Echo Park

out of there. Maybe he had gotten the word from higher up the ladder than Lieutenant Randolph.
    Edgar answered the call.
    “It’s Bosch, you called?”
    “Yeah, man, I called.”
    “I’ve been a little busy.”
    “I know. I heard. Nice shooting today, partner. You okay?”
    “Yeah, fine. What were you calling about?”
    “Just something I thought you might want to know. I don’t know if it matters anymore.”
    “What was it?” Bosch said impatiently.
    “My cousin Jason called me from DWP . He said you saw him today.”
    “Yeah, nice guy. He helped a lot.”
    “Yeah, well, I wasn’t checking on how he treated you. I’m trying to tell you that he called me and said there was something you might want to know but you didn’t give him a business card or a number or anything. He said that about five minutes after you and the FBI agent you were with left, another cop came and asked for him. Asked at the lobby desk for the guy who was just helping the cops.”
    Bosch leaned forward at his desk. He was suddenly very interested in what Edgar was telling him.
    “He said this guy showed a badge and said he was monitoring your investigation and he asked Jason what you and the agent had wanted. My cousin took him up to the floor you people had gone to and walked this guy out to the window. They were standing there looking down on the house in Echo Park when you and the lady agent showed up down there. They watched you go into the garage.”
    “Then what happened?”
    “The guy ran out of there. Grabbed an elevator and went down.”
    “Did your cousin get a name off this guy?”
    “Yeah, the guy said his name was Detective Smith. When he held up his ID he sort of had his fingers over the part with his name.”
    It was an old ploy, Bosch knew, used mostly when detectives were going off the reservation and didn’t want their real name out in circulation. Bosch had used it himself on occasion.
    “What about a description?” he asked.
    “Yeah, he gave me all that. He said white guy, about six feet and one-eighty. The guy had silver-gray hair he kept cut short. Let’s see, midfifties and he was wearing a blue suit, white shirt and a striped tie. He had an American flag on the lapel.”
    The description matched about fifty thousand men in the immediate vicinity of downtown. And Bosch was looking at one of them. Abel Pratt was still standing in his office doorway. He was staring at Bosch with eyebrows raised in question. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket but Bosch could see it on a hook on the door behind him. There was an American flag pinned to the lapel.
    Bosch looked back down at his desk.
    “How late does he work to?” he asked quietly.
    “Normally, I think he stays till five. But there’s a bunch of people hanging up there, watching the scene in Echo Park.”
    “Okay, thanks for the tip. I’ll call you later.”
    Bosch hung up before Edgar could say anything else. He looked up and Pratt was still staring at him.
    “What was that?” he asked.
    “Oh, just something on the Matarese case. The one we filed this week. It looks like we might have a witness after all. It will help at trial.”
    Bosch said it as nonchalantly as he could. He stood up and looked at his boss.
    “But don’t worry. It will hold until I get back from home duty.”
    “Good. Glad to hear it.”

32

    BOSCH WALKED TOWARD PRATT . He came too close to him, invading his personal space, which caused Pratt to back into his office and move back to his desk. This was what Bosch wanted. He said good-bye and have a good weekend. He then headed toward the door of the squad room.
    The Open-Unsolved Unit had three cars assigned to its eight detectives and one supervisor. The cars were used on a first-come first-served basis and the keys hung on hooks next to the squad room door. The procedure was for a detective taking a car to write his or her name and the estimated time of return on an erasable white board that hung below the keys. When Bosch got to the door he opened it wide to block the view from Pratt’s office of the key hooks. There were two sets of keys on the hooks. Bosch grabbed one and left.
    A few minutes later he pulled out of the garage behind Parker Center and headed toward the DWP Building. The mad rush to empty downtown by sunset was only just beginning and he made it the seven blocks in quick time. He parked illegally in front of the fountain at the entrance to the building and jumped out of his car. He checked his