“No, that’s okay. We’ve got it from here, Inspector. Thanks for your help with Harris. We probably wouldn’t have gotten up there to see him without you along.”

“You think he had anything to do with the murders?”

“I’m not thinking anything yet.”

“I seriously doubt he’s involved.”

Bosch just looked at her, hoping his eyes conveyed that he believed she was treading into areas where she had neither expertise nor a mandate to be.

“We’ll give you a ride back,” he said. “Your car at the Bradbury?”

She nodded. They were crossing the lobby to the doors.

“Detective, I want to be kept apprised of the case and any significant developments.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to Chief Irving in the morning and see how he wants to do that. He might prefer to keep you informed himself.”

“I don’t want the whitewashed version. I want to hear it from you.”

“Whitewashed? You think that whatever I tell you won’t be whitewashed? I’m flattered, Inspector.”

“A poor choice of words. But my point being I would rather hear it from you than after it has been processed by the department’s management.”

Bosch looked at her as he held the door.

“I’ll remember that.”

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

KIZ Rider had run the telephone number from the Mistress Regina web page through the criss-cross directory contained on a CD-ROM in the squad room computer. The phone was assigned to an address on North Kings Road in West Hollywood. This did not mean that the address would be where they would find the woman, however. Most prostitutes, late-night masseuses and so-called exotic entertainers used elaborate call-forwarding systems to make it hard for law enforcement agencies to find them.

Bosch, Rider and Edgar pulled to the curb at the intersection of Melrose and Kings and Bosch used his phone to call the number. A woman answered after four rings. Bosch went into his act.

“Mistress Regina?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“My name is Harry. I was wondering if you were available tonight?”

“Have we had a session before?”

“No. I saw your web page and thought . . .”

“Thought what?”

“I thought I might want to try a session.”

“How advanced are you?”

“I don’t under — ”

“What are you into?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’d like to try it out.”

“You know there is no sex, right? No physical contact. I play mind games with people. Nothing illegal.”

“I understand.”

“Do you have a secure phone number that I can call you back at?”

“What do you mean secure?”

“I mean no pay phones!” she said harshly. “You have to give me a real number.”

Bosch gave her his cell phone number.

“Okay. I’ll call you back in one minute. Be there.”

“I will.”

“I will ask for three-six-seven. That is you. You are not a person to me. You do not have a name. You are simply a number.”