Read Online Lost Light by Michael Connelly - Free Book Online Page B

that. But that’s not what I’m calling about. She said she had a computer program that cross-referenced and cross-matched numbers from these sorts of cases. I think it was her own program, something that she worked up on her own. Does any of this ring a bell? Not the case but the agent. An agent who had this program. A female agent.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, because I have misplaced her name. Actually, I never got it because she spoke to one of the other investigators on the case. But I would like to speak to her, if I could.”
    “Speak to her about what? You said you are retired.”
    I knew it would come to this, and this is where I was weak. I had no station, no validity. You either had a badge that opened all doors or you didn’t. I didn’t.
    “Some cases die hard, Agent Nunez. I’m still working it. Nobody else is, so I figured I’d take the shot. You know how it is.”
    “No, actually, I don’t. I’m not retired.”
    A real hard-ass. He was silent after that and I found myself getting angry with this faceless man who was probably trying to balance a burdensome caseload with a lack of manpower and funding. L.A. was the bank robbery capital of the world. Three a day was the norm and the FBI had to respond to every one of them.
    “Look, man,” I said. “I don’t want to waste your time. You can either help me or not. You either know who I am talking about or you don’t.”
    “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about.”
    But then he was silent. I tried one last angle. I had held it back because I wasn’t sure I wanted it known in some circles what I was doing. But the visit from Kiz Rider sort of shot that down anyway.
    “Look, you want a name, somebody you can check me out with? Call over to Hollywood detectives and ask for the lieutenant. Her name is Billets and she can vouch for me. She won’t know anything about this though. As far as she knows, I’m swinging in a hammock.”
    “All right, I’ll do that. Why don’t you call me back? Give me ten minutes.”
    “Right. I will.”
    I closed the phone and checked my watch. It was almost three. I started the Mercedes and drove down to Sunset and headed east. I turned on the radio but didn’t like the fusion that was playing. I turned it back off. At the ten-minute mark I pulled to the curb in front of the Splendid Age Retirement Home. I picked up the phone to call Nunez back and it rang in my hand. I thought maybe Nunez had caller ID on his line and had gotten the number. But then I remembered I had been transferred to his line. I didn’t think an ID record could jump with a transfer.
    “Harry Bosch.”
    “Harry, it’s Jerry.”
    Jerry Edgar. It was turning into old home week. First Kiz Rider and now Jerry Edgar.
    “Jed, how you doing?”
    “I’m fine, man. How’s the retiring life?”
    “It’s very restful.”
    “You don’t sound like you’re on the beach, Harry.”
    He was right. The Splendid Age was just yards from the Hollywood Freeway and the din of gas-combustion machinery was ever present. Quentin McKinzie told me that they house the Splendid Age residents with hearing loss in the rooms on the west side because they are closer to the noise.
    “I’m not a beach guy. What’s up? Don’t tell me that eight months after I’m gone you actually want to ask my advice on something?”
    “Nah, it’s not that. I just got a call from somebody who was checking you out.”
    I was immediately embarrassed. My pride had led me to conclude that Edgar needed me on a case.
    “Oh. Was it a bureau agent named Nunez?”
    “Yeah, he didn’t say what it was about, though. You starting a new career or something, Harry?”
    “Thinking about it.”
    “You ever get your private ticket?”
    “Yeah, about six months ago, just in case. I stuck it in a drawer somewhere. What did you tell Nunez? I hope you said I was a man of high moral standing and courage.”
    “Absolutely not. I gave him the straight dope. I said you could trust Harry Bosch about