Angels Flight

let’s turn it off,” he said. “We have to talk.”
    Bosch brought his partners up to date and showed them the three anonymous notes that had been mailed to Elias. He explained Entrenkin’s presence and said he wanted to try to get Harris’s cooperation and at the same time eliminate him as a potential suspect in the killings.
    “Do we even know where Harris is?” Edgar asked. “He hasn’t shown up on TV that I’ve seen. Maybe he doesn’t even know about Elias.”
    “Well, we’ll find out. His current address and phoner were in Elias’s files. Looks like Elias was putting him up, probably trying to keep him out of trouble before the trial. He’s close by – if he’s home.”
    Bosch got out his notebook and got the phone number. He went to his desk and called it. A man answered.
    “Can I speak to Harry?” Bosch said good-naturedly.
    “No Harry here, man.”
    The phone was hung up.
    “Well, somebody’s home,” Bosch said to the others. “Let’s go.”
    They drove in one car. Harris currently lived in an apartment on Beverly Boulevard near the CBS complex. Elias had put him into a large complex that wasn’t luxurious but was more than nice. And downtown was a straight shot down Beverly.
    There was a security door but Harris’s name was not on the list of occupants next to the door phone. Bosch had the apartment number but this did not mean anything. The phone codes following occupants’ names did not correspond with apartment numbers for security reasons. Bosch called the code number for the building’s manager but got no answer.
    “Look at this,” Rider said.
    She pointed to a listing for E. Howard. Bosch shook his shoulders as if to say it was worth a try and punched in the number. A male voice answered and Bosch thought it was the same voice that had answered his earlier call from the station.
    “Michael Harris?”
    “Who is it?”
    “LAPD. We need to ask you some questions. I – ”
    “No fucking way. Not without my lawyer here, you don’t.”
    He hung up. Bosch immediately called back.
    “What the fuck you want?”
    “In case you don’t know it yet, your lawyer is dead. That’s why we are here. Now, listen and don’t hang up. I have Inspector General Carla Entrenkin here with me. You know who she is? She’s going to make sure you are treated well. We just need to – ”
    “She the watchdog lady, ’sposed to tell when the LAPD is runnin’ roughshod?”
    “That’s her. Hold on.”
    Bosch stepped to the side and handed the phone to Entrenkin.
    “Tell him he’s safe.”
    She took the phone, giving Bosch a look that said she now realized why he allowed her to come along. She spoke into the phone while looking at him.
    “Michael, this is Carla Entrenkin. You don’t have to worry. No one is here to harm you. We need to ask you about Howard Elias, that is all.”
    If Harris said anything to her Bosch didn’t hear it. The door lock buzzed and Edgar pulled it open. Entrenkin hung up the phone and they all went in.
    “The guy’s a mutt,” Edgar said. “I don’t know why we’re treating him like a saint.”
    Entrenkin gave Edgar her look then.
    “Yes, you do, Detective Edgar.”
    Edgar was sufficiently cowed by her tone.
    When Harris opened the door of his fourth-floor apartment he was holding a gun at his side.
    “A’right, this is my home,” he announced. “I don’t mean to be threatenin’ anybody but I need this for my pers’nal comfort and protection. Otherwise, you ain’t comin’ in the place, know what I mean?”
    Bosch looked at the others, got no read, and looked back at Harris. He tried to contain his fury. Despite what Entrenkin had told him earlier, he still had little doubt that Harris was the murderer of a child. But he knew that what was important at the moment was the current investigation. He had to put his enmity for the man aside in order to extract whatever information he had.
    “All right,” he said. “But you keep that weapon low and at your side. You point it at one of us and we’re going to have a big problem. We understand each other?”
    “Oh, we understand.”
    Harris backed away from the door and let them in by pointing the weapon toward the living room.
    “Remember, keep that thing down,” Bosch said sternly.
    Harris dropped the gun to his side and they all entered. The apartment was furnished with rental stuff – puffy couch and matching chairs in light blue, cheap faux wood tables and shelves. Pastoral prints were on