Angels Flight

privately decided his fate. He had come out okay after both hearings and in the process had come to love the Bradbury with its Mexican tile floors, wrought-iron filigree and suspended mail chutes. He had once taken the time to look up its history at the Los Angeles Conservancy offices, and found one of the more intriguing mysteries of Los Angeles: the Bradbury, for all its lasting glory, had been designed by a $5-a-week draftsman. George Wyman had no degree in architecture and no prior credits as a designer when he drew the plans for the building in 1892, yet his design would see fruition in a structure that would last more than a century and cause generations of architects to marvel. To add to the mystery, Wyman never again designed a building of any significance, in Los Angeles or anywhere else.
    It was the kind of mystery Bosch liked. The idea of a man leaving his mark with the one shot he’s given appealed to him. Across a whole century, Bosch identified with George Wyman. He believed in the one shot. He didn’t know if he’d had his yet – it wasn’t the kind of thing you knew and understood until you looked back over your life as an old man. But he had the feeling that it was still out there waiting for him. He had yet to take his one shot.
    Because of the one-way streets and traffic lights Dellacroce and Rider faced, Bosch and Chastain got to the Bradbury on foot before them. As they approached the heavy glass doors of the entrance, Janis Langwiser got out of a small red sports car that was parked illegally at the curb out front. She was carrying a leather bag on a shoulder strap and a Styrofoam cup with the tag of a tea bag hanging over the lip.
    “Hey, I thought we said an hour,” she said good-naturedly.
    Bosch looked at his watch. It was an hour and ten minutes since they had talked.
    “So you’re a lawyer, sue me,” he said, smiling.
    He introduced Chastain and gave Langwiser a more detailed rundown on the investigation. By the time he was finished, Rider and Dellacroce had parked their cars in front of Langwiser’s car. Bosch tried the doors to the building but they were locked. He got out the key ring and hit the right key on the second try. They entered the atrium of the building and each of them involuntarily looked up, such was the beauty of the place. Above them the atrium skylight was filled with the purples and grays of dawn. Classical music played from hidden speakers. Something haunting and sad but Bosch couldn’t place it.
    “Barber’s ‘Adagio,’ ” Langwiser said.
    “What?” Bosch said, still looking up.
    “The music.”
    “Oh.”
    A police helicopter streaked across the skylight, heading home to Piper Tech for change of shift. It broke the spell and Bosch brought his eyes down. A uniformed security guard was walking toward them. He was a young black man with close-cropped hair and startling green eyes.
    “Can I help you people? The building’s closed right now.”
    “Police,” Bosch said, pulling out his ID wallet and flipping it open. “We’ve got a search warrant here for suite five-oh-five.”
    He nodded to Dellacroce, who removed the search warrant from his coat pocket once again and handed it to the guard.
    “That’s Mr. Elias’s office,” the guard said.
    “We know,” Dellacroce said.
    “What’s going on?” the guard asked. “Why do you have to search his place?”
    “We can’t tell you that right now,” Bosch said. “We need you to answer a couple questions, though. When’s your shift start? Were you here when Mr. Elias left last night?”
    “Yeah, I was here. I work a six-to-six shift. I watched them leave about eleven last night.”
    “Them?”
    “Yeah, him and a couple other guys. I locked the door right after they went through. The place was empty after that – ’cept for me.”
    “Do you know who the other guys were?”
    “One was Mr. Elias’s assistant or a whatchamacallit.”
    “Secretary? Clerk?”
    “Yeah, clerk. That’s it. Like a young student who helped him with the cases.”
    “You know his name?”
    “Nah, I never asked.”
    “Okay, what about the other guy? Who was he?”
    “Don’t know that one.”
    “Had you seen him around here before?”
    “Yeah, the last couple nights they left together. And a few times before that I think I saw him going or coming by hisself.”
    “Did he have an office here?”
    “No, not that I know of.”
    “Was he Elias’s client?”
    “How would I know?”
    “A black guy, white