s okay. I had to finish packing. I’ll only be gone three nights.”

Bosch sat back down on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she said.

“I hope you have some fun up there.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, try. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And text me.”

“They told us the service is really bad.”

“Okay, well, if you get a signal, let me know everything’s all right.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head again, mindful this time not to breathe out and reveal he had beer on his breath.

He stood up and headed toward the door.

“I love you, kid,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning before you go.”

“Love you, Dad,” she said.

He believed she meant it.