The Wrong Side of Goodbye(110)

“Bosch, SFPD. Dockweiler’s my case. Where’s he at? Show me.”

“This way,” the deputy said.

They headed down one of the hallways. Bosch could see an empty chair outside a room several doors down.

“How long have you been fucking off at the nursing station?” he asked.

“Not long,” the deputy said. “This guy’s not going anywhere.”

“I’m not worried about that. Did you see a woman get off the elevator?”

“I don’t know. People come and go. When?”

“When do you think? Now.”

Before the deputy could answer, they got to the room and Bosch put his hand out to his left to hold him back. He saw Bella Lourdes standing at the foot of the bed in Dockweiler’s room.

“Stay here,” he said to the deputy.

Bosch slowly entered the room. Lourdes gave no indication she had noticed him. She was staring intently down at Dockweiler, who lay in the elevated bed surrounded by all manner of medical apparatus and tubes, including the breather that went down his throat and kept his lungs pumping. His eyes were open and he was staring back at Lourdes. Bosch easily read his eyes. He saw fear.

“Bella?”

She turned at the sound of his voice, saw Bosch, and managed a smile.

“Harry.”

He checked her hands for weapons. There was nothing.

“Bella, what are you doing in here?”

She looked back at Dockweiler.

“I wanted to see him. Face him.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know. But I had to be. I’m leaving here today, going home. I wanted to see him first. Let him know that he didn’t break me like he said he would.”

Bosch nodded.

“Did you think I came to kill him or something?” she asked.

“I don’t know what I thought,” Bosch said.

“I don’t need to. He’s already dead. Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Your bullet cut his spine. He’s a rapist and now he’ll never be able to do that to anyone again.”

Bosch nodded.

“Let me take you back to your room now,” he said. “The nurse said the doctor has to see you before they can sign you out.”

In the hallway Bosch cut off the deputy before he could speak.

“This never happened,” he said. “You make a report and I report you for abandoning your post.”

“Not a problem, never happened,” the deputy said.

He remained standing by his chair and Bosch and Lourdes headed down the hall.

On the way back to her own room, Bosch told Lourdes about the offer from Trevino. He said he would only accept it if she approved and understood that he would drop back down to part-time reserve officer as soon as she was ready to return.

She gave her approval without hesitation.

“You’re perfect for the job,” she said. “And maybe it will be a permanent thing. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I might never come back.”

Bosch knew that she had to be considering that she could easily and deservedly receive a stress-related out from the job. She could pick up her entire salary and do something else with her life and her family, be away from the nastiness of the world. It would be a tough choice but the specter of Dockweiler overshadowed it. If she never came back, would it haunt her? Would it give Dockweiler a final power over her?

“I’m thinking you’re going to be coming back, Bella,” he said. “You’re a good detective and you’re going to miss it. Look at me, scratching and fighting to keep a badge on my belt at my age. It’s in the blood. You’ve got cop DNA.”

She smiled and nodded.

“I kinda hope you’re right.”

At the nursing station on her floor, they embraced and promised to keep in touch. Bosch left her there.

Bosch headed back down the 5 to San Fernando to tell Trevino he was in—at least until Bella came back.

Along the way he thought about what he’d said to Lourdes about cop blood. It was something he truly believed. He knew that in his internal universe, there was a mission etched in a secret language, like drawings on the wall of an ancient cave, that gave him his direction and meaning. It could not be altered and it would always be there to guide him to the right path.





It was a Sunday afternoon in spring. A crowd was gathered in the triangle created by the convergence of Traction Avenue and Rose and Third Streets. What for years had been a parking lot was now taking shape as the first public park in the Arts District. Rows of folding chairs were lined in front of a sculpture twenty feet high, its shape and content only hinted at by the contours of the massive white shroud that draped it. A steel cable extended from the shroud to a crane that had been used in the installation. The veil would be dramatically lifted and the sculpture revealed as the centerpiece of the park.

Most of the chairs were filled and videographers from two of the local news channels were on hand to record the event. Many in attendance knew the artist who had created the sculpture. Some were meeting her for the first time even though they were bound by family ties if not by blood.

Bosch and his daughter sat in the back row. Harry could see Gabriela Lida and Olivia Macdonald seated three rows in front of them. Young Gilberto Veracruz sat between them, his attention drawn to a handheld video game. Olivia’s grown children were in the chairs to her right.