1980 A.D.

Bosch could definitely see why Jesper had jumped to the conclusion he did about the letters, especially since he did not have the case victim’s name.

“It looks like somebody sanded it down,” Jesper said while Bosch continued to look. “I bet what happened was that the whole board was rehabbed at one point. New trucks and new lacquer.”

Bosch nodded.

“All right,” he said after straightening up from the magnifying glass. “I’m going to need to take this with me, maybe show it to some people.”

“I’m done with it,” Jesper said. “It’s all yours.”

He turned the overhead light back on.

“Did you check under these other wheels?”

“’Course. Nothing there, though. So I put the truck back on.”

“You got a box or something?”

“Oh, I thought you were going to ride it out of here, Harry.”

Bosch didn’t smile.

“That’s a joke.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Jesper left the room and came back with an empty cardboard file box that was long enough to contain the skateboard. He put the skateboard in it along with the detached set of wheels and the screws, which were in a small plastic bag. Bosch thanked him.

“Did I do good, Harry?”

Bosch hesitated and then said, “Yeah, I think so, Antoine.”

Jesper pointed to Bosch’s cheek.

“Shaving?”

“Something like that.”

The drive back to Hollywood was even slower on the freeway. Bosch finally bailed at the Alvarado exit and worked his way over to Sunset. He took it the rest of the way in, not making any better time and knowing it.

As he drove he kept thinking about the skateboard and Nicholas Trent, trying to fit explanations into the framework of time and evidence that they had. He couldn’t do it. There was a piece missing from the equation. He knew that at some level and at some place it all made sense. He was confident he would get there, if he had enough time.

At four-thirty Bosch banged through the back door into the station house carrying the file box containing the skateboard. He was heading quickly down the hallway to the squad room, when Mankiewicz ducked his head into the hallway from the watch office.

“Hey, Harry?”

Bosch looked back at him but kept walking.

“What’s up?”

“I heard the news. We’re gonna miss you around here.”

The word traveled fast. Bosch held the box with his right arm and raised his left hand palm down and made a sweeping gesture across the flat surface of an imaginary ocean. It was a gesture usually reserved for drivers of patrol cars passing on the street. It said, Smooth sailing to you, brother. Bosch kept going.

Edgar had a large white board lying flat across his desk and covering most of Bosch’s as well. He had drawn what looked like a thermometer on it. It was Wonderland Avenue, the turnaround circle at the end being the bulb at the bottom of the thermometer. From the street there were lines drawn signifying the various homes. Extending from these lines were names printed in green, blue and black marker. There was a red X that marked the spot where the bones had been found.

Bosch stood and stared at the street diagram without asking a question.

“We should’ve done this from the start,” Edgar said.

“How’s it work?”

“The green names are residents in nineteen eighty who moved sometime after. The blue names are anybody who came after ’eighty but has already left. The black names are current residents. Anywhere you see just a black name-like Guyot right here-that means they’ve been there the whole time.”

Bosch nodded. There were only two names in black. Dr. Guyot and someone named Al Hutter, who was at the end of the street farthest from the crime scene.

“Good,” Bosch said, though he didn’t know what use the chart would be now.

“What’s in the box?” Edgar asked.

“The skateboard. Jesper found something.”

Bosch put the box down on his desk and took off the top. He told and showed Edgar the scratched date and initials.

“We’ve got to start looking at Trent again. Maybe look at that theory you had about him moving into the neighborhood because he had buried the kid up there.”

“Jesus, Harry, I was almost joking about that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s no joke now. We have to go back, put together a whole profile on Trent going all the way back to nineteen eighty, at least.”

“And meantime we catch the next case here. That’s real sweet.”

“I heard on the radio it’s supposed to rain this weekend. If we’re lucky it will keep everybody inside and quiet.”

“Harry, inside is where most of the killing is done.”

Bosch looked across the squad room and saw Lt. Billets standing in her office. She was waving him in. He had forgotten that Edgar said she was looking for him. He pointed a finger at Edgar and then back at himself, asking if she wanted to see them both. Billets shook her head and pointed back only at Bosch. He knew what it was about.

“I gotta go see Bullets.”

Edgar looked up at him. He knew what it was about, too.

“Good luck, partner.”

“Yeah, partner. If that’s still the case.”

He crossed the squad room to the lieutenant’s office. She was now seated behind her desk. She didn’t look at him when she spoke.

“Harry, you’ve got a forthwith from the Oh-Three. Call Lieutenant Bollenbach before you do anything else. That’s an order.”

Bosch nodded.

“Did you ask him where I’m going?”

“No, Harry, I’m too pissed off about it. I was afraid if I asked I’d get into it with him and it’s got nothing to do with him. Bollenbach’s just the messenger.”

Bosch smiled.

“You’re pissed off?”

“That’s right. I don’t want to lose you. Especially because of some bullshit grudge somebody up top has against you.”

He nodded and shrugged.

“Thanks, Lieutenant. Why don’t you call him on speakerphone? We’ll get this over with.”

Now she looked up at him.

“You sure? I could go get a coffee so you can have the office to yourself if you want.”

“It’s all right. Go ahead and make the call.”

She put the phone on speaker and called Bollenbach’s office. He answered right away.

“Lieutenant, this is Lieutenant Billets. I have Detective Bosch in my office.”

“Very good, Lieutenant. Just let me find the order here.”

There was the sound of papers rustling, then Bollenbach cleared his throat.

“Detective High… Heronyim… is that-”

“Hieronymus,” Bosch said. “Rhymes with anonymous.”

“Hieronymus then. Detective Hieronymus Bosch, you are ordered to report for duty at Robbery-Homicide Division at oh-eight-hundred January fifteen. That is all. Are these orders clear to you?”

Bosch was stunned. RHD was a promotion. He had been demoted from RHD to Hollywood more than ten years earlier. He looked at Billets, who also had a look of suspicious surprise on her face.

“Did you say RHD?”

“Yes, Detective, Robbery-Homicide Division. Are these orders clear?”

“What’s my assignment?”

“I just told you. You report at-”

“No, I mean what do I do at RHD? What’s my assignment there?”

“You’ll have to get that from your new commanding officer on the morning of the fifteenth. That’s all I have for you, Detective Bosch. You have your orders. Have a nice weekend.”

He clicked off and a dial tone came from the speaker.

Bosch looked at Billets.

“What do you think? Is this some kind of a joke?”

“If it is, it’s a good one. Congratulations.”

“But three days ago Irving told me to quit. Then he turns around and sends me downtown?”

“Well, maybe it’s because he wants to watch you more closely. They don’t call Parker Center the glass house for nothing, Harry. You better be careful.”

Bosch nodded.

“On the other hand,” she said, “we both know you should be down there. You should’ve never been taken out of there in the first place. Maybe it’s just the circle closing. Whatever it is, we’re going to miss you. I’ll miss you, Harry. You do good work.”