Echo Park

Olivas a hero killed in the line of duty.”
    Randolph went back to turning his ring.
    “No, Detective Bosch, you have that wrong. If Olivas was dirty, then nobody is going to bend over backwards to worry about his reputation.”
    Bosch nodded. He now had it.
    “Then it’s about O’Shea. He reached out to a higher authority. He told me he would. That authority then reached out to you.”
    Randolph leaned back in his chair and seemed to search the ceiling for a proper reply.
    “There are a great number of people in this department as well as the community who believe Rick O’Shea would make a fine district attorney,” he said. “They also believe he would be a good friend to have on the side of the LAPD .”
    Bosch closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Randolph continued.
    “His opponent, Gabriel Williams, has allied himself with an anti-law enforcement constituency. It would not be a good day for the LAPD if he were to be elected.”
    Bosch opened his eyes and stared at Randolph.
    “You’re actually going to do this?” he asked. “You’re going to let this guy skate because you think he could be a friend to the department?”
    Randolph shook his head sadly.
    “I don’t know what you are talking about, Detective. I’m simply making a political observation. But I do know this. There is no evidence real or imagined of this conspiracy you speak of. If you think that Robert Foxworth’s attorney will do anything other than deny the conversation you have outlined here, then you would be a fool. So don’t be a fool. Be wise. Keep it to yourself.”
    Bosch took a moment to compose himself.
    “Who made the call on this?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “How high up did O’Shea reach? It couldn’t have been directly to you. He would have gone higher. Who told you to knock me down?”
    Randolph spread his hands and shook his head.
    “Detective, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
    “Right. Of course not.”
    Bosch stood up.
    “Then, I guess you’ll write it up the way you’ve been told and I’ll either sign it or I won’t. Simple as that.”
    Randolph nodded but said nothing. Bosch leaned down and put both hands on the table so he could get close to his face.
    “You going to Deputy Doolan’s funeral, Lieutenant? It’s right after they put Olivas in the ground. Remember him, the one Waits shot in the face out there? I thought maybe you’d be going to the funeral to explain to his family about how choices had to be made and how the man directly behind that bullet could be a friend to the department and therefore doesn’t need to face the consequences of his actions.”
    Randolph stared straight ahead at the wall across the table. He said nothing. Bosch straightened up and pulled open the door, startling Osani, who had been standing just outside. He wasn’t holding any water bottles. Bosch pushed past him and left the squad room.
    At the elevator Bosch pushed the up button. He waited and paced and thought about taking his grievance up to the sixth floor. He envisioned himself charging into the chief of police’s suite and demanding to know if he was aware of what was being done in his name and under his command.
    But as the elevator opened he dismissed the idea and pushed the 5 button. He knew that the Byzantine levels of bureaucracy and politics in the department were impossible to fully understand. If he didn’t watch himself he could end up complaining about all the bullshit to the very person who created it.
    The Open-Unsolved Unit was deserted when he got there. It was just after four and most detectives worked seven-to-four shifts that put them on the road home before rush hour. If something wasn’t breaking, they left at four on the dot. Even a fifteen-minute delay could cost them an hour on the freeways. The only one still around was Abel Pratt, and that was because as a supervisor he had to work eight to five. Company rules. Bosch waved as he walked by the open door of Pratt’s office on the way to his desk.
    Bosch dropped into his chair, exhausted by the day’s events and the weight of the departmental fix. He looked down and saw that his desk was littered with pink phone message slips. He started looking through them. Most were from colleagues in different divisions and stations. They were all call-backs. Bosch knew they wanted to say nice shooting or words to that effect. Anytime anybody got a clean kill the phones lit up.
    There