gluttony, lust and pride.
“And now his masterpiece,” his tour guide said as she turned the page.
She came to the same triptych she had pinned to the wall of the pod. The Garden of Earthly Delights. McCaleb studied it closely now. The left panel was a bucolic scene of Adam and Eve being placed in the garden by the creator. An apple tree stood nearby. The center panel, the largest, showed dozens of nudes coupling and dancing in uninhibited lust, riding horses and beautiful birds and wholly imagined creatures from the lake in the foreground. And then the last panel, the dark one, was the payoff. Hell, a place of torment and anguish administered by monster birds and other ugly creatures. The painting was so detailed and enthralling that McCaleb understood how someone might stand before it – the original – for four hours and still not see everything.
“I am sure you are grasping the ideas of Bosch’s often repeated themes by now,” Fitzgerald said. “But this is considered the most coherent of his works as well as the most beautifully imagined and realized.”
McCaleb nodded and pointed to the three panels as he spoke.
“You have Adam and Eve here, the good life until they eat that apple. Then in the center you have what happens after the fall from grace: life without rules. Freedom of choice leads to lust and sin. And where does all of this go? Hell.”
“Very good. And if I could just point out a few specifics that might interest you.”
“Please.”
She started with the first panel.
“The earthly paradise. You are correct in that it depicts Adam and Eve before the fall. This pool and fountain at center represent the promise of eternal life. You already noted the fruit tree at left center.”
Her finger moved across the plate to the fountain structure, a tower of what looked like flower petals that somehow delivered water in four distinct trickles to the pool below. Then he saw it. Her finger stopped below a small dark entrance at the center of the fountain structure. The face of an owl peered from the darkness.
“You mentioned the owl before. Its image is here. You see all is not right in this paradise. Evil lurks and, as we know, will ultimately win the day. According to Bosch. Then, going to the next panel we see the imagery again and again.”
She pointed out two distinct representations of owls and two other depictions of owl-like creatures. McCaleb’s eyes held on one of the images. It showed a large brown owl with shiny black eyes being embraced by a nude man. The owl’s coloring and eyes matched that of the plastic bird found in Edward Gunn’s apartment.
“Do you see something, Terry?”
He pointed to the owl.
“This one. I can’t really go into it with you but this one, it matches up with the reason I am here.”
“A lot of symbols are at work in this panel. That is one of the obvious ones. After the fall, man’s freedom of choice leads him to debauchery, gluttony, folly and avarice, the worst sin of all in Bosch’s world being lust. Man wraps his arms around the owl; he embraces evil.”
McCaleb nodded.
“And then he pays for it.”
“Then he pays for it. As you notice in the last panel, this is a depiction of hell without fire. Rather, it is a place of myriad torments and endless pain. Of darkness.”
McCaleb stared silently for a long time, his eyes moving across the landscape of the painting. He remembered what Dr. Vosskuhler had said.
A darkness more than night.
Chapter 12
Bosch cupped his hands and held them against the window next to the front door of the apartment. He was looking into the kitchen. The counters were spotless. No mess, no coffee maker, not even a toaster. He started to get a bad feeling. He stepped over to the door and knocked once more. He then paced back and forth waiting. Looking down he saw an outline on the pavement of where a welcome mat had once been.
“Damn,” he said.
He reached into his pocket and took out a small leather pouch. He unzipped it and removed two small steel picks he had made from hacksaw blades. Glancing around he saw no one. He was in a shielded alcove of a large apartment complex in Westwood. Most residents were probably still at work. He stepped up to the door and went to work with the picks on the deadbolt. Ninety seconds later he had the door open and he went inside.
He knew the apartment was vacant as soon as he stepped in but he covered every room anyway. All of them were empty. Hoping for an empty prescription bottle he even checked the bathroom medicine cabinet. There was a used razor made of pink plastic on a shelf, nothing else.
He walked back into the living room and took out his cell phone. He had just put Janis Langwiser’s cell phone on the speed dial the day before. She was co-prosecutor on the case and they had worked on Bosch’s testimony throughout the weekend. His call found her still in the trial team’s temporary office in the Van Nuys courthouse.
“Listen, I don’t want to rain on the parade but Annabelle Crowe is gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean gone, baby, gone. I’m standing in what was her apartment. It’s empty.”
“Shit! We really need her, Harry. When did she move out?”
“I don’t know. I just discovered she was gone.”
“Did you talk to the apartment manager?”
“Not yet. But he’s not going to know much more than how long ago she split. If she’s running from the trial she wouldn’t be leaving any forwarding addresses with the management.”
“Well, when did you talk to her last?”
“Thursday. I called her here. But that line is disconnected today. No forwarding number.”
“Shit!”
“I know. You said that.”
“She got the subpoena, right?”
“Yeah, she got it Thursday. That’s why I called. To make sure.”
“Okay, then maybe she’ll be here tomorrow.”
Bosch looked around the empty apartment.
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
He looked at his watch. It was after five. Because he had been so sure about Annabelle Crowe, she had been the last witness he was going to check on. There had been no hint that she was going to split. Now he knew he would be spending the night trying to run her down.
“What can you do?” Langwiser asked.
“I’ve got some information on her I can run down. She’s got to be in town. She’s an actress, where else is she going to go?”
“New York?”
“That’s where real actors go. She’s a face. She’ll stay here.”
“Find her, Harry. We’ll need her by next week.”
“I’ll try.”
There was a moment of silence while they both considered things.
“You think Storey got to her?” Langwiser finally asked.
“I’m wondering. He could’ve gotten to her with what she needs – a job, a part, a paycheck. When I find her I’ll be asking that.”
“Okay, Harry. Good luck. If you get her tonight, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right.”
Bosch closed the phone and put it down on the kitchen counter. From his jacket pocket he took out a thin stack of three-by-five cards. Each card had the name of one of the witnesses he was responsible for vetting and preparing for trial. Home and work addresses as well as phone numbers and pager numbers were noted on the
