Angels Flight

looks like we really got our tit in the wringer this time,” Garwood said. He then looked at Rider and added, “Excuse the saying, Detective.”
    Bosch’s pager sounded and he quickly pulled it off his belt, disengaged the beep and looked at the number. It was not his own number as he had hoped it would be. He recognized it as the home number of Lieutenant Grace Billets. She probably wanted to know what was going on. If Irving had been as circumspect with her as he had been with Bosch on the phone, then she knew next to nothing.
    “Important?” Garwood asked.
    “I’ll take care of it later. You want to talk in here or should we go out to the train?”
    “Let me tell you what we have first. Then it’s your scene to do with what you want.”
    Garwood reached into the pocket of his coat, took out a softpack of Marlboros and began opening it.
    “I thought you asked me for a smoke,” Bosch said.
    “I did. This is my emergency pack. I’m not supposed to open it.”
    It made little sense to Bosch. He watched as Garwood lit a cigarette and then offered the pack to Bosch. Harry shook his head. He put his hands in his pockets to make sure he wouldn’t take one.
    “This going to bother you?” Garwood asked, holding up the cigarette, a taunting smile on his face.
    “Not me, Cap. My lungs are probably already shot. But these guys…”
    Rider and Edgar waved it off. They appeared as impatient as Bosch did in getting to the story.
    “Okay, then,” Garwood finally said. “This is what we know. Last run of the night. Man named Elwood… Elwood… hold on a sec.”
    He pulled a small pad from the same pocket he had replaced the cigarette package in and looked at some writing on the top page.
    “Eldrige, yeah, Eldrige. Eldrige Peete. He was running the thing by himself – it only takes one person to run the whole operation – it’s all computer. He was about to close her down for the night. On Friday nights the last ride is at eleven. It was eleven. Before sending the top car down for the last ride he goes out, gets on it, closes and locks the door. Then he comes back in here, puts the command on the computer and sends it down.”
    He referred to the pad again.
    “These things have names. The one he sent down is called Sinai and the one he brought up was Olivet. He says they’re named after mountains in the Bible. It looked to him when Olivet got up here that the car was empty. So he goes out to lock it up – ’cause then he has to send them one more time and the computer stops them side by side in the middle of the track for overnight. Then he’s done and out of here.”
    Bosch looked at Rider and made a signal as if writing on his palm. She nodded and took her own pad and a pen out of the bulky purse she carried. She started taking notes.
    “Only Elwood, I mean, Eldrige, he comes out to lock up the car and he finds the two bodies onboard. He backs away, comes in here and calls the police. With me?”
    “So far. What next?”
    Bosch was already thinking of the questions he would have to ask Garwood and then probably Peete.
    “So we’re covering for Central dicks and the call eventually comes to me. I send out four guys and they set up the scene.”
    “They didn’t check the bodies for ID?”
    “Not right away. But there was no ID anyway. They were going by the book. They talked to this Eldrige Peete and they went down the steps and did a search for casings and other than that held tight until the coroner’s people arrived and did their thing. Guy’s wallet and watch are missing. His briefcase, too, if he was carrying one. But they got an ID off a letter the stiff had in his pocket. Addressed to Howard Elias. Once they found that, my guys took a real good look at the stiff and could tell it was Elias. They then, of course, called me and I called Irving and he called the chief and then it was decided to call you.”
    He had said the last part as if he had been part of the decision process. Bosch glanced out the window. There was still a large number of detectives milling about.
    “I’d say those first guys made more than just a call to you, Captain,” Bosch said.
    Garwood turned to look out the window as if it had never occurred to him that it was unusual to see as many as fifteen detectives at a murder scene.
    “I suppose,” he said.
    “Okay, what else?” Bosch said. “What else did they do before they figured out who it was and that they weren’t long for the case?”
    “Well, like I