The women in the backseat were angry but Rachel didn't care. This was the closest she had been-the closest anybody had been-to Backus since that night in Los Angeles. The night she had watched him crash backward through the glass and into the void that seemed to swallow any trace of him.
Until now. And the last thing she was going to let bother her were the protests of the two prostitutes in the backseat of Bosch's car. The only thing that bothered her was her decision to let Bosch drive. They now had two custodies and were transporting them in a private car. It was a security issue and she wasn't sure yet how they were going to handle the stop at the sports bar.
"I know what we'll do," Bosch said as he drove away from the three brothels at the end of the road.
"So do I," Rachel said. "You'll stay with them while I go in."
"No, that won't work. You'll need backup. We just proved that we shouldn't split up." "Then what?"
"I turn on the child locks on the back doors. They won't be able to open them."
"And what's to stop them from climbing over to the front seat and getting out?"
"Look, where are they going to go? They have no choice, right, ladies?"
He looked up into the rearview mirror.
"Fuck you," answered the one named Mecca. "You can't just do this. We're not the ones who committed any crimes."
"Actually, as I explained before, we can," Rachel said in a bored tone. "You have been taken into federal custody as material witnesses in a criminal investigation. You will be formally interviewed and then released."
"Well, just do it now and get it over with."
Rachel had been surprised to learn when she looked at the woman's driver's license that her name really was Mecca. Mecca Mclntyre. What a name.
"Well, Mecca, we can't. I already explained that, too."
Bosch pulled into the gravel lot in front of the sports bar. There were no other cars. He lowered all the windows a couple of inches and turned off the car.
"I'm going to put the alarm on," he said. "If you climb over and open the door it will set off the alarm. We'll then come out and chase you down. So don't bother, okay? We won't be gone long."
Rachel got out and closed the door. She checked her cell phone again and was still not getting service. She saw Bosch check his and shake his head. She decided she would commandeer the phone in the sports bar, if there was one, and call the Vegas FO to report what she had. She expected Cherie Dei to be very angry and pleased.
"By the way," Bosch said as they came to the ramp leading up to the door of the trailer, "do you carry an extra magazine for your Sig?"
"Of course."
"Where, on your belt?"
"That's right, why?"
"Nothing, I just saw back there behind the trailer that your hand sort of got caught in your jacket."
"It didn't get caught. I just-what's your point?"
"Nothing. I was just going to say that I always carried my extra in my jacket pocket. It gave it some weight, you know. So when you had to flip it back the extra weight carried it all the way back and out of the way."
"Thanks for the tip," she said evenly. "Can we concentrate on this now?"
"Sure, Rachel. You going to take the lead here?"
"If you don't mind."
"Not at all."
He followed her up the ramp. She thought she saw a smile on his face in the reflection on the glass of the trailer's door. She opened it, engaging an overhead bell that announced their arrival.
They stepped into a small and empty barroom. To their right was a pool table, its green felt faded by time and stained by drink spills. It was a small table but still did not have enough clearance in the small space. Even breaking a rack would probably require holding a cue at a forty-degree angle.
To the left of the door was a six-stool bar with three shelves of glasses and take-your-pick poison behind it. There was no one in the bar but before Rachel or Bosch could call out a hello, a set of black curtains to the left of the bar split and a man stepped out, his eyes creased with sleep even though it was almost noon.
"Can I he'p you? Kind a' early, idn't it?"
Rachel hit him with the credentials and that seemed to crack his eyes open a little wider. He was in his early sixties, she guessed, though his unkempt bed hair and the unshaven white stubble on his cheeks may have skewed her estimate.
He nodded as though he had just solved some sort of internal mystery.
"So you're the sister, right?" he asked.
"Excuse me?"
"You're Tom's sister, right? He said you might come."
"Tom who?"
"Tom Walling. Who do you think?"
"We're looking for a man named Tom who drives customers from the brothels. Is that Tom Walling?"
"That's what I'm telling you. Tom Walling was my driver. He told me that one day his sister might come here looking for him. He never said she was no FBI agent."
Rachel nodded, trying to cover the jolt. It wasn't necessarily the surprise that buzzed her. It was the audacity and the deeper meaning, the magnitude of Backus's plan.
"What is your name, sir?"
"Billings Rett. I own this place and I'm also the mayor around here."
"The mayor of Clear." "That's right."
Rachel felt something tap her arm and looked down to see the file containing the photos. Bosch was giving it to her but staying back. He seemed to know things had suddenly swung. This was now more about her than Terry McCaleb, or even Bosch. She took the file and removed one of the photographs McCaleb had taken of the fishing client known to him as Jordan Shandy. She showed it to Billings Rett.
"Is that the man you knew of as Tom Walling?" Rett spent only a few seconds looking at the photo. "That's it. Right down to that Dodgers hat. We get all the games here on the dish and Tom was Dodger blue through and through." "He drove a car for you?" "The only car. I'm not that big of an operation." "And he told you his sister would come here?" "No, he said she might. And he gave me something." He turned and looked at the shelves behind the bar. He saw what he was looking for and reached up to the top shelf. He pulled down an envelope and handed it to Rachel. The envelope left a rectangle in the dust on the glass shelf. It had been up there awhile.
The envelope had her full name on it. She turned her body slightly as if to shield it from Bosch and started to open it.
"Rachel," Bosch said. "Should you process it first?" "It doesn't matter. I know it's from him." She tore the envelope open and pulled out a three-by-five card. She started to read the handwritten note on it. Dear Rachel,
If as I hope you are the first to read this, then I have taught you well. I hope this finds you in good health and spirits. Most of all, I hope this means you have survived your interment within the bureau and are back on top. I hope he who taketh away can also giveth back. It was never my intention, Rachel, to doom you. It is my intention now, with my last act, to save you.
Good-bye, Rachel. R
She reread it quickly and then handed it over her shoulder to Bosch. As he read she continued with Billings Rett.
"When did he give you that and what exactly did he say?"
"It was about a month ago, give or take a few days, and it was when he told me he was leaving. He paid me the rent, said he wanted to keep the place, and he gives me the card and says that it's for his sister and that she might come by looking for him. And here you are."
"I'm not his sister," she snapped at him. "When did he first come to Clear?"
"Hard to remember, three or four years ago."
"Why did he come here?"
Rett shook his head.
"Beats me. Why do people go to New York City? Everybody's got their reasons. He didn't share his particular reason with me."
"How did he end up driving for you?" "He was in here shootin' balls one day and I asked him if he needed some work. He said he wouldn't mind and it went from there. It's not a full-time gig. Just when we get a call for somebody looking for a ride. Most people drive themselves up here."
"And back then, three or four years ago, he told you his name was Tom Walling?"
"No, he told me that when he rented the trailer from me. That was when he first got here."
"What about a month ago? Did you say he paid rent and then left?"
"Yeah, he said he'd be back and wanted to keep the place. He rented it up through August. But he went traveling and I haven't heard from him."
From outside the trailer an alarm sounded. The Mercedes. Rachel turned to Bosch but he was already heading to the door.
"I got it," he said.
He went through the door, leaving Rachel alone with Rett. She turned back to him.
"Did Tom Walling ever tell you where he came from?"
"No, he never mentioned it. He didn't talk much."
"And you never asked."
"Honey, you don't ask questions in a place like this. People that come here, they don't like answering questions. Tom, he liked to do the driving and pick up a few bucks and every now and then he'd come in and shoot a game by hisself. He didn't drink, he just chewed gum. He never messed with the whores and he was never late on a pickup. All that was fine by me. The guy I got driving now, he's always-" "I don't care about the guy you've got now."
The bell rang behind her and she turned to see Bosch coming through. He nodded to her, telling her everything was all right.
"They tried the door. I guess the child lock doesn't work."
She nodded and turned her attention back to Rett, proud mayor of a brothel town.
"Mr. Rett?" she asked. "Where is Tom Waiting's placeT'
"He's got the single-wide on the ridge west of town."
Rett smiled, revealing a rotten tooth on the front lower row, and continued.
"He liked being outside of town. He told me he didn't like being so close to all the excitement around here. So I set him up out there behind Titanic Rock."
"Titanic Rock?"
"You'll know when you get there-if you saw the movie. One of these smart-ass rock climbers that comes out here marked it, too. You'll see it. Just take the road behind this place west and you'll be all right. Just look for the ship going down."