Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [18]
He got to Hidden Highlands fifteen minutes later. Rider’s car was parked on the shoulder off Mulholland. Bosch pulled up and she got in his car. Then he pulled into the entrance lane next to the gatehouse. It was a small brick structure with a single guard inside. Hidden Highlands was maybe a little richer but not that different from many of the other small, wealthy and scared enclaves nestled in the hills and valleys around Los Angeles. Walls and gates, guardhouses and private security forces were the secret ingredients of the so-called melting pot of southern California.
A guard in a blue uniform stepped out of the gatehouse carrying a clipboard and Bosch had his badge wallet out and open. The guard was a tall, thin man with a worn, gray face. Bosch didn’t recognize him, though he had heard in the station that most of the guards working here were off-duty uniforms from Hollywood Division. In the past he had seen postings for part-time jobs on the bulletin board outside the roll call room.
The guard gave Bosch a once-over in a laconic manner, avoiding a look at the badge on purpose.
“Kenahepyou?” he finally said.
“I need to go to the home of Anthony Aliso.”
He gave the address on Hillcrest that had been on the victim’s driver’s license.
“Your names?”
“Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD. Says it right here. This is Detective Kizmin Rider.”
He proffered the badge wallet, but it was still ignored. The guard was writing on his clipboard. Bosch saw his name tag said Nash. He also saw that the tin badge said CAPTAIN across it.
“They expecting you at the Aliso place?”
“I don’t think so. It’s police business.”
“Okay, but I’ve got to call ahead. It’s the development’s rules, you know.”
“I prefer you didn’t do that, Captain Nash.”
Bosch hoped his use of the security guard’s title would win him over. Nash thought a moment.
“Tell you what,” he said. “You go on ahead and I’ll come up with a reason for delaying making the call a few minutes. I’ll just say I’m up here by myself t’night and I got kind of busy, if there’s a complaint.”
He stepped back and reached in the open door of the gatehouse. He pressed a button on the inside wall and the crossguard went up.
“Thanks, Captain. You work out of Hollywood?”
Bosch knew he didn’t. He could tell Nash wasn’t even a cop. He didn’t have the cold eyes of a cop. But Bosch was playing to him, just in case he became a useful source of information later on.
“Nah,” Nash said. “I’m full-time. That’s why they made me captain of the watch. Everybody else is part-time out of Hollywood or West Hollywood sheriffs. I run the schedule.”
“Then how’d you get stuck on the night shift on Sunday night?”
“Everybody can use some OT now and then.”
Bosch nodded.
“You’re right about that. Hillcrest, where’s that?”
“Oh, yeah, forgot. Take your second left. That’s Hillcrest. The Aliso place is about the sixth house on the right. Nice view of the city from the pool.”
“Did you know him?” Rider asked, leaning down so she could see Nash through Bosch’s window.
“Aliso?” Nash said, bending further to look in at her. He thought a moment. “Not really. Just like I know people when they come through here. I’m just the same to them as the pool man, I guess. I notice you asked did I know him. Am I not going to get the chance?”
“Smart man, Mr. Nash,” Rider said.
She straightened up, finished with the conversation. Bosch nodded his thanks and drove through the gate to Hillcrest. As he passed the broad, manicured lawns surrounding houses the size of apartment buildings, he filled Rider in on what he had learned at the print shed and from Edgar. He also admired the properties they were passing. Many of them were surrounded by walls or tall hedges that looked as though they were