Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [108]
He thought of Eleanor again and decided to look to see if there was a note from her or whether her suitcase might be in the bedroom. But he went no further than the living room, where he stopped and looked at the wall he had left half-painted after getting the call to the crime scene on Sunday. The wall was now completely painted. Bosch stood there a long moment, appraising the work as though it were a masterpiece in a museum. Finally he stepped to the wall and lightly touched it. It was fresh but dry. Painted just a few hours before, he guessed. Though no one was there to see it, a broad smile broke across his face. He felt a jolt of happiness break through the gray aura surrounding him. He didn’t need to look for her suitcase in the bedroom. He took the painted wall as a sign, as her note. She’d be back.
An hour later, he had unpacked his overnighter and the rest of her belongings from the car and was standing in the darkness on the rear deck. He held another bottle of beer and watched the ribbon of lights moving along the Hollywood Freeway at the bottom of the hill. He had no idea how long she had stood in the frame of the sliding door to the deck and watched him. When he turned around, she was just there.
“Eleanor.”
“Harry…I thought you wouldn’t be back until later.”
“Neither did I. But I’m here.”
He smiled. He wanted to go to her and touch her, but a cautious voice told him to move slowly.
“Thanks for finishing.”
He gestured toward the living room with his bottle.
“No problem. I like to paint. It relaxes me.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
They looked at each other a moment.
“I saw the print,” she said. “It looks good there.”
Bosch had taken her print of Hopper’s Nighthawks out of the trunk and hung it on the freshly painted wall. He knew that how she reacted to seeing it there would tell him a lot about where they were and where they might be headed.
“Good,” he said, nodding and trying not to smile.
“What happened to the one I sent you?”
That had been a long time ago.
“Earthquake,” he said.
She nodded.
“Where’d you just come from?”
“Oh, I went and rented a car. You know, until I can figure out what I’m going to do. I left my car in Vegas.”
“I guess we could go over and get it, drive it back. You know, get in and out, not hang around.”
She nodded.
“Oh, I got a bottle of red wine, too. You want something? Or another beer?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
“I’m going to have a glass of wine. You sure you want that?”
“I’m sure. I’ll open it.”
He followed her into the kitchen and opened the wine and took down two glasses from a cabinet and rinsed them. He hadn’t had anyone who liked wine over in a long time. She poured and they touched glasses before drinking.
“So how’s the case going?” she asked.
“I don’t have a case anymore.”
She creased her brow and frowned.
“What happened? I thought you were bringing your suspect back.”
“I did. But it’s no longer my case. Not since my suspect turned out to be a bureau agent with an alibi.”
“Oh, Harry.” She looked down. “Are you in trouble?”
Bosch put his glass on the counter and folded his arms.
“I’m on a desk for the time being. I’ve got the squints investigating me. They think — along with the bureau — that I planted evidence against the agent. The gun. I didn’t. But I guess somebody did. When I figure out who, then I’ll be okay.”
“Harry, how did this —”
He shook his head, moved toward her and put his mouth on hers. He gently took the glass out of her hand and put it on the counter behind her.
After they made love, Bosch went into the kitchen to open a bottle of beer and make dinner. He peeled an onion and chopped it up along with a green pepper. He then cleared the cutting board into a frying pan and sautéed the mixture with butter, powdered garlic and other seasonings. He added two chicken breasts and cooked them until the meat was easy to shred and pull away from the bone with a fork. He added a can of Italian tomato sauce, a can of crushed tomatoes and more seasonings. He finished by pouring a shot of red wine from Eleanor’s bottle in. While it all simmered,