“A pleasure, Detective Ballard. You’ll be hearing from me, and if I get this into court and put you on the stand, you may regret this phone call.”

“I’m not worried about that. If you treat me as a hostile witness, it will be good cover. But you’ll also be calling Harry Bosch. He worked this with me.”

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

After disconnecting, Ballard called the KWPD to arrange for an officer to meet her at the Pier House so she could have the door to Bosch’s room opened by security. She wanted to read the note he had sealed and addressed to her. She believed it would give her insight into where Bosch was and what he was up to.

When she got to the Pier House fifteen minutes later, there was already a KWPD car in the parking lot. Ballard parked next to it and entered the lobby and found two uniformed officers waiting for her with the resort’s head of security. She showed her badge and credentials, and the resort security man, Munoz, said he had a key card to Bosch’s room ready to go. They all walked out a rear door of the lobby and onto a pathway through a maze of lush tropical trees and plants, around a pool, and toward a building containing four floors of rooms.

They squeezed into a small elevator, because the security man said it was closer than the stairs to room 202.

At the door of the room, the security man knocked and leaned his head toward the doorjamb to listen.

“Resort security,” he called out. “Mr. Bosch? Security.”

He waited a few seconds and then knocked again. He pulled a key card from his pocket to unlock the door.

“Security,” he said. “We are opening the door.”

54

BOSCH WAS SO deeply asleep that the first knock on the door barely penetrated his dream about the tunnels. He was moving endlessly through a dark and tight space with no beginning and no end.

On the second knock, he opened his eyes. He was on a bed in a strange room. It was dark, the curtains drawn, save for the light from the bathroom. He heard the click from the room’s door. He sat up.

“Don’t shoot!” he called out. “Don’t shoot!”

They opened the door, came in, and walked down the entrance hallway and into the room.

He saw it was Ballard, along with a man in a suit and two uniformed officers.

“Harry,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Renée,” he said. “What are you—you came.”

She didn’t answer him. She turned to the men behind her and held her hands up in a stay-back gesture.

“He’s fine,” she said. “False alarm. Everything’s okay. You can all—”

“Are you sure, ma’am?” the suit said. “He looks confused.”