"Yeah, does she have this one? It came out last year."
He showed me a book called The Face. I didn't know if Kiz had it or not but I was going to buy it.
"I don't know. Did he sign it?"
"Yeah, signed and dated."
"Okay, I'll take it."
While he rang up the sale I tried some small talk which really wasn't small talk.
"I saw you have the camera set up underneath there. Seems like a little much for a bookstore."
"You'd be surprised. People like to steal books. I got a collectibles section back there-expensive stuff from the collections I buy and sell. I keep a camera right on it and I caught a kid in there just this morning trying to shove a copy of Nick's Trip down his pants. Early Pelecanos is tough to find. That would've been about a seven-hundred-dollar loss for me."
That seemed like an inordinate amount of money for a single book. I had never heard of the book but guessed that it must have been fifty or a hundred years old.
"You call the cops?" "No, I just kicked him in the pants and told him if he came back again I would call the law."
"You're a nice guy, Ed. You must have mellowed out since you left. I don't think the Praying Mantis would've just let the kid slide."
I handed him two twenties and he gave me the change.
"The Praying Mantis was a long time ago. And my wife doesn't think I'm so mellow. Thanks, Harry. And tell Kiz I said hello."
"Yeah, I will. You ever run into anybody else from the table?"
I didn't want to leave yet. I wanted more information so I continued the banter. I looked up over his head and spotted a small two-camera dome. It was mounted up near the ceiling, one lens angled down on the register and one taking in the long view of the store. There was a small red light glowing and I could see a small black cable snaking from the camera housing and up into the drop ceiling. While Thomas answered my question I was thinking about the possibility that Backus had been in the store and was captured on a surveillance tape.
"Not really," Thomas said. "I sort of left all of that behind. You say you miss it, Harry, but I don't miss a thing about it. Not really."
I nodded like I understood but I didn't. Thomas had been a good cop and a good detective. He took the work to heart. That was one reason why the Poet had put him in the sights. He was paying lip service to something I didn't think he really believed.
"That's good," I said. "Hey, do you have that kid you kicked out of here on tape from this morning? I'd like to see how he tried to rip you off."
"Nah, I just have live feeds. I got the cameras out in the open and a sticker on the door. It's supposed to be a deterrent but some people are dumb. A setup with a recorder would be too expensive and a pain in the ass in maintenance. I just have the live setup."
"I see."
"Listen, if Kiz already has that book I'll take it back. I can sell it."
"No, that's cool. If she already has it I'll keep it and read it myself."
"Harry, when's the last time you read a book?"
"I read a book about Art Pepper a couple months ago," I said indignantly. "He and his wife wrote it before he died."
"Nonfiction?"
"Yeah, it was real stuff."
"I'm talking about a navel. When was the last time you read one?"
I shrugged. I didn't remember.
"That's what I thought," Thomas said. "If she doesn't want the book bring it back and I'll get it to somebody who'll read it."
"Okay, Ed. Thanks."
"Be careful out there, Harry."
"I will be. You, too."
I was heading to the door when things came together-what Thomas had told me and what I knew about the case. I snapped my fingers and acted like I just remembered something. I turned back to Thomas.
"Hey, I got a friend lives all the way in Nevada but he says he's a customer of yours. Mail order probably. You do mail order?"
"Sure. What's his name?"
"Tom Walling. Lives all the way up in Clear."
Thomas nodded but not in any happy sort of way.
"He's your friend?"
I realized I might have stepped in it.
"Well, an acquaintance, you could say."
"Well, he owes me some money."
"Really? What happened?"
"It's a long story. But I sold him some books out of a collection I was handling and he paid very promptly. Paid with a money order and everything was fine. So when he wanted more books I sent them before I got his money order. Big mistake. That was three months ago and I haven't gotten a dime from him. If you see this acquaintance of yours again, tell him I want my money."
"I will, Ed. That's too bad. I didn't know the guy was a rip-off artist. What books did he buy?"
"He's into Poe, so I sold him some books out of the Rodway collection. Some old ones. Pretty nice books. Then he ordered more when I got another collection in. He didn't pay for them."
My heart rate was kicking into an upper gear. What Thomas was telling me was confirmation that Backus was somehow in play here. I wanted to stop the charade at that moment and tell Thomas what was happening and that he was in danger. But I held back. I needed to talk to Rachel first and form the right plan.
"I think I saw those books in his place," I said. "Was it poetry?" "Mostly, yeah. He didn't really care for the short stories."
"Did these books have the original collector's name in them? Rodman?"
"No, Rodway. And yes, they had his library seal embossed in them. That hurt the price but your friend wanted the books."
I nodded. I saw my theory coming together. It was more than theory now.
"Harry, what are you really up to?"
I looked at Thomas.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. You're asking a lot of-*
A loud ring sounded from the back of the store, cutting Thomas off.
"Never mind, Harry," he said. "It's more books. I need to go take a delivery."
"Oh.'*
"I'll see you later."
"Yeah,"
I watched him leave the counter area and head to the back. I checked my watch. It was noon. The director was stepping before the cameras to talk about the explosion in the desert and say that it was the work of the killer known as the Poet. Could this be the moment Backus chose to strike Thomas? My throat and chest tightened as though the air had been sucked out of the room. As soon as Thomas slipped through the doorway to the stockroom, I moved back to the counter and leaned over to look at the security monitor. I knew if Thomas checked the backroom monitor he would see that I hadn't left the store, but I was counting on him going right to the door.
On the corner of the screen showing the stockroom I saw Thomas lean his face up to the rear door and look through a peephole. Apparently unalarmed by what he saw, he proceeded to turn the dead bolt and open the door. I stared intently at the screen, even though the image was small and I was viewing it upside down.
Thomas stepped back from the door and a man entered. He was wearing a dark shirt and matching shorts. He was carrying two boxes, one stacked on top of the other, and Thomas directed him to a nearby worktable. The deliveryman put the boxes down and then took an electronic clipboard off the top box and turned back to Thomas for a delivery confirmation signature.
Everything seemed all right. It was a routine delivery. I quickly got off the counter and went to the door. As I opened it I heard an electronic chime sound but I didn't worry about that. I headed back to the Mercedes, running through the rain after putting the autographed book under my raincoat.
"What was all of that, with you leaning over the counter like that?" Rachel asked once I was behind the wheel again.
"He's got a security box. There was a delivery and I wanted to make sure it was legit before I left. It's after three o'clock in D.C."
"I know. So what did you learn from him or were you just in there buying a book?"
"I learned a lot. Tom Walling is a customer. Or was, until he stiffed him for an order o
f Edgar Allan Poe books. It was mail order like we thought. He never saw him, just sent the books out to Nevada."
Rachel sat up straight.
"Are you kidding me?"
"No. The books were out of some guy's collection that Ed was selling. So they were marked and therefore traceable. That was why Backus burned them all in the fire barrel. He couldn't risk that they'd survive the blast intact and be traced back to Thomas."
"Why?"
"Because he is definitely in play here. He's got to be setting up on Thomas."
I started the car.
"Where are you going?"
"Around back to make sure about the delivery. Besides, it's good to change locations every now and then."
"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 remember
"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 kn
owing that we were there.
"Don't worry," I said. "I won't."
CHAPTER 41
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.
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