When a man behind the counter asked if I needed help I told him I was just browsing and then walked out of the store. I walked down toward Book Carnival, stopping first to check out the empty storefront next door. Through the soaped glass I could see boxes marked with what I guessed were the titles of books. I realized Thomas was using the slot for storing books. There was a for lease sign and a phone number, which I committed to memory in case it played into an angle we would work later.

I entered Book Carnival and Ed Thomas was behind the counter. I smiled and he smiled in recognition but I could tell that it took a few seconds for him to place the face he recognized.

"Harry Bosch," he said once he had it.

"Hey, Ed, how are you doing?"

We shook hands and his eyes behind the glasses had a warmth to them I liked. I was pretty sure I hadn't seen him since his retirement dinner at the Sportsman's Lodge up in the Valley six or seven years before. There was more white than not in his hair. But he was still tall and thin like I remembered him from the job. He had a tendency at crime scenes to hold his notebook up high and close to his face when he was writing. This was because his glasses were always a prescription or two behind his eyes. The arms-high pose got him the nickname of the Praying Mantis around the homicide table. I suddenly remembered that now. I remembered the flyer for his retirement party showed a caricature of Ed as a superhero with a cape and a mask and a large P on his chest.

"How's the book business doing?"

"It's doing good, Harry. What brings you down here from the big bad city? I heard you retired a couple years ago."

"Yeah, I did. But I'm thinking about going back."

"You miss it?"

"Yeah, I sort of do. We'll see what happens."

He seemed surprised and I knew then that he didn't miss a thing about the job. He'd always been a reader, always had a box of paperbacks in the trunk for surveillances and while sitting on wiretaps. Now he had his pension and his bookstore. He was doing well without all of the nastiness of the job.

"You just passing by?"

"No, actually, I came here for a real reason. You remember my old partner, Kiz Rider?"

"Yeah, sure, she's been in here before."

"That's what I mean. She's been helping me with something and I want to get her a little gift. I remember she told me once that your store was like the only place around where you could get a book signed by a writer named Dean Koontz. So I was wondering if you got any of those around. I'd like to get her one."

"I think I might have something left in the back. Let me go check. Those things go fast but I usually keep a stash."

He left me at the counter and walked through the store to a door at the back that appeared to lead to a stockroom. I assumed the rear delivery door was back there. When he was out of sight I leaned over the counter and looked at the shelves beneath. I saw a small video display tube with its screen cut into four segments. There were four interior camera angles showing the cash register area, with me leaning over the counter; a long view of the entire store; a tighter view of a group of shelves; and the rear stockroom, where I could see Thomas looking at a similar VDT tube on a shelf.

I realized he was looking at me leaning over his counter. I straightened up, my mind quickly trying to come up with an explanation. A few moments later Thomas came back to the counter carrying a book.

"Find what you were looking for, Harry?"

"What? Oh, you mean me looking over the counter? I was just sort of wondering if you, you know, had any protection back there. You being a former cop and all. You ever worry about somebody coming in here who you knew from back when?"

"I take precautions, Harry. Don't worry about that."

I nodded.

"Good to hear. Is that the book?"

"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.