Echo Park

is that supposed to mean?”
    “Whatever you want it to mean. Who’s your higher authority? You going to call T. Rex Garland up in his shiny office?”
    O’Shea took a deep breath and shook his head in confusion.
    “Detective, I don’t know what happened to you in that tunnel but you aren’t making much sense.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Yeah, well, it will make sense soon enough. Before the election, that’s for sure.”
    “Help me out, Bosch. What exactly am I missing here?”
    “I don’t think you’re missing anything. You know it all, O’Shea, and before it’s all over, so will the whole wide world. Somehow, some way, I’m going to take down you and the Garlands and everybody else who had a part in this. Count on it.”
    Now O’Shea took a step toward Bosch.
    “Are you saying that I did this, that I set all of this up, for T. Rex Garland?”
    Bosch started laughing. O’Shea was the consummate actor to the end.
    “You’re good,” he said. “I’ll give you that. You’re good.”
    “T. Rex Garland is a valid contributor to my campaign. Up-front and legal. How you can tie that into—”
    “Then, why the fuck didn’t you mention he was a valid and legal contributor when I brought up his son the other day and told you he was my suspect on Gesto?”
    “Because it would have complicated things. I have never met or even spoken to either of the Garlands. T. Rex contributed to my campaign. So what? The guy spreads money through every election in the county. For me to bring it up at that point would have been to invite your suspicion. I didn’t want that. Now I see I have it anyway.”
    “You are so full of shit. You—”
    “Fuck you, Bosch. There is no connection.”
    “Then, we’ve got nothing else to say.”
    “Yes, we do. I’ve got something to say. Take your best shot with this bullshit and we’ll see who comes out at the end still standing.”
    He turned and walked away, barking an order to his men. He wanted a telephone with a secured line. Bosch wondered who the first call would go to, T. Rex Garland or the chief of police.
    Bosch made a snap decision. He would call Keisha Russell and turn her loose. He would tell her she was clear to look into those campaign contributions Garland had funneled to O’Shea. He put his hand into his pocket and then remembered that his phone was still somewhere in the garage. He walked that way and stopped at the yellow tape that was strung across the now fully opened door behind the white van.
    Cal Cafarelli was in the garage, directing the forensic analysis of the scene. She had a breathing-filter mask down around her neck. Bosch could tell by her face that she had been to the macabre scene at the end of the tunnel. And she would never be the same again. He waved her over.
    “How’s it going, Cal?”
    “It’s going about as well as you’d expect after seeing something like that.”
    “Yeah. I know.”
    “We’re going to be here long into the night. What can I do for you, Harry?”
    “Have you found a cell phone somewhere in here? I lost my phone when things started happening.”
    She pointed to the floor near the front tire of the van.
    “Is that it over there?”
    Bosch looked over and saw his phone lying on the concrete. The red message light was blinking. He noticed that someone had circled it on the concrete with chalk. That was not good. Bosch didn’t want his phone inventoried as evidence. He might never get it back.
    “Can I get it back? I need it.”
    “I’m sorry, Harry. Not yet. This place hasn’t been photographed. We’re starting with the tunnel and moving out from there. It will be a while.”
    “Then how about if you give it to me and I use it right here and then I give it back when it’s time to take photos. It looks like I’ve got messages waiting.”
    “Harry, come on.”
    He knew that his suggestion would break about four rules of evidence.
    “Okay, just let me know when I can get it back. Hopefully before the battery’s dead.”
    “You got it, Harry.”
    He turned away from the garage and saw Rachel Walling walking toward the yellow tape that delineated the outside perimeter of the crime scene. There was a federal cruiser there and a man in a suit and sunglasses was waiting for her. She had apparently called for a ride.
    Bosch trotted toward the tape, calling her name. She stopped and waited for him.
    “Harry,” she said. “Are you all right?”
    “I am now. How about you, Rachel?”
    “I’m fine. What