Echo Park

pants.
    “I might get a little dirty,” he said.
    Marcia smiled as he popped the trunk and reached in for a Maglite.
    “You want us to stick around?” he asked as he gave Bosch the heavy light. “You slip in there and break an ankle, it’ll be just you and the coyotes all night.”
    “No, I’ll be fine. I’ve got my cell, anyway. And, besides, I like coyotes.”
    “Be careful in there.”
    Bosch stood by while they got into their car and drove off. He checked the sky again and headed down the path Waits had taken them on that morning. It took him five minutes to get to the drop-off where the shooting had occurred. He turned on the flashlight and for a few moments played the beam over the area. The place had been trampled by the coroner’s people, OIS investigators and Forensics techs. There was nothing left to see. Eventually, he slid down the incline using the same tree root he had used to climb up that morning. In another two minutes he came to the final clearing, now delineated by yellow police-line tape tied from tree to tree at the edges. In the center was a rectangular excavation hole no more than four feet deep.
    Bosch ducked under the tape and entered the hallowed ground of the hidden dead.

Part Three

HALLOWED GROUND

19

    IN THE MORNING Bosch was making coffee for Rachel and himself when he got the call. It was his boss, Abel Pratt.
    “Harry, you’re not coming in. I just got the word.”
    Bosch had half expected it.
    “From who?”
    “The sixth floor. OIS hasn’t wrapped it up and because the thing is so hot with the media, they want you to cool it on the sidelines for a few days until they see how it’s going to go.”
    Bosch didn’t say anything. The sixth floor was where the department administration was located. The “they” Pratt had referred to was a collective of groupthink commanders who became frozen whenever a case hit big on TV or in politics, and this one had hit both. Bosch wasn’t surprised by the call, just disappointed. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
    “Did you watch the news last night?” Pratt asked.
    “No. I don’t watch the news.”
    “Maybe you should start. We’ve now got Irvin Irving all over the box weighing in on this mess and he’s zeroed in on you specifically. Gave a speech last night on the south side, saying that hiring you back was an example of the chief’s ineptitude and the department’s moral corruption. I don’t know what you did to the guy but he’s got a real hard-on for you, man. ‘Moral corruption,’ that’s taking the gloves off.”
    “Yeah, soon he’ll be blaming me for his hemorrhoids. Is the sixth floor sidelining me in reaction to him or to OIS?”
    “Come on, Harry, you think I’d be privy to that conversation? I just got the call where I was told to make the call, know what I mean?”
    “Yeah.”
    “But look at it this way—with Irving punking you like that, the last thing the chief would do is cut you loose, because it would look like Irving was right. So the way I would read this thing is that they want to go by the numbers and nail it down tight before they close it down. So enjoy home duty and stay in touch.”
    “Yeah, and what do you hear about Kiz?”
    “Well, they don’t have to worry about home duty with her. She’s not going anywhere.”
    “That’s not what I mean.”
    “I know what you mean.”
    “And?”
    It was like peeling a label off a beer bottle. It never came all at once.
    “And I think Kiz could be in some trouble. She was up on top with Olivas when Waits made his move. The question is, why didn’t she take
his
ass out when she had the chance? It looks like she froze, Harry, and that means she could get hurt in this thing.”
    Bosch nodded. Pratt’s political take on the situation seemed on target. It made Bosch feel bad. Right now Rider had to fight to stay alive. Later she’d have to fight to keep her job. He knew that no matter what the fight was he would stand beside her the whole way.
    “Okay,” he said. “Anything new on Waits?”
    “Nothing, man. He’s in the wind. Probably down in Mexico by now. If that guy knows what’s best for him, he’ll never raise his head above sea level again.”
    Bosch wasn’t so sure about that but didn’t express his disagreement. Something, some instinct, told him that Waits was lying low, yes, but that he had not gone very far. He thought about the Red Line subway Waits had apparently disappeared into and its many