Echo Park

doing some good and taking out the bad guy. What am I going to say to that?”
    Bosch nodded his thanks.
    “Besides, I’m coasting,” Pratt continued. “Another three weeks and you’ll be someone else’s problem. He can decide what to do with you.”
    Whether Kiz Rider came back or not, Bosch didn’t want to leave the unit. He’d heard that David Lambkin, the new top coming up from RHD , was a good man to work for. Bosch hoped when all of this shook out, he’d still be part of the Open-Unsolved Unit.
    “Holy shit!” Pratt whispered.
    Bosch followed his eyes to a car that had just parked on the perimeter near where the media trucks were and the reporters were setting up for standups and sound bites. Rick O’Shea was getting out of the passenger side. Bosch felt the bile immediately rise in his throat. He made a move to walk toward the prosecutor but Pratt caught his arm.
    “Harry, take it easy.”
    “What the fuck is he doing here?”
    “It’s his case, man. He can come if he wants. And you better play it cool. Don’t show your hand with him or you might never be able to get to him.”
    “And what, meantime he does his dance in front of the cameras and turns this into another campaign commercial? Bullshit. What I ought to do is go over there and kick his ass right in front of the cameras.”
    “Yeah, that would be real smart, Harry. Very subtle. That will help the situation a lot.”
    Bosch broke free of Pratt’s grasp but simply stepped over and leaned against one of the police cars. He folded his arms and kept his head down until he was calmer. He knew Pratt was right.
    “Just keep him away from me.”
    “That will be kind of hard because he’s coming right to you.”
    Bosch looked up just as O’Shea and the two men that made up his entourage got to him.
    “Detective Bosch, are you okay?”
    “Never better.”
    Bosch kept his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t want one of his hands getting loose and involuntarily taking a swing at O’Shea.
    “Thank you for what you have done here today. Thank you for saving the young woman.”
    Bosch just nodded while looking down at the ground.
    O’Shea turned to the men with him and to Pratt, who had remained nearby in case he had to pull Bosch off the prosecutor.
    “Could I speak to Detective Bosch alone?”
    O’Shea’s minions walked off. Pratt hesitated until Bosch nodded to him, telling him everything was cool. Bosch and O’Shea were left to themselves.
    “Detective, I’ve been briefed on what Waits—or, I should say, Foxworth—revealed to you in the tunnel.”
    “Good.”
    “I hope you do not give any credence to what an admitted and confirmed serial killer would say about the men who were prosecuting him, especially one who cannot even be here to defend himself?”
    Bosch stepped away from the patrol car’s fender and finally dropped his arms to his sides. His hands were balled into fists.
    “You’re talking about your pal Olivas?”
    “Yes, I am. And I can tell by your posture that you actually believe what Foxworth allegedly told you.”
    “Allegedly? What, now I’m the one making it up?”
    “Someone is.”
    Bosch leaned a few inches toward him and spoke in a low voice.
    “O’Shea, get away from me. I might hit you.”
    The prosecutor took a step backwards as if he had already been punched.
    “You’re wrong, Bosch. He was lying.”
    “He was confirming what I already knew before I even went into that tunnel. Olivas was dirty. He put the entry in the murder book that falsely tied Raynard Waits to Gesto. He went out there and marked a trail for Waits to follow and lead us to the body. And he wouldn’t have done any of it without somebody telling him to do it. He wasn’t that kind of guy. He wasn’t smart enough.”
    O’Shea stared at him for a long moment. The implication in Bosch’s words was clear.
    “I can’t dissuade you from this bullshit, can I?”
    Bosch looked at him and then looked away.
    “Dissuade? Not a chance. And I don’t care what it does or doesn’t do for the campaign, Mr. Prosecutor. Those are the undisputed facts and I don’t need Foxworth or what he said to prove them.”
    “Then, I guess I’ll have to appeal to a higher authority than you.”
    Bosch took half a step closer to him. This time he really got into his space.
    “You smell that? You smell that on me? That’s the fucking putrid smell of death. I’ve got it all over me, O’Shea. But at least I can wash it off.”
    “What