Angle of Investigation

though.”
    The medical examiner’s team and the forensics people would be coming from downtown. Bosch and Edgar had driven only eight blocks from the station where they were posted.
    “You know this guy, Brax?”
    “Can’t see enough of him to know for sure.”
    Bosch didn’t say anything. He waited. He knew that Braxton had to have taken a quick look under the ski mask, even though this would have violated crime scene protocol.
    “It kind of looks like a guy I popped about five years back nath=ears bamed Monty Kelman,” Braxton said.
    Bosch nodded.
    “Local guy, I take it?”
    “Most of the time. From what I heard, he used to take out-of-town assignments. Was on a crew that took work from a setup guy named Leo Freeling. Worked out of the Valley. But Leo got himself killed a few years back. I think Monty’s been sort of setting up his own capers since then.”
    “Works alone?”
    “Depends on the job.”
    Bosch took a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, blew them up like balloons to make them fit better and then slipped them on. He adjusted his position and tried to roll the body a little bit to check for wounds and the missing glove. He didn’t see anything but he didn’t want to roll the body completely over until after photos were taken and the medical examiner’s investigators surveyed the scene.
    “So how did this guy die?”
    The question was rhetorical but he looked up at Servan just as he said it. It seemed to take the shop owner by surprise, as if he had been accused of something. Servan spread his hands and shook his head.
    “I don’t know this,” he said. “I come to shop, unlock, he is dead right there.”
    Bosch nodded and looked around the counter area. He noticed Edgar was no longer there. He looked at Braxton.
    “Brax, why don’t you take Mr. Servan to one of the patrol cars so we can work in here.”
    While Braxton took Servan outside, Bosch went back to the body and continued his examination. He lifted the bare hand and studied it, trying to figure out why there was no glove. He noticed a discoloration on the pad of the thumb. A brownish yellow line. There was a matching line of discoloration on the index finger. Using both hands he placed the thumb and finger together, aligning the two marks. It appeared as though the hand—the right hand—had been holding a pen or some other thin instrument when the marks had been made.
    Bosch carefully placed the hand on the floor and moved down the body to the feet. He removed the right shoe, a black leather athletic shoe with a black rubber sole, and peeled off the black sock. On the ball of the dead man’s foot was a circular discoloration that was brown at its center, tapering outward in yellow.
    “Whadaya got, Harry?”
    Bosch looked up. It was Braxton.
    “I’m not sure yet. You see a glove? The guy’s missing a glove.”
    “Over here.”
    It was Edgar. He was behind another display case on the other side ofustther si the shop. Bosch stood up and walked over. Edgar crouched and pointed beneath the case.
    “There’s a black leather glove under the case. I don’t know if it’s a match but it is a glove.”
    Bosch got down on his hands and knees so he could look underneath the display case. He reached under and pulled out the glove.
    “Looks the same,” he said.
    “If it does not fit, you must acquit,” said Edgar.
    Bosch looked at him.
    “Johnnie Cochran,” Edgar said. “You know, the O.J. gloves.”
    “Right.”
    Bosch stood up. One of his knees made a popping sound as he did so. He looked into the case. It contained two shelves lighted from inside. On the shelves were non-jewelry items of what appeared to be high value. There were coins and some small jade sculptures, gold and silver pillboxes, cigarette cases and other ornate and bejeweled trinkets. It was high-end stuff. Most of the coins, Bosch noticed, were Russian.
    Bosch stepped away from the case and surveyed the shop. Other than the two display cases there was mostly junk, the property of financially desperate people willing to part with almost anything in exchange for cash.
    “Brax,” Bosch said. “Where’s the entry?”
    Braxton signaled him toward the back and led the way. Bosch and Edgar followed. They came to a rear room that was used as an office and for storage. Gravel and other debris were scattered on the floor. They all looked up. There was a hole roughly cut in the ceiling. It was two feet wide and there was blue sky above.
    “It’s a