The Last Coyote

sure he had bought it. He was about Bosch’s size but had the stand-out feature of a completely shaved head. That feature and his reputation for intolerance for corrupt cops got him the nickname within the department of Mr. Clean.
    “You’re in Chinatown today? I thought you were Monday, Wednesday, Friday. That was the schedule I approved.”
    “Yes, that’s the schedule. But she had an opening come up today and wanted me to come in.”
    “Well, I’m glad to hear you being so cooperative. What happened to your hand?”
    “Oh, this?” Bosch held up his hand as if it were someone else’s that he had just noticed at the end of his arm. “I’ve been using some of my free time to do some work around the house and I cut it on a piece of broken glass. I’m still doing clean-up from the quake.”
    “I see.”
    Bosch guessed that he didn’t buy that one. But he didn’t really care.
    “I’m getting a quick lunch in the Federal Plaza,” Irving said. “You want to come along?”
    “Thanks just the same, Chief. I already ate.”
    “Okay, well, take care of yourself. I mean that.”
    “I will. Thanks.”
    Irving started off and then stopped.
    “You know, we’re handling this situation with you a little differently because I hope to get you back in there at Hollywood homicide without any change in grade or position. I’m waiting to hear from Dr. Hinojos but I understand it will be a few more weeks, at least.”
    “That’s what she tells me.”
    “You know, if you’re willing to do it, an apology in the form of a letter to Lieutenant Pounds could be beneficial. When push comes to shove, I’m going to have to sell him on letting you back in there. That will be the hard part. I think getting you a clean bill from the doctor won’t be a problem. I can simply issue the order and Lieutenant Pounds will have to accept it, but that won’t ease the pressure there. I would rather work it that he accepts your return and everybody’s happy.”
    “Well, I heard he already’s got a replacement for me.”
    “Pounds?”
    “He paired my partner with somebody off autos. Doesn’t sound to me like he’s expecting or planning on me coming back, Chief.”
    “Well, that’s news to me. I’ll talk to him about that. What do you think about this letter? It could go a long way toward helping your situation.”
    Bosch hesitated before answering. He knew Irving wanted to help him. The two of them shared an unspoken bond. Once they had been complete enemies in the department. But contempt had eroded into a truce which now was more a line of wary mutual respect.
    “I’ll think about the letter, Chief,” Bosch finally said. “I’ll let you know.”
    “Very well. You know, Harry, pride gets in the way of a lot of the right decisions. Don’t let that happen to you.”
    “I’ll think about it.”
    Bosch watched him bound off around the fountain memorial to officers killed in the line of duty. He watched until Irving got to Temple and started to cross Los Angeles Street to the Federal Plaza, where there was an array of fast-food emporiums. Then Bosch figured it was safe and turned to go back inside.
    He skipped waiting for the elevator again and went down the stairs to the basement.
    Most of the underground floor of Parker Center was taken up by the Evidence Storage Division. There were a few other offices, like the Fugitives Division, but it was generally a quiet floor. Bosch found no pedestrian traffic on the long yellow linoleum hallway and was able to get to the steel double doors of ESD without running into anyone else he knew.
    The police department held physical evidence on investigations that had not yet gone to the district attorney or city attorney for filing. Once that happened, the evidence usually stayed with the prosecutor’s office.
    Essentially, that made ESD the city’s temple of failure. What was behind the steel doors Bosch opened was the physical evidence from thousands of unsolved crimes. Crimes that had never resulted in prosecution. It even smelled of failure. Because it was in the basement of the building, there was a damp odor here that Bosch always believed was the rank stink of neglect and decay. Of hopelessness.
    Bosch stepped into a small room that was essentially a wire-mesh cage. There was another door on the other side but there was a sign on it that said ESD STAFF ONLY. There were two windows cut in the mesh. One was closed and a uniform officer sat behind the other working on a