6
Bosch came home to a birthday cake on the table and his daughter in the kitchen making dinner with instructions from a cookbook.
“Wow, smells good,” he said.
He had the Jespersen murder book under his arm.
“Stay out of the kitchen,” she said. “Go out on the deck till I tell you it’s ready. And put that work on the shelf—at least until after dinner. Turn on the music, too.”
“Yes, boss.”
The dining-room table was set for two. After putting the murder book literally on a shelf in the bookcase behind it, he turned on the stereo and opened the CD drawer. His daughter had already loaded the tray with five of his favorite discs. Frank Morgan, George Cables, Art Pepper, Ron Carter, and Thelonious Monk. He set it on random play and stepped out onto the deck.
Outside on the table, there was a bottle of Fat Tire waiting for him in a clay flowerpot filled with ice. This puzzled him. Fat Tire was one of his favorite beers, but he rarely kept alcohol in the house and knew he had not purchased any beer recently. His daughter, at sixteen, looked older than her years but not old enough to buy beer without getting her driver’s license checked.
He cracked open the bottle and took a long pull. It felt good going down, burning the back of his throat with its cold bite. It was a welcome relief after a day of walking the gun and narrowing in on Charles Washburn.
A plan had been set with the help of Jordy Gant. By the last roll call the next day, all patrol officers and gang units in South Bureau would have seen Washburn’s photo and been told he was a high-priority pickup. The legal cause would be the child-support warrant, but once Washburn was in custody, Bosch would be alerted and he would go see him with something else to talk about entirely.
Still, Bosch could not rest on a BOLO. He had work to do. Forgetting it was his birthday, he had brought the murder book home with the plan of combing through every page, looking for any reference to Washburn and anything else he had missed or not followed up on.
But now he was rethinking that plan. His daughter was making him a birthday dinner and that would be his priority. There could be nothing better in the world than to have her full attention.
Beer in hand, Bosch looked out across the canyon where he had lived for more than twenty years. He knew its colors and contours by heart. He knew the sound of the freeway from down at the bottom. He knew the trail the coyotes took into the deeper vegetation. And he knew he never wanted to leave this place. He was here till the end.
“Okay, it’s ready. I hope it’s good.”
Bosch turned. Maddie had slid the door open without him hearing it. He smiled. She had also slipped out of the kitchen and put on a dress for the sit-down meal.
“Can’t wait,” he said.
The food was already on the table. Pork chops and applesauce and roasted potatoes. A handmade cake had been placed to the side of the table.
“I hope you like it,” she said as they sat down.
“Smells great and looks great,” he said. “I’m sure I will.”
Bosch smiled broadly. She had not gone to such lengths on the previous two birthdays during which she had lived with him.
She held up her wineglass filled with Dr Pepper.
“Cheers, Dad.”
He held up his beer. It was almost empty.
“To good food and music, and most of all to good company.”
They clinked glasses.
“There’s more beer in the fridge if you want more,” she said.
“Yeah, where did that come from?”
“Don’t worry, I have ways.”
She narrowed her eyes like a schemer.
“That’s what I am worried about.”
“Dad, don’t start. Can you please enjoy the dinner I made?”
He nodded, letting it go—for the moment.
“I sure can.”
He started to eat, noticing as they began that “Helen’s Song” was coming from the stereo. It was a wonderful song and he could feel the love George Cables put into it. Bosch had always assumed that Helen was a wife or a girlfriend.
The blend of the perfectly sautéed pork with the apple was wonderful. But he had been wrong about it being simply applesauce. That would have been too easy. This was a warm apple reduction that Maddie had cooked on the stove. Like the filling of the apple pie from Du-par’s.
His smile came back.
“This is really delicious, Mads. Thank you.”
“Wait till you taste the cake. It’s marble, like you.”
“What?”
“Not like marble marble but, you know, the dark and light mixed together. Because of what you do and what you’ve seen.”
Bosch thought about that.
“I guess that’s the most profound food thing anybody’s ever said about me. I’m like a marble cake.”
They both laughed.
“I also have presents!” Maddie exclaimed. “But I didn’t have time to wrap them yet, so that comes later.”
“You really went all out. Thank you, baby.”
“You go all out for me, Dad.”
That made him feel good and somber at the same time.
“I hope I do.”
After the meal they decided to digest a bit before they attacked the marble cake. Madeline retreated to her bedroom to wrap gifts and Bosch took the murder book off the shelf. He sat down on the couch and noticed his daughter’s school backpack had been left on the floor by the coffee table.
He thought for a few moments about it, trying to decide whether he should wait till the end of the night, when she was in bed. He knew, however, she might take the backpack into her room then and the door would be closed.
He decided not to wait. He reached over and unzipped the smaller front compartment of the backpack. His daughter’s wallet was sitting right at the top. He knew it would be there because she didn’t carry a purse. He quickly opened the wallet—it had a peace sign embroidered on the outside—and checked its contents. She had a credit card he had given her for emergency use and her newly acquired driver’s license. He checked the DOB on it and it was legit. There were a couple receipts and gift cards from Starbucks and iTunes as well as a punch card for recording purchases of smoothies at a place in the mall. Buy ten, get the next one free.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
Bosch looked up. His daughter stood there. In each hand she was holding a wrapped gift for him. She had kept the marble motif going. The paper was black and white swirls.
“I, uh, wanted to see if you had enough money, and you don’t have any.”
“I spent my money on dinner. This is about the beer, isn’t it?”
“Baby, I don’t want you to get in trouble. When you apply to the academy, you can’t have any—”
“I don’t have a fake ID, okay? I got Hannah to get me the beer. Happy now?”
She dropped the presents on the table, whirled around, and disappeared down the hall. Bosch heard her bedroom door close hard.
He waited a moment and then got up. He went down the hall and knocked gently on her door.
“Hey, Maddie, come on, I’m sorry. Let’s have cake and forget about this.”
There was no reply. He tried the knob but the door was locked.
“Come on, Maddie, open up. I’m sorry.”
“Go eat your cake.”
“I don’t want to eat the cake without you. Look, I’m sorry. I’m your father. I have to watch out for you and protect you and I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to get yourself in some kind of a jam.”
Nothing.
“Look, ever since you got your license, your freedom has expanded. I used to love taking you to the mall—now you drive yourself. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t making any kind of mistake that could hurt you down the line. I’m sorry I went about it the wrong way. I apologize. Okay?”