Echo Park

out after twenty-five fucking years.”
    “What about Kiz? You’re not going to cut her loose, are you?”
    “No, I’m not going to cut her loose. I’ll stand behind Kiz but I’m not standing behind O’Shea. Fuck him.”
    Bosch’s phone vibrated again and this time he took it out of his pocket to check the screen. It said “Unknown Number.” He answered it anyway to get away from Pratt’s questions, judgments, and ass-covering strategies. It was Rachel.
    “Harry, we just got the BOLO on Waits. What happened?”
    Bosch realized he was going to be telling the story over and over for the rest of the day and possibly the rest of his life. He excused himself and stepped into an alcove where there were pay phones and a water fountain so he could speak privately. As concisely as possible he told her what had happened at the top of Beachwood Canyon and what the situation was with Rider. As he told the story he replayed the visual memories of the moment he saw Waits go for the gun. He replayed their efforts to stop the bleeding and save his partner.
    Rachel offered to come to the ER but Bosch talked her out of it, saying he wasn’t sure how long he would be there and reminding her he would likely be taken into a private interview with OIS investigators.
    “Will I see you tonight?” she asked.
    “If I get done with everything and Kiz is stable. Otherwise, I might stay here.”
    “I’m going to go to your place. Call me and let me know what you know.”
    “I will.”
    Bosch stepped out of the alcove and saw that the ER waiting room was beginning to fill with media now as well as cops. Bosch guessed this probably meant the word had gone out that the chief of police was on his way. Bosch didn’t mind. Maybe the leverage of having the chief in the ER would get the hospital to open up with some information about his partner’s condition.
    He walked up to Pratt, who was standing with his boss, Captain Norona, the head of the Robbery-Homicide Division.
    “What’s going to happen with the excavation?” he asked both of them.
    “I’ve got Rick Jackson and Tim Marcia headed up there,” Pratt said. “They’ll handle it.”
    “It’s my case,” Bosch said, a mild protest in his voice.
    “Not anymore,” Norona said. “You’re with OIS until they finish this thing up. You’re the only one with a badge who was up there and is still able to talk about it. That’s front burner. The Gesto dig is back burner and Marcia and Jackson will handle it.”
    Bosch knew there would be no use arguing. The captain was right. Though there were four others present at the shooting who were unharmed, it would be Bosch’s description and memory that would count the most.
    There was a commotion at the ER entrance as several men with TV cameras on their shoulders jostled one another for position on either side of the double doors. When the doors came open, an entourage entered with the chief of police at the center. The chief strode to the reception desk, where he was met by Norona. They spoke to the same woman who had rejected Bosch earlier. This time she was the picture of cooperation, immediately picking up a phone and making a call. She obviously knew who counted and who didn’t.
    Inside of three minutes the hospital’s chief surgeon came through the ER doors and invited the chief back for a private consultation. As they moved through the doors Bosch hitched a ride, joining the group of sixth-floor commanders and assistants in the chief’s wake.
    “Excuse me, Dr. Kim,” a voice from behind the group called.
    They all stopped and turned. It was the desk woman. She pointed at Bosch and said, “He’s not with that group.”
    The chief noticed Bosch for the first time and corrected her.
    “He most certainly is,” he said in a tone that invited no disagreement.
    The desk woman looked chastened. The group moved forward and Dr. Kim ushered them into an unused ER patient bay. They gathered around an empty bed.
    “Chief, your officer is being—”
    “Detective. She’s a detective.”
    “I’m sorry. Your detective is being cared for in ICU by Drs. Patel and Worthing. I cannot interrupt their care to have them update you, so I am prepared to answer what questions you might have.”
    “Fine. Is she going to make it?” the chief said bluntly.
    “We think so, yes. That is really not the question. The question is about permanent damage and we won’t know that for some time. One of the bullets damaged one of the