he didn’t care. He knew that first-class passengers were accorded special status that moved them quickly through security checks and first onto planes. Airport and airline staff and security were less likely to concern themselves with first-class travelers, even if they were a disheveled man with blood on his jacket and a thirteen-year-old girl who couldn’t seem to keep tears off her cheeks.
Bosch also understood that his daughter had been left traumatized by the past sixty hours of her life, and while he couldn’t begin to know how to care for her in this regard, he instinctively felt that any added comfort couldn’t hurt.
Noting Bosch’s unkempt appearance, the woman behind the counter mentioned to him that the first-class waiting lounge offered showering facilities to travelers. Bosch thanked her for the tip, took their boarding passes and then followed a first-class hostess to security. As expected, they breezed through the checkpoint on the power of their newfound status.
They had almost three hours to kill and though the previously mentioned shower facility was tempting, Bosch decided that food might be a more pressing need. He couldn’t remember when and what he had last eaten and he assumed his daughter had been equally deprived of nourishment.
“You hungry, Mads?”
“Not really.”
“They fed you?”
“No, uh-uh. I couldn’t eat, anyway.”
“When did you last eat something?”
She had to think.
“I had a piece of pizza at the mall on Friday. Before…”
“Okay, we’ve got to eat, then.”
They took an escalator up to an area where there were a variety of restaurants overlooking the duty-free shopping mecca. Bosch chose a sit-down restaurant in the center of the concourse that had good views of the shopping level. His daughter ordered chicken fingers and Bosch ordered a steak and french fries.
“You should never order a steak at an airport,” Madeline said.
“Why’s that?”
“You won’t get good quality.”
Bosch nodded. It was the first time she had said something more than one or two words in length since they had said good-bye to Sun. Harry had been watching her slowly collapse inward as the release of fear that followed her escape wore off and the reality of what she had been through and what had happened to her mother sank in. Bosch had feared she might be going into some form of shock. Her odd observation about the quality of steak in an airport seemed to indicate that she was in a dissociated state.
“Well, I guess I’ll find out.”
She then jumped the conversation to a new place.
“So am I going to live in L.A. with you now?”
“I think so.”
He studied her face for a reaction. It remained unchanged-blank stare over cheeks streaked with dried tears and sadness.
“I want you to,” Bosch said. “And last time you were over, you said you wanted to stay.”
“But not like this.”
“I know.”
“Will I ever go back to get my things and say good-bye to my friends”
Bosch thought for a moment before responding.
“I don’t think so,” he finally said. “I might be able to get your things sent. But you’re probably going to have to e-mail your friends, I guess. Or call them.”
“At least I’ll be able to say good-bye.”
Bosch nodded and was silent, noting the obvious reference to her lost mother. She soon spoke again, her mind like a balloon caught in the wind, touching down here and there on unpredictable currents.
“Are we, like, wanted by the police here?”
Bosch looked around to see if anyone sitting nearby had heard the question, then leaned forward to answer.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “We could be. I could be. But I don’t want to find out here. It will be better to deal with all of this from L.A.”
After a pause she asked another question and this one hit Bosch between the numbers.
“Dad, did you kill those men that had me? I heard a lot of shooting.”
Bosch thought about how he should answer-as a cop, as a father-but didn’t take too long.
“Let’s just say that they got what they deserved. And that whatever happened was brought on by their own actions. Okay?”
“Okay.”
When the food came they stopped talking and ate ravenously. Bosch had chosen the restaurant, the table and his seat so that he would have a good view of the shopping area and the security gate beyond. As he ate, he kept a vigilant watch for any unusual activity involving the airport’s security staff. Any movement of multiple personnel or search activity would cause him concern. He had no idea if he was even on any police radar yet but he