She didn't look away when she said it. All these years in the straight life and she still had a wh.o.r.e's pride. She could talk about the low points of her life without flinching or batting an eye. It was because she had made it through and there was dignity in that. Enough to last the rest of her life.

"Do you mind if I smoke, Harry?"

"No, not if I can."

They took out cigarettes and Bosch got up to light them.

"You can use that ashtray on the side table. Try not to get ashes on the rug."

She pointed to a small gla.s.s bowl on the table at the other end of the couch. Bosch reached over for it and then held it with one hand while he smoked with the other. He looked down into it as he spoke.

"The policemen you knew," he said, "and who she probably knew, you don't remember any names?"

"I said it was a long time ago. And I doubt they had anything to do with this, with what happened to your mother."

"Irvin S. Irving. Do you remember that name?"

She hesitated a moment as the name rolled around in her mind.

"I knew him. I think she did, too. He was on the beat on the Boulevard. I think it would have been hard for her not to know him...but I don't know. I could be wrong."

Bosch nodded.

"He was the one who found her."

She hiked her shoulders in a what's-that-prove gesture.

"Well, somebody had to find her. She was left out there in the open like that."

"What about a couple of vice guys, Gilchrist and Stano?"

She hesitated before answering.

"Yes, I knew them...they were mean men."

"Would my mother have known them? In that way?"

She nodded.

"What do you mean that they were mean? In what way?"

"They just...they just didn't care about us. If they wanted something, whether it was a little piece of information you might have picked up on a date or something more...personal, they just came and took it. They could be rough. I hated them."

"Did they-"

"But could they have been killers? My feeling at the time, and now, is no. They weren't killers, Harry. They were cops. True, they were bought and paid for, but it seemed everybody was. But it wasn't like it is today where you read the paper and you see some cop on trial for killing or beating or whatever. It's-sorry."

"It's okay. Anybody else you can think of?"

"No."

"No names?"

"I put that all out of my mind a long time ago."

"Okay."

Bosch wanted to take out his notebook but he didn't want to make this seem like an interview. He tried to remember what else he had read in the murder book that he could ask about.

"What about this guy Johnny Fox?"

"Yes, I told those detectives about him. They got all excited but then nothing ever happened. He was never arrested."

"I think he was. But then he was let go. His fingerprints didn't match the killer's."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Well, that's news to me. They never told me anything about any fingerprints."

"On your second interview-with McKittrick, you remember him?"

"Not really. I just remember that there were police, you know? Two detectives. One was smarter than the other, that's what I remember. But I don't remember which one was which. It seemed like the dumber one was in charge and that was par for the course in those days."

"Well, anyway, McKittrick talked to you the second time. In his report he said you changed your story and you told about this party in Hanc.o.c.k Park."

"Yes, the party. I didn't go because that...Johnny Fox hit me the night before and I had a bruise on my cheek. It was gorgeous. I played around with makeup but I couldn't do anything about the swelling. Believe me there wasn't much business in Hanc.o.c.k Park for a party girl with a knot on her face."

"Who was having the party?"

"I don't remember. I don't know if I even knew whose party it was."

Something about the way she answered bothered Bosch. Her tone had changed and it came across as almost a rehea.r.s.ed answer.

"Are you sure don't remember?"

"Of course, I'm sure." Katherine stood up. "I think I'm going to get some water now."

She took his gla.s.s to refill and left the room again. Bosch realized that his familiarity with the woman, his emotion in seeing her again after so long, had blocked most of his investigative instincts. He had no feel for the truth. He could not tell whether there was more to what she was telling him or not. He decided he had to somehow steer the conversation back to the party. He thought she knew more than she had said all those years ago.

She came back with two gla.s.ses filled with ice water and placed his back down on the cork coaster. Something about the way she was so careful about putting the gla.s.s down gave him a knowledge about her that had not come through in her spoken words. It was simply that she had worked hard to attain the level she was at in life. That position and the material things it brought with it-like gla.s.s coffee tables and plush carpets-meant a lot to her and were to be taken care of.

She took a long drink from her gla.s.s after sitting down.

"Let me tell you something, Harry," she said. "I didn't tell them everything. I didn't lie, but I didn't tell them everything. I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I became afraid on the day they found her. You see, I'd gotten a call that morning. Before I even knew what had happened to her. It was a man, but a voice I didn't recognize. He told me if I said anything I would be next. I remember, he said, 'My advice to you, little lady, is to get the h.e.l.l out of Dodge.' Then, of course, I heard the police were in the building and had gone to her apartment. Then I heard she was dead. So I did what I was told. I left. I waited about a week until the police said they were done with me, then I moved to Long Beach. I changed my name, changed my life. I met my husband down there and then years later we moved here.... You know, I've never been back to Hollywood, not even to drive through. It's an awful place."

"What was it that you didn't tell Eno and McKittrick?"

Katherine looked down at her hands as she spoke.

"I was afraid, you see, so I didn't tell everything...but I knew who she was going to see there, at the party. We were like sisters. Lived in the same building, shared clothes, secrets, everything. We talked every morning, had our coffee together. We had no secrets between us. And we were going to go to the party together. Of course, after that...after Johnny hit me, she had to go alone."

"Who was she going to meet there, Katherine?" Bosch prompted.

"You see that is the right question but the detectives never asked that. They only wanted to know whose party it was and where it was. That didn't matter. What was important was who was she going to meet there and they never asked that."

"Who was it?"

She looked away from her hands and to the fireplace. She stared at the cold, blackened logs left from an old fire the way some people stare mesmerized by a burning fire.

"It was a man named Arno Conklin. He was a very important man in the-"

"I know who he was."

"You do?"

"His name came up in the records. But not that way. How could you not tell the cops this?"

She turned and looked at him sharply.

"Don't you look at me that way. I told you I was scared. I'd been threatened. And they wouldn't have done anything with it anyway. They were bought and paid for by Conklin. They wouldn't go near him on just the word of a...call girl who didn't see anything but knew a name. I had to think of myself. Your mother was dead, Harry. There was nothing I could do about it."

He could see the sharp edges of anger in her eyes. He knew it was directed at him but more toward herself. She could list all her reasons out loud but inside Bosch thought she paid a price every day for not having done the right thing.

"You think Conklin did it?"

"I don't know. All I know is that she'd been with him before and there was never anything violent. I don't know the answer to that."

"Any idea now who called you?"

"No, none."

"Conklin?"

"I don't know. I didn't know his voice anyway."

"Did you ever see them together, my mother and him?"

"Once, at a dance at the Masonic. I think it was the night they met. Johnny Fox introduced them. I don't think Arno knew... anything about her. At least, then."

"Could it have been Fox who called you?"

"No. I would've recognized his voice."

Bosch thought a moment.

"Did you ever see Fox again after that morning?"

"No. I avoided him for a week. It was easy because I think he was hiding from the cops. But after that I was gone. Whoever called me, he put the fear of G.o.d in me. I left town for Long Beach the day the cops said they were done with me. Packed one suitcase and took the bus...I remember, your mother had some of my clothes in her apartment. Things that she had borrowed. I didn't even bother to try to get them. I just took what I had and left."

Bosch was silent. He had nothing else to ask.

"I think about those days a lot, you know," Katherine said. "We were in the gutter, your mother and I, but we were good friends and we had fun in spite of it all."

"You know, all my memories...you're in a lot of them. You were always there with her."

"We had a lot of laughs in spite of everything," she said wistfully. "And you, you were the highlight of it all. You know, when they took you away from her, it nearly killed her right then... She never stopped trying to get you back, Harry. I hope you know that. She loved you. I loved you."

"Yes, I know that."

"But after you were gone, she wasn't the same. Sometimes I think what happened to her was sort of inevitable. Sometimes I think it was like she had been heading toward that alley for a long time beforehand."

Bosch stood up, looking at the sorrow in her eyes.

"I better go. I'll let you know what happens."

"I'd like that. I'd like to stay in touch."

"I'd like that, too."

He headed toward the door knowing that they wouldn't stay in touch. Time had eroded the bond between them. They were strangers who shared the same story. On the outside step he turned and looked back at her.

"The Christmas card you sent. You wanted me to look into this back then, didn't you?"

She brought out the faraway smile again.

"I don't know. My husband had just died and I was taking stock, you know? I thought about her. And you. I'm proud of how I turned out, Little Harry. So I think about what there could have been for her and you. I'm still mad. Whoever did this should..."

She didn't finish but Bosch nodded.

"Good-bye, Harry."

"You know, my mother, she had a good friend."

"I hope so."

Chapter Seven.

BACK IN HIS car Bosch took his notebook out and looked at the list. car Bosch took his notebook out and looked at the list.