Echo Park

white underbelly. Bosch jerked back around and looked at Olivas in the rearview.
    “Who called out the media, Olivas? Was that you or your boss?”
    “My boss? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Olivas glanced at him in the mirror but then quickly back at the road. It was too furtive a move. Bosch knew he was lying.
    “Yeah, right. What’s in this for you? Ricochet’s going to make you chief of investigations after he wins? Is that it?”
    Now Olivas held his eyes in the mirror.
    “I’m not getting anywhere in the department. I might as well go where I’m respected and my skills are valued.”
    “What, is that the line you say to yourself in the mirror each morning?”
    “Fuck you, Bosch.”
    “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Waits said. “Can’t we all just get along here?”
    “Shut up, Waits,” Bosch said. “You might not care that this is being turned into a commercial for Candidate O’Shea, but I do. Olivas, pull over. I want to talk to O’Shea.”
    Olivas shook his head.
    “No way. Not with a custody in the car.”
    They were coming down the exit ramp to Gower. Olivas took a quick right and they came to the light at Franklin. It turned green as they got there and they crossed Franklin and started up Beachwood Drive.
    Olivas would not have to stop until they got to the top. Bosch pulled out his cell phone and called the number O’Shea had given everyone in the CCB garage that morning before heading off.
    “O’Shea.”
    “It’s Bosch. I don’t think it was a smart thing to call the media out on this.”
    O’Shea held for a moment before answering.
    “They’re a safe distance. They’re in the air.”
    “And who’s going to be waiting for us at the top of Beachwood?”
    “No one, Bosch. I was very specific with them. They could track us from the air but anyone on the ground would compromise the operation. You don’t have to worry. They are working with me. They know they have to establish the relationship.”
    “Whatever.”
    Bosch closed his phone and jammed it back into his pocket.
    “You need to calm down, Detective,” Waits said.
    “And, Waits, you need to keep quiet.”
    “Just trying to be helpful.”
    “Then shut the fuck up.”
    The car turned silent again. Bosch decided that his anger over the trailing media chopper and everything else was a distraction he didn’t need. He tried to put it out of his mind and think about what was ahead.
    Beachwood Canyon was a quiet neighborhood on the slope of the Santa Monica Mountains between Hollywood and Los Feliz. It didn’t have the rustic, wooded charm of Laurel Canyon to the west but it was preferred by its inhabitants because it was quieter, safer, and self-contained. Unlike most of the canyon passes to the west, Beachwood reached a dead end at the top. It was not a route for going over the mountains, and consequently, the traffic in Beachwood did not consist of people just passing through. It consisted of people who belonged. That made it feel like a real neighborhood.
    As they ascended, they saw that the Hollywood sign atop Mount Lee was directly in view through the windshield. It had been put up on the next ridge more than eighty years ago to advertise the Hollywoodland real-estate development at the top of Beachwood. The sign was eventually shortened and now advertised a state of mind more than anything else. The only official indication left of Hollywoodland was the fortresslike stone gateway halfway up Beachwood.
    The gateway, with its historical plaque commemorating the development, led to a small village circle with shops, a neighborhood market and the enduring Hollywoodland real-estate office. Further up, at the dead end at the top, was the Sunset Ranch, the starting point of more than fifty miles of horse trails that stretched over the mountains into and throughout Griffith Park. This was where Marie Gesto traded menial work in the stables for time on horseback. This was where the grim motorcade of investigators, body recovery experts and a manacled killer finally came to a stop.
    The Sunset Ranch parking lot was merely a level clearing located on the slope below the ranch itself. Gravel had been dumped and spread. Visitors to the ranch had to park here and then leg it up to the stables at the top. The parking lot was isolated and surrounded by dense woods. It could not be seen from the ranch and that was what Waits had counted on when he had stalked and abducted Marie Gesto.
    Bosch waited impatiently in the