The Crossing

36

Long drove by the house twice. The Cherokee was in the carport but there wasn’t any other sign that anyone was home. The Volkswagen was gone and he guessed that the girl had school. He drove down the hill and around the next bend in the road. He had seen an opening where a house had been cleared off a cantilevered pad to make way for a rebuild. It would give him a good look at the rear windows and deck of Bosch’s house.

He parked in front of someone’s garage and got out of the car with the binoculars. He hurried across the street and ducked under the yellow DANGER/PELIGRO tape strung between two stakes at the front of the pad. He walked out and immediately realized how out in the open he was. He first posed with the binoculars as if he were looking toward Universal City or the mountains beyond. But then he turned slightly to his left and focused the binoculars on Bosch’s house. He saw no activity behind any of the glass. The deck was empty and its sliding glass door closed.

He lowered the binoculars and acted once again as though he were just taking in the sights. He glanced once more at Bosch’s house and saw no movement. He turned and started walking off the pad, wondering what move he should make next to confirm Bosch’s absence.

When he got back to the yellow tape there was a man standing there waiting for him.

“You’re trespassing,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” Long said. “I have permission.”

“Really? From whom? Give me a name.”

“No, I don’t need to do that.”

Long ducked under the yellow tape and crossed the street toward his car.

“I have your license plate,” the man said. “You’re up to something.”

Long turned and walked right back toward the man, pulling his badge, which was on a neck chain under his shirt.

“Mister, you are impeding a police investigation,” he said. “Go back to your house and mind your own business or you’ll find yourself in a cell.”

The man stepped back, looking almost scared of Long now. Long turned to his car.

“It’s called Neighborhood Watch,” the man called after regaining his courage. “We watch out for one another up here.”

“Whatever,” Long said as he opened his car door.

Long drove away and at the first chance turned the car around and headed back up the hill. He passed the busybody still standing in the street in front of the cantilevered pad. Driving around the bend, he once more came to Bosch’s house and stopped directly in front. He studied the house, thought about what to do, and grew frustrated.

“Fuck it,” he said.

He honked the horn three times like he was there to pick someone up. He kept the car in drive and watched the front door. If Bosch or anyone else opened the door, he would take off. The windows on the car were smoked dark enough that he felt he would not be identified.

Nobody opened the door.

Long honked once more and waited and watched. Nobody answered.

“Fuck it,” he said again.

Long pulled away, drove up to Mulholland, and then turned around. When he drove back down Woodrow Wilson and past Bosch’s house, he honked impotently once more without stopping. He then called Ellis.

“He fucked us,” he reported. “His car’s here but he’s not. He must know we LoJacked it.”

“Are you heading back now?” Ellis asked calmly.

“On my way.”

“Good. He doesn’t know that we know. We may be able to use that.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. What do you think he’s up to?”

“Who knows?”

“How do we find him?”

Ellis didn’t respond right away.

“We go where we think he’ll show up, and wait.”

“Yeah, where’s that?”

“Just get back here and we’ll figure it out.”

Ellis disconnected without saying another word.