Free Echo Park by Michael Connelly Page B

and handed back the menu.
    “My warning is that my take is going to be very superficial,” she said when they were left alone. “There is obviously not going to be enough time for me to do a full psychological. I’ll only be scratching the surface.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “I know that,” he said. “But I don’t have the time to give you, so I will take whatever you can give me.”
    She said nothing else and went back to the files. Bosch glanced at the sports pages but wasn’t that interested in the rundown on the Dodgers game the night before. His appreciation for the game had dropped markedly in recent years. He used the newspaper section mostly as a blind so that he could hold it up and appear to be reading while he was actually looking at Rachel. Other than the longer hair, she had changed little since he had last been with her. Still vibrantly attractive with an intangible sense of damage about her. It was in the eyes. They weren’t the hardened cop’s eyes he had seen in so many other faces, including his own when he looked in the mirror. They were eyes that were hurt from the inside out. She had a victim’s eyes and that drew him to her.
    “Why are you staring at me?” she suddenly said.
    “What?”
    “You’re so obvious.”
    “I was just—”
    He was saved by the waiter, who appeared and put down plates of food. Walling moved the files aside and he detected a small smile on her face. They continued their silence as they began to eat.
    “This is good,” she finally said. “I’m starving.”
    “Yeah, me, too.”
    “So what were you looking for?”
    “When?”
    “When you were acting like you were reading the newspaper but you really weren’t.”
    “Um, I . . . I guess I was trying to see if you were really interested in looking at this. You know, it sounds like you have a lot going. Maybe you don’t want to get into this sort of stuff again.”
    She held up half her sandwich but stopped herself from taking a bite.
    “I hate my job, okay? Or rather, I hate what I am doing right now. But it will get better. Another year and it will be better.”
    “Fine. And this? This is okay?”
    He pointed to the files on the table next to her plate.
    “Yes, but there is too much. I can’t even begin to help you. It’s information overload.”
    “I only have today.”
    “Why can’t you delay the interview?”
    “Because it’s not my interview to delay. And because it’s got politics on it. The prosecutor is running for DA. He needs headlines. He’s not going to wait for me to get up to speed.”
    She nodded.
    “All the way with Rick O’Shea.”
    “I had to push my way into the case because of Gesto. They’re not going to slow down to let me catch up.”
    She put her hand on top of the stack of files as if taking some sort of measure from them that would help her make a decision.
    “Let me keep the files when you drive me back. I’ll finish my work, clock out and continue with this. I’ll come see you tonight at your place and give you what I’ve got. Everything.”
    He stared at her, looking for the hidden meaning.
    “When?”
    “I don’t know, as soon as I get through it. Nine o’clock at the latest. I have an early start tomorrow. Will that work?”
    He nodded. He wasn’t expecting this.
    “Do you still live in that house up on the hill?” she asked.
    “Yeah. I’m there. Woodrow Wilson.”
    “Good. My place is down off Beverly, not too far. I’ll come up to your place. I remember the view.”
    Bosch didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what he had just invited into his life.
    “Can I give you something to think about until then?” she asked. “Maybe do some checking?”
    “Sure, what?”
    “The name. Is that his real name?”
    Bosch frowned. He had never considered the name. He assumed it was real. Waits was incarcerated. His fingerprints would have been run through the system to confirm identity.
    “I assume so. His fingerprints matched a previous arrest. That previous time