Angels Flight

coming. Fired a three fifty-seven through the front door after Frankie knocked. Missed him by an inch. Frankie had longer hair back then. The bullet actually went through his hair. The kid went through the back door and we chased him through the neighborhood, calling for backup on our handhelds as we ran. The radio calls brought the media out – helicopters, reporters, everything.”
    “You got him, right? I remember.”
    “We chased him almost all the way through Oakwood. We finally got him in an abandoned house, a shooting gallery. The hypes went scattering and he stayed inside. We knew he had the gun and he had already taken a shot at us. We could’ve gone in there and blown his shit away and there wouldn’t have been a question. But Frankie went in first and talked the kid out. It was just him and me and the kid in there. Nobody would’ve known or questioned what had happened. But Frankie, he didn’t think like that. He told the kid he knew the lady in the Jag was an accident, that he didn’t mean to kill anybody. He told him he still had a chance at life. Fifteen minutes earlier the kid tried to kill Frankie, now Frankie was trying to save the kid’s life.”
    Bosch stopped for a moment, remembering the moments in the abandoned house.
    “The kid finally stepped out of a closet, holding his hands up. He still had the gun in his hand. It would have been so easy… and so right. But it was Frankie’s call. He was the one who almost took the bullet. But he just went over and took the gun from the kid and cuffed him. End of story.”
    Entrenkin considered the story for a long moment before responding.
    “So what you are saying is that because he spared one black man that he could have easily gotten away with killing, then he would not have tried to suffocate another black man nearly a decade later.”
    Bosch shook his head and frowned.
    “No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that that was just one of the times I saw Frank Sheehan’s core. It was when I knew what he was made of. And that’s why I know the Harris thing is bullshit. He would never have planted evidence on the guy, he would never have pulled a bag over his head.”
    He waited for her to say something but she didn’t.
    “And I never said anything about the carjacker being black. That had nothing to do with it. That’s just something you bring to the story yourself.”
    “I think it was an obvious part that you left out. Maybe if it had been a white boy in that abandoned house you would never even have thought about what you could have gotten away with.”
    Bosch stared at her a long moment.
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “Well, it’s not worth arguing about. You left something else out of the story, didn’t you?”
    “What?”
    “A few years later your buddy Sheehan did use his gun. And he put a bunch of bullets into a black man named Wilbert Dobbs. I remember that case, too.”
    “That was a different story and a righteous shoot. Dobbs was a murderer who drew down on Sheehan. He was cleared by the department, the DA, everybody.”
    “But not a jury of his peers. That was one of Howard’s cases. He sued your friend and he won.”
    “It was bullshit. The case went to trial a few months after the Rodney King thing. There was no way a white cop who had shot a black man was going to get a clean verdict in this town back then.”
    “Be careful, Detective, you’re revealing too much of yourself.”
    “Look, what I said was the truth. Deep down, you know it was the truth. How come the moment the truth might be uncomfortable people raise the race card?”
    “Let’s just drop this, Detective Bosch. You have your belief in your friend and I admire that. I guess we’ll see what happens when the lawyer who inherits this case from Howard brings it to trial.”
    Bosch nodded and was thankful for the truce. The accusatory discussion had made him feel uncomfortable.
    “What else have you held back?” he asked, to try to move on.
    “That’s pretty much it. Spent all day in here to basically hold one file back.”
    She blew her breath out and suddenly seemed very tired.
    “You doing okay?” he asked.
    “Fine. I think it was good for me to stay busy. I haven’t had much time to think about what has happened. I’m sure I will tonight.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Any more reporters come around?”
    “A couple. I gave them a sound bite and they went on their merry way. They all think the city’s going to cut loose over