It was a photocopy of a standard missing person report. Bosch found himself wondering if Sylvia and her husband had ever turned down the thermostat on a summer night and made love in front of the fireplace on that same blanket. Apart from everything else, he insisted on my sleeping in his apartment’s only bed, even if I got in from the road at two or three in the morning. The price was $20,500.
Bosch could see the powdery remains of makeup on the skin of the face. like his own mother. Then we talked to the horde of press people who had gathered. On the twenty-fifth, I said good-bye to Oxford—permanently, I believed.
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