The Black Echo

war casualties. They brought you in on a chopper.”
    “What time is it?”
    “It’s a little after seven, Sunday morning. You lost a day.”
    Then Bosch remembered Eleanor. Was she the one in the tunnel at the end? What had happened? Edgar seemed to read him. Everybody had been doing that lately.
    “Your lady partner is fine. She and you are in the spotlight, man, heroes.”
    Heroes. Bosch thought about that. After a while, Edgar said, “I gotta book on out of here. If they know I talked to you first, I’ll get shipped out to Newton.”
    Bosch nodded. Most cops wouldn’t mind Newton Division. Nonstop action in Shootin’ Newton. But not Jerry Edgar, real estate agent.
    “Who’s coming?”
    “Usual crew, I guess. IAD, Officer Involved Shooting team, the FBI is in on the act. Bev Hills, too. I think everybody’s still figurin’ out what the fuck happened down there. And they only got you and Wish to tell ’em. They probly want to make sure you two have the same story. That’s why I’m saying, tell ’em you don’t remember dick. You’re shot, man. You are an injured officer. Line of duty. It’s your right not to remember what happened.”
    “What do you know about what happened?”
    “The department isn’t saying shit. No scut going around on this at all. When I heard it went down I went out to the scene and Pounds was already there. He saw me and ordered me back. Fuckin’ Ninety-eight, he wouldn’t say shit. So I only know what’s in the press. The usual load of bullshit. TV last night didn’t know shit. The
Times
this morning doesn’t have much, either. The department and the bureau, they look like they joined up to make everybody a valiant soldier.”
    “Everybody?”
    “Yeah. Rourke, Lewis, Clarke-they all went down in the line of duty.”
    “Wish said that stuff?”
    “No. She’s not in the story. I mean, she isn’t quoted. I ’spect they’re keeping her kind of under wraps till the investigation is over.”
    “What’s the official line?”
    “The
Times
says the department says Lewis and Clarke and you were part of the FBI surveillance at that vault. Now I know that’s a lie ’cause you’d never let those clowns near one of your operations. Besides, they’re IAD. I think the
Times
knows something about it stinks, too. That Bremmer guy you know was calling me yesterday, seeing what I heard. But I didn’t talk. My name gets in the paper on this and I’ll get worse than Newton. If there is such a place.”
    “Yeah,” Bosch said. He looked away from his old partner and became immediately depressed. It seemed to make his arm throb all the harder.
    “Look, Harry,” Edgar said after a half minute. “I better get out of here. I don’t know when they’ll be coming, but they will be, man. You take care and do like I told you. Amnesia. Then take the eighty percent line-of-duty disability and fuck ’em.”
    Edgar pointed a finger to his temple and nodded his head. Harry nodded absently and then Edgar left. Bosch could see a uniformed officer sitting on a chair outside the door.
    After a while Bosch picked up the phone that was attached to the railing alongside his bed. He couldn’t get a dial tone, so he pushed the nurse call button and a few minutes later a nurse came in and told him the phone was shut off, as per LAPD orders. He asked for a newspaper and she shook her head. Same thing.
    He became even more depressed. He knew that both LAPD and the FBI faced huge public relations problems with what had happened, but he couldn’t see how it could be covered up. Too many agencies. Too many people. They could never keep a lid on it. Could they be stupid enough to try?
    He loosened the strap across his chest and tried to sit all the way up. It made him dizzy, and his arm screamed to be left alone. He felt nausea overtake him and reached for a stainless steel pan on the bed table. The feeling subsided. But it jogged loose a memory of being in the tunnel with Rourke the morning before. He began remembering pieces of Rourke’s conversation. He tried to fit the new information with what he had already known. Then he wondered about the diamonds-the cache from the WestLand job-and whether they had been found. Where? As much as he had grown to admire the engineering of the caper, he could not bring himself to admire its maker. Rourke.
    Bosch felt fatigue overcome him like a cloud crossing the sun. He dropped back against the pillow. And the last thing he thought of before dozing