Angels Flight

might add some credibility to the announcement that he was being let go.”
    “So you used us the way Irving wanted to yesterday,” she said. “You wouldn’t let him do it but it was okay for yourself.”
    Bosch studied her face. He could tell she was genuinely angry at being used in such a way. Bosch knew that it was a betrayal. A small one in his mind, but a betrayal just the same.
    “Look, Kiz, we can talk about this later. But like I said, Frankie’s a friend. He’s now your friend for this. And that could be valuable someday.”
    He waited and watched and finally she gave a slight nod. It was over, for now.
    “How much more time do you need?” he asked.
    “Maybe an hour,” Edgar said. “Then we’ve got to find a judge.”
    “Why?” Rider said. “What did Irving say?”
    “Irving’s sitting on the fence. So I want to have everything ready. I want to be able to move. Tomorrow morning.”
    “Tomorrow morning’s no problem,” Edgar said.
    “Good. Then you two go back and finish up. Get to a judge tonight. Tomorrow we’ll – ”
    “Detective Bosch?”
    Bosch turned. Harvey Button and his producer, Tom Chainey, were standing there.
    “I can’t talk to you,” Bosch said.
    “We understand that you have reopened the Stacey Kincaid case,” Chainey said. “We’d like to talk to you about – ”
    “Who told you that?” Bosch snapped, anger quickly showing on his face.
    “We have a source who – ”
    “Well, tell your source he’s full of shit. No comment.”
    A cameraman came up and poked his lens over Button’s shoulder. Button raised a microphone.
    “Have you exonerated Michael Harris?” Button blurted out.
    “I said no comment,” Bosch said. “Get that out of here.”
    Bosch reached to the camera and put his hand over the lens. The cameraman shrieked.
    “Don’t touch the camera! This is private property.”
    “So is my face. Get it away from me. The press conference is over.”
    Bosch put his hand on Button’s shoulder and forcefully ushered him off the stage. The cameraman followed. So did Chainey, but in a slow, calm way as if daring Bosch to manhandle him as well. Their eyes locked.
    “Watch the news tonight, Detective,” Chainey said. “You might find it interesting.”
    “I doubt that,” Bosch said.
    Twenty minutes later Bosch was sitting on an empty desk at the mouth of the hallway that led to the RHD interview rooms on the third floor. He was still thinking about the exchange he’d had with Button and Chainey and wondering what they had. He heard one of the doors open and looked up. Frankie Sheehan came down the hallway with Lindell. Bosch’s old partner looked drained. His face was slack, his hair unkempt and his clothes – the same ones he had worn the night before in the bar – were disheveled. Bosch slid off the desk and stood up, ready to deflect a physical assault if need be. But Sheehan apparently read his body language and raised his hands, palms forward. He smiled crookedly.
    “It’s okay, Harry,” Sheehan said, his voice very tired and hoarse. “Agent Lindell here gave me the scoop. Part of it, at least. It wasn’t you who… It was myself. You know I forgot all about threatening that douche bag.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Come on, Frankie,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.”
    Without thinking too much about it Bosch led him to the main elevators and they headed down to the lobby. They stood side by side, both looking up at the lighted numbers above the door.
    “Sorry I doubted you, buddy,” Sheehan said quietly.
    “Don’t worry about it, buddy. That makes us even.”
    “Yeah? How so?”
    “Last night when I asked about the prints.”
    “You still doubt them?”
    “Nope. Not at all.”
    In the lobby they went out a side door to the employee parking lot. They were about halfway to the car when Bosch heard a commotion and turned to see several reporters and cameramen moving toward them.
    “Don’t say anything,” Bosch said quickly. “Don’t say a word to them.”
    The initial wave of reporters descended quickly and surrounded them. Bosch could see more coming.
    “No comment,” Bosch said. “No comment.”
    But it wasn’t Bosch they cared about. They shoved their microphones and cameras at Sheehan’s face. His eyes, so tired before, seemed wild now, even scared. Bosch tried to pull his friend through the crowd and to the car. The reporters shouted their questions.
    “Detective Sheehan, did you kill Howard Elias?” a woman