Echo Park

snapped closed and it was too late. He decided that if Kiz was conscious and even cared about such things, she would know what he had wanted to say.
    The helicopter took off as Bosch was moving backwards, wondering if he would ever again see Kiz Rider alive.
    Just as the airship banked away a patrol car came roaring up the hill to the parking lot, its blue lights flashing. Two uniforms out of Hollywood Division jumped out. One of them had his gun out and he pointed it at Bosch. Covered with mud and blood, Bosch understood why.
    “I’m a police officer! My shield’s in my back pocket.”
    “Then, let’s see it,” said the man with the gun. “Slowly!”
    Bosch pulled out his badge case and flipped it open. It passed inspection and the gun was lowered.
    “Get back in the car,” he ordered. “We have to go!”
    Bosch ran to the rear door of the car. The two officers piled in and Bosch told them to head back down Beachwood.
    “Then where?” the driver asked.
    “You have to take me around the mountain to St. Joe’s. My partner was in that airship.”
    “You got it. Code three, baby.”
    The driver hit the switch that would add the siren to the already flashing emergency lights and pinned the accelerator. The car U-turned in a screech of tires and a spray of gravel, then headed downhill. The suspension was shot, as with most of the cars the LAPD put out on the street. The car swerved dangerously around the curves on the way down but Bosch didn’t care. He had to get to Kiz. At one point they almost collided with another patrol car that was moving with the same speed up to the crime scene.
    Finally, halfway down the hill the driver slowed when they were passing through the pedestrian-crowded shopping area of the Hollywoodland village.
    “Stop!” Bosch yelled.
    The driver complied with screeching efficiency on the brakes.
    “Back it up. I just saw the van.”
    “What van?”
    “Just back it up!”
    The patrol car reversed and moved back past the neighborhood market. There in the side lot Bosch saw the pale blue coroner’s van parked in the back row.
    “Our custody got loose and got a gun. He took that van.”
    Bosch gave them a description of Waits and the warning that he was unhesitant about using the weapon. He told them about the two dead cops back up the hill in the woods.
    They decided to sweep the parking lot first and then enter the market. They called for backup but decided not to wait for it. They got out with their weapons drawn.
    They searched and cleared the parking lot quickly, coming to the coroner’s van last. It was unlocked and empty. But in the back Bosch found an orange jail-issue jumpsuit on the floor. Waits had either been wearing another set of clothes beneath the jumpsuit, or he had found clothes to change into in the back of the van.
    “Be careful,” Bosch announced to the others. “He could be wearing anything. Stay close to me. I know what he looks like.”
    In a tight formation they moved into the store through the automatic doors at the front. Once inside, Bosch quickly realized that they were too late. A man with a manager’s tag on his shirt was consoling a woman who was crying hysterically and holding the side of her face. The manager saw the two uniforms and signaled them over. He didn’t even seem to notice all the mud and blood on Bosch’s clothes.
    “We’re the ones who called,” the manager said. “Mrs. Shelton here just got carjacked.”
    Mrs. Shelton nodded tearfully.
    “Can you give us a description of your car and what the man who did this was wearing?” Bosch asked.
    “I think so,” she whined.
    “Okay, listen,” Bosch said to the two officers. “One of you stays here, gets the description of what he’s wearing and the car and puts it out on the air. The other leaves now and gets me to St. Joe’s. Let’s go.”
    The driver took Bosch, and the other patrolman stayed behind. In another three minutes they came screeching out of Beachwood Canyon and were moving toward the Cahuenga Pass. On the radio they heard a BOLO broadcast for a silver BMW 540 wanted in connection with a 187 LEO—murder of a law enforcement officer. The suspect was described as wearing a baggy white jumpsuit, and Bosch knew he had found the change of clothes in the back of the Forensics van.
    The siren was clearing a path for them but Bosch estimated that they were still fifteen minutes away from the hospital. He had a bad feeling about it. He had a bad feeling about