The Last Coyote

you can move in the right way.”
    Bosch came around and opened the drawer at the table. There were two boxes of Junior Mints on top of old paperwork that had been shoved in long ago.
    “Oh, those are mine, sorry,” Burns said.
    He reached in for the two boxes of candy and stood next to the table, holding them like a big kid in a suit while Bosch went through the paperwork.
    It was all a show. Bosch took some of the paperwork and dumped it in a manila file and then pointed with his hand, signaling to Burns he could put his candy back.
    “Be careful, Bob.”
    “It’s Bill. Careful of what?”
    “Ants.”
    Bosch went to the bank of file cabinets that ran along the wall to the side of the table and opened one of the drawers with his business card taped to it. It was three up from the bottom, waist-high, and it was one he knew was almost empty. With his back to the table again, he pulled the badge wallet out of his pocket and put it in the drawer.
    Then, with his hands in the drawer and out of sight, he opened the wallet and took out the gold badge. He then put it in one pocket and the wallet back in the other. For good measure, he pulled a file out of the drawer and closed it.
    He turned around and looked at Jerry Edgar.
    “Okay, that’s it. Just some personal stuff I might need. Anything going on?”
    “Nah, quiet.”
    Back at the coatrack, Bosch turned his back on the bureau again and used one hand to reach for his coat while using the other to take the badge wallet from his pocket and slip it back into Pounds’s coat. He then put his coat on, said good-bye to Henry and went back to the homicide table.
    “I’m outta here,” he said to Edgar and Burns while picking up the two files he had pulled. “I don’t want Ninety-eight to see me and throw a fit. Good luck, boys.”
    On the way out, Bosch stopped and gave the hype another cigarette. The lockdown who had complained before was no longer on the bench or Bosch would have given him one, too.
    Back in the Mustang, he dumped the files on the backseat and took his empty badge wallet out of his briefcase. He slipped Pounds’s badge into place next to his own ID card. It would work, he decided, as long as no one looked too closely at it. The badge said LIEUTENANT across it. Bosch’s ID card identified him as a detective. It was a minor discrepancy and Bosch was happy with it. Best of all, he thought, there was a good chance Pounds would not notice that the badge was missing for some time. He rarely left the station to go to crime scenes and so rarely had to open the wallet or show his badge. There was a good chance its disappearance would go unnoticed. All he had to do was get it back into place when he was done with it.

Chapter Twenty-one
    BOSCH ENDED UP outside the door of Carmen Hinojos’s office early for his afternoon session. He waited until exactly three-thirty and knocked. She smiled as he entered her office and he noticed that the late-afternoon sun came through the window and splashed light directly across her desk. He moved toward the chair he usually took but then stopped himself and sat on the chair to the left of the desk. She noticed this and frowned at him as if he were a schoolboy.
    “If you think I care which chair you sit in, you are wrong.”
    “Am I? Okay.”
    He got up and moved to the other chair. He liked being near the window.
    “I might not be here for Monday’s session,” he said after settling in.
    She frowned again, this time more seriously.
    “Why not?”
    “I’m going away. I’ll try to be back.”
    “Away? What happened to your investigation?”
    “It’s part of it. I’m going to Florida to track down one of the original investigators. One’s dead, the other one’s in Florida. So I’ve got to go to him.”
    “Couldn’t you just call?”
    “I don’t want to call. I don’t want to give him the chance to put me off.”
    She nodded.
    “When do you leave?”
    “Tonight. I’m taking a red-eye to Tampa.”
    “Harry, look at you. You practically look like the walking dead. Can’t you get some sleep and take a plane in the morning?”
    “No, I’ve gotta get out there before the mail arrives.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “Nothing. It’s a long story. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. I need your help.”
    She contemplated this for several seconds, apparently weighing how far she wanted to go into the pool without knowing how deep it was.
    “What is it you want?”
    “Do you ever do any forensic