The Black Echo

Bosch told himself it was still possible. The diamonds could be the collateral for the real estate empire. Just like with Binh. He kept his eyes on the Mercedes, only a block ahead now because rush hour was in full force and he didn’t want to get cut off. He watched the black windows of the car move along the rich street, and he told himself it was heading to the diamonds.

“And I saved the best for last,” Wish announced then. “Mr. Bok, also known as Mr. Tran, controls his many holdings through a corporation. The title of said corporation, according to the records check by Special Agent Rourke, is none other than Diamond Holdings, Incorporated.”

They passed Rodeo Drive and were in the heart of the commercial district. The buildings lining Wilshire took on more stateliness, as if they knew they had more money and class in them. Traffic slowed to a crawl in some areas, and Bosch got as close as two car lengths behind the Mercedes, not wanting to lose the car on a missed light. They were almost to Santa Monica Boulevard and Bosch was beginning to figure they were headed to Century City. Bosch looked at his watch. It was four-fifty. “If this guy is going to a bank in Century City, I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Just then the Mercedes made a right turn into a parking garage. Bosch slowed to the curb and without saying a word Wish jumped out and walked into the garage. Bosch took the next right and went around the block. Cars were pouring out of office parking lots and garages, cutting in front of him again and again. When he finally got around, Eleanor was standing at the curb at the same spot where she had jumped out. He pulled up and she leaned into the window.

“Park it,” she said, and she pointed across the street and down half a block. There was a rounded structure that was built out to the street from the first floor of a high-rise office building. The walls of the semicircle were glass. And inside this huge glass room Bosch saw the polished steel door of a vault. A sign outside the building said Beverly Hills Safe amp; Lock. He looked at Eleanor and she was smiling.

“Was Tran in the car?” he asked.

“Of course. You don’t make mistakes like that.”

He smiled back. Then he saw a space open up at a meter just ahead. He drove up and parked.

***

“Since we started thinking there would be a second vault hit, my whole orientation was banks,” Eleanor Wish said. “You know, Harry? Maybe a savings and loan. But I drive by this place a couple times a week. At least. I never considered it.”

They had walked down Wilshire and were standing across the street from Beverly Hills Safe amp; Lock. She was actually standing behind him and peeking at the place over his shoulder. Tran, or Bok as he was now known, had seen her earlier, and they couldn’t risk his spotting her here. The sidewalk was clogged with office types that were pouring through the revolving glass doors of the buildings, heading to parking garages and trying to get even a five-minute jump on the traffic, on the holiday weekend.

“It fits though,” Bosch said. “He comes here, doesn’t trust banks, like your friend at State was talking about. So he finds a vault without a bank. Here it is. But even better. As long as you have the money to pay, these places don’t need to know who you are. No federal banking regulations because it isn’t a bank. You can rent a box and only identify yourself with a letter or a number code.”

Beverly Hills Safe amp; Lock had all the appearances of a bank but was far from it. There were no savings or checking accounts. No loan department, no tellers. What it offered was what it showed in the front window. Its polished steel vault. It was a business that protected valuables, not money. In a town like Beverly Hills, this was a precious commodity. The rich and famous kept their jewels here. Their furs. Their prenuptial agreements.

And it all sat out there in the open. Behind glass. The business was the bottom floor of the fourteen-story J. C. Stock Building, a structure unnotable save for the glass vault room that protruded in a half circle from the first-floor facade. The entrance to Beverly Hills Safe amp; Lock was on the side of the building at Rincon Street, where Mexicans in short yellow jackets stood ready to valet a client’s car.

After Bosch had dropped Eleanor off and gone around the block, she had watched Tran and two bodyguards get out of the gold Mercedes and walk to the safe and lock. If they thought they might be followed, they hadn’t shown it. They never looked behind them. One of the bodyguards carried a steel briefcase.

Eleanor said, “I think I made at least one of the bodyguards as carrying. The other’s coat was too baggy. Is that him? Yeah, there he is.”