Echo Park

watch as he approached the front door. It was twenty minutes to five.
    A uniformed security guard came through the doors, waving at him.
    “You can’t park—”
    “I know.”
    Bosch showed him his badge and pointed to the radio on the man’s belt.
    “Can you get Jason Edgar on that thing?”
    “Edgar? Yeah. What’s this—”
    “Get him on there and tell him Detective Bosch is waiting out front. I need to see him as soon as possible. Do it now, please.”
    Bosch turned and headed back to his car. He got in and waited five minutes before he saw Jason Edgar come through the glass doors. When he got to the car he opened the passenger door to look in, not get in.
    “What’s up, Harry?”
    “I got your message. Get in.”
    Edgar reluctantly got in the car. Bosch pulled away from the curb as he was closing his door.
    “Wait a minute. Where are we going? I can’t just leave.”
    “This should only take a few minutes.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “Parker Center. We won’t even get out of the car.”
    “I have to let them know.”
    Edgar took a small two-way off his belt. He called in at the DWP security center and said he would be off-location on a police matter for a half hour. He received a 10-4 and put the radio back on his belt.
    “You should’ve asked me first,” he said to Bosch. “My cousin said you had a habit of acting first and asking questions later.”
    “He said that, huh?”
    “Yeah, he did. What are we doing at Parker Center?”
    “Making an ID of the cop who talked to you after I left today.”
    Traffic had already gotten worse. A lot of nine-to-fivers getting an early jump on the commute home. Friday afternoons were particularly brutal. Bosch finally pulled back into the police garage at ten to five and hoped they wouldn’t be too late. He found a parking space in the first row. The garage was an open-air structure and the space afforded them a view of San Pedro Street, which ran between Parker Center and the garage.
    “You have a cell phone?” Bosch asked.
    “Yeah.”
    Bosch gave him the general number for Parker Center and told him to call it and ask for the Open-Unsolved Unit. Calls transferred from the main number did not carry forward caller ID. Edgar’s name and number would not show up on the OU lines.
    “I just want to see if somebody answers,” Bosch said. “If somebody does, just ask for Rick Jackson. When you’re told that he’s not there, don’t leave a message. Just say you’ll get him on his cell and hang up.”
    Edgar’s call was answered and he went through the routine Bosch had outlined. When he was finished he looked over at Bosch.
    “Somebody named Pratt answered.”
    “Good. He’s still there.”
    “So what’s that mean?”
    “I wanted to make sure he hadn’t left. He’ll leave at five, and when he does he’ll cross the street right over there. I want to see if he’s the guy who told you he was monitoring my investigation.”
    “Is he IAD?”
    “No. He’s my boss.”
    Bosch slapped the visor down as a precaution against being seen. They were parked a good thirty yards from the crosswalk Pratt would use to get to the garage but he didn’t know which way Pratt would go once he was inside the structure. As a squad supervisor he had the perk of being able to park a personal car in the police garage, and most of those assigned spaces were on the second level. There were two sets of stairs and the ramp up. If Pratt walked up the ramp he would come right by Bosch’s position.
    Edgar asked questions about the Echo Park shooting and Bosch answered them in short sentences. He didn’t want to talk about it but he had just yanked the guy off post and had to respond in some way. It was only being courteous. Finally, at 5:01 he saw Pratt come through the back doors of Parker Center and down the ramp by the jail’s intake doors. He walked out to San Pedro and started to cross with a group of four other detective supervisors who were heading home as well.
    “Okay,” Bosch said, cutting Edgar off in the middle of a question. “See those guys crossing the street. Which one came to DWP today?”
    Edgar studied the pack crossing the street. He had an unobstructed view of Pratt, who was walking next to another man at the back of the group.
    “Yeah, the last guy,” Edgar said without hesitation. “The one puttin’ on the shades.”
    Bosch looked over. Pratt had just put on his Ray-Bans. Bosch felt a deep pressure in his chest, like the worst case