Angels Flight

turn. Elias would use him to expose the Charlotte’s Web Site and the horror of Stacey Kincaid’s young life. It was clear that the case Elias was going to present to the jury followed the same line of investigation Bosch and his team had followed – that Harris was innocent, that there was an explanation for his fingerprints, and that Sam Kincaid or someone connected to him and the pedo net killed his stepdaughter.
    Bosch knew it was a good strategy. He believed Elias would have won the case. He flipped back to the front of the court subpoenas. Chastain was third in line, putting him on the positive side of the alternating strategy – coming after Garwood and before one of the RHD defendants. He was going to be a positive witness for Elias and Harris but he had attempted to refuse being served the subpoena.
    Bosch read the name of the service company off the form and called information. It was late but process serving was an odd-hours job. People weren’t always served nine to five. A man answered the phone and Bosch, reading from the Chastain subpoena, asked for Steve Vascik.
    “He’s not here tonight. He’s home.”
    Bosch identified himself and explained that he was conducting a homicide investigation and needed to talk to Vascik immediately. The man on the other end of the line was reluctant to give out Vascik’s phone number but agreed to take Bosch’s number and contact Vascik with the message.
    After disconnecting the call Bosch got up and paced around his house. He wasn’t sure what he had. But he had the fluttering feeling in his stomach that often came when he was on the edge of a breakthrough to something hidden. He was flying on instinct and his instinct told him he was close to something he would soon be able to wrap his hands around.
    The phone rang and he grabbed it off the couch and pushed the connect button.
    “Mr. Vascik?”
    “Harry, it’s me.”
    “Eleanor. Hey, how are you? Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine. But I’m not the one in a city about to burn. I’ve been watching the news.”
    “Yeah. It looks bad.”
    “I’m sorry it turned out that way, Harry. You told me about Sheehan once. I know you guys were close.”
    Bosch realized that she didn’t know that the friend’s home where Sheehan had killed himself was theirs. He decided not to say anything. He also wished he had call waiting service on his line.
    “Eleanor, where are you?”
    “I’m back in Vegas.” She gave an unhumorous laugh. “The car barely made it.”
    “At the Flamingo?”
    “No… I’m somewhere else.”
    She didn’t want to tell him where and that hurt.
    “Is there a number I can call you at?”
    “I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here. I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay.”
    “Me? Don’t worry about me. Are you okay, Eleanor?”
    “I’m fine.”
    Bosch didn’t care about Vascik anymore.
    “Do you need anything? What about your car?”
    “No. I’m fine. Now that I’m here I’m not worried about the car.”
    There was a long moment of silence. Bosch heard one of the electronic sounds that he had once heard somebody call digital bubbles.
    “Well,” he finally said, “can we talk about this?”
    “I don’t think this is a good time. Let’s think about things for a couple of days and then we’ll talk. I’ll call you, Harry. Be careful.”
    “Do you promise? To call?”
    “I promise.”
    “Okay, Eleanor. I’ll wait.”
    “Good-bye, Harry.”
    She hung up before he could say good-bye. Bosch stood there next to the couch for a long time, thinking about her and what had happened to them.
    The phone rang while still in his hand.
    “Yes?”
    “Detective Bosch? I got a message to call you.”
    “Mr. Vascik?”
    “Yes. From Triple A Process. My boss Shelly said you – ”
    “Yes, I called.”
    Bosch sat down on the couch and pulled a notebook onto his thigh. He took a pen out of his pocket and wrote Vascik’s name on the top of a page. Vascik sounded young and white to him. He had some Midwest in his voice.
    “How old are you, Steve?”
    “I’m twenty-five.”
    “You been with Triple A very long?”
    “A few months.”
    “Okay, last week, on Thursday, you served paper on an LAPD detective named John Chastain, do you remember that?”
    “Sure. He didn’t want to be served. Most cops I’ve done don’t really care. They’re used to it.”
    “Right. That’s what I wanted to ask you about. When you say he didn’t want to be served, what