Город костей

They got to the road. Bosch's car was parked in front of hers.

"Good-bye, Detective," she said as she broke from him, walked between the cars and went to the driver's door of hers.

"I have something for you."

She opened the car door and looked back at him. "What?"

He opened his door and popped the trunk. He walked back between the cars. She closed her umbrella and threw it into her car and then came over. "Somebody once told me that life was the pursuit of one thing. Redemption. The search for redemption."

- Детектив Босх, мне удивительно видеть вас здесь.

- Почему же?

- Разве детективам не положено быть равнодушными, эмоционально отстраненными? Появление на похоронах свидетельствует об эмоциональной причастности, вам не кажется? Особенно на похоронах в дождливый день.

Кристин Уотерс передвинула зонтик, чтобы закрыть от дождя и Босха.

- Почему вы затребовали останки? - спросил он. -Почему занялись этим?

Он кивнул в сторону могилы на холме.

- Потому что думала, никто больше не займется.

Они подошли к дороге. Машина Босха стояла перед ее машиной.

- Прощайте, детектив, - сказала Кристин Уотерс.

- У меня есть кое-что для вас.

Она открыла дверцу и обернулась:

- Что?

Босх отпер багажник и вернулся.

Кристин Уотерс закрыла зонтик, бросила в машину и подошла к нему.

- Однажды мне сказал один человек, что жизнь - это преследование одной цели. Поиски искупления.

"For what?"

"For everything. Anything. We all want to be forgiven."

He raised the trunk lid and took out a cardboard box. He held it out to her.

"Take care of these kids."

She didn't take the box. Instead she lifted the lid and looked inside. There were stacks of envelopes held together by rubber bands. There were loose photos. On top was the photo of the boy from Kosovo who had the thousand-yard stare.

She reached into the box.

"Where are they from?" she asked, as she lifted an envelope from one of the charities.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Somebody has to take care of them." She nodded and carefully put the lid back on. She took the box from Bosch and walked it back to her car. She put it on the backseat and then went to the open front door. She looked at Bosch before getting in. She looked like she was about to say something but then she stopped. She got in the car and drove away. Bosch closed the trunk of his car and watched her go.

54

The edict of the chief of police was once again being ignored. Bosch turned on the squad room lights and went to his spot at the homicide table.

- Искупления чего?

- Всего. Чего угодно. Мы все нуждаемся в прощении.

Босх поднял крышку багажника и достал оттуда картонную коробку. Протянул ей.

- Позаботьтесь об этих детях.

Она не взяла коробку, лишь подняла крышку и заглянула внутрь. Там были перехваченные резинками конверты и отдельные фотографии. Сверху - снимок мальчика из Косово с отрешенным взглядом.

Кристин Уотерс запустила руку в коробку.

- Откуда они? - спросила она, взяв один конверт из благотворительного общества.

- Не важно, - ответил Босх. - Кому-то нужно заботиться о них. Кристин Уотерс кивнула и осторожно закрыла коробку. Взяла ее у Босха и двинулась к своей машине. Положила на заднее сиденье и подошла к открытой передней дверце. Она взглянула на Босха, казалось, хотела что-то сказать, но передумала. Села в машину и поехала к воротам.

Босх захлопнул багажник и смотрел ей вслед.

54

Распоряжение начальника опять не выполнялось. Босх включил свет в сыскном отделе и направился к своему месту.

He put down two empty cardboard boxes.

It was late Sunday, near midnight. He'd decided to come in and clear out his desk and files when no one else would be around to watch. He still had one more day in Hollywood Division but he didn't want to spend it packing boxes and exchanging insincere good-byes with anyone. His plan was to have a clean desk at the start of the day and a three-hour lunch at Musso & Frank's to end it. He'd say a few good-byes to those who mattered and then slip out the back door before anyone even knew he was gone. It was the only way to do it.

He started with his file cabinet, taking the murder books of the open cases that still kept him awake some nights. He wasn't giving up on them just yet. His plan was to work the cases during the downtimes in RHD. Or to work them at home alone. With one box full he turned to his desk and started emptying the file drawers. When he pulled out the mason jar full of bullet shells, he paused. He had not yet put the shell collected at Julia Brasher's funeral into the jar. Instead he had put that one on a shelf in his home. Next to the picture of the shark he would always keep there as a reminder of the perils of leaving the safety cage. Her father had allowed him to take it. He carefully put the jar into the corner of the second box and made sure it was held secure by the other contents.