Echo Park

Olivas. A sheriff’s deputy from the jail division was riding shotgun, while in the back, Bosch and Rider were positioned on either side of Raynard Waits. The prisoner was in a bright orange jumpsuit and was bound by shackles on his ankles and wrists. The manacles on his wrists were secured in front to a chain that went around his waist.
    Another unmarked car, driven by Rick O’Shea and carrying Maury Swann and a DA’s office evidence videographer, was second in the motorcade. It was followed by two vans, one from the LAPD’s Scientific Investigation Division and the other from the coroner’s office. The group was prepared to locate and disinter the body of Marie Gesto.
    In was a perfect day for a field trip. A brief overnight rain shower had cleared the sky and it was a brilliant blue with just the last wisps of upper-level clouds in view. The streets were still wet and shiny. The precipitation had also kept the temperature from climbing with the sun’s ascent. Though there can never be a good day to dig up the body of a twenty-two-year-old woman, the glory of the weather would offer a counterbalance to the grim duty at hand.
    The vehicles stayed in a tight formation as they made their way onto the North 101 Freeway off the Broadway ramp. Traffic was heavy in downtown and moving at a slower than usual pace because of the wet streets. Bosch asked Olivas to crack a window to let in some fresh air and hopefully wash out the funk of Waits’s body odor. It had become apparent that the admitted killer had not been allowed a shower or issued a laundered jumpsuit that morning.
    “Why don’t you just go ahead and light up, Detective?” Waits said.
    Since they were sitting shoulder to shoulder Bosch had to turn awkwardly to look at Waits.
    “I want the window open because of you, Waits. You stink. I haven’t had a smoke in five years.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Why do you think you know me? We’ve never met. What makes you think you know me, Waits?”
    “I don’t know you. I know your type. You have an addictive personality, Detective. Murder cases, cigarettes, maybe even the alcohol I smell coming out of your pores. You’re not that hard to read.”
    Waits smiled and Bosch looked away. He thought about things for a moment before speaking again.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    “Are you talking to me?” Waits asked.
    “Yes, I’m talking to you. I want to know. Who are you?”
    “Bosch,” Olivas quickly interjected from the front. “The deal is, we don’t question him without Maury Swann being present. So leave him alone.”
    “This isn’t an interrogation. I’m just making conversation back here.”
    “Yeah, well, I don’t care what you want to call it. Don’t.”
    Bosch could see Olivas looking at him in the rearview mirror. They held each other’s stare until Olivas had to put his eyes back on the road.
    Bosch leaned forward so that he could turn and look past Waits and over at Rider. She rolled her eyes at him. It was her don’t-make-trouble look.
    “Maury Swann,” Bosch said. “Yeah, he’s a good goddamn lawyer, all right. Got this man the deal of a lifetime.”
    “Bosch!” Olivas said.
    “I’m not talking to him. I’m talking to my partner.”
    Bosch leaned back, deciding to drop it. Next to him the manacles clinked as Waits tried to adjust his position.
    “You didn’t have to take the deal, Detective Bosch,” he said quietly.
    “It wasn’t my choice,” Bosch said without looking at him. “If it had been, we wouldn’t be doing this.”
    Waits nodded.
    “An eye for an eye, man,” he said. “I could have guessed. You’re the kind of man who would—”
    “Waits,” Olivas said sharply. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
    Olivas reached toward the dash and turned on the radio. Loud mariachi music blared from the speakers. He immediately slapped the button to kill the sound.
    “Who the fuck was driving this last?” he asked of no one in particular.
    Bosch knew Olivas was covering up. He was embarrassed that he had not changed the channel or lowered the volume when he brought the car back last time.
    The car remained silent. They were cutting through Hollywood now, and Olivas put on his turn signal and moved into the exit lane for Gower Avenue. Bosch turned around to look out the back window and see if they still had the other three vehicles with them. The group remained intact. But Bosch could now see a helicopter trailing above the motorcade. It had a large number 4 on its