Trunk Music

doors dressed like that.”
    “I got a shirt in the car. I’ll change.”
    “Next time. You’re on the paper on this one. But before you start, I want you to put Aliso through the box and see what you get on him. He’s got a DL issued last year, so they’ve got his thumb print on file through DMV. See if you can get somebody from prints to compare it to the print card Art’s getting for you right now. I want the ID confirmed as soon as possible.”
    “There ain’t going to be anybody in prints t’night. Art’s the guy on call. He should do this.”
    “Art’s going to be tied up. See if you can shake somebody at home loose. We need the ID.”
    “I’ll try but I can’t prom-”
    “Good. After that, I want you to call everybody who works a basic car in this area and see if anyone’s seen the Rolls. Powers-the guy up at the road-is going to pull shake cards on the kids who hang out here. I want you to start running them down, too. After that you can start the paper going.”
    “Shit, with all this, I’ll be lucky if I start typing before next Monday.”
    Bosch ignored his whining and appraised both his partners.
    “I’ll stay with the body. If I get tied up, Kiz, you go on to check out the office address and I’ll handle next of kin. Okay, everybody know what’s what?”
    Rider and Edgar nodded. Bosch could tell Edgar was still annoyed about something.
    “Kiz, you head out now.”
    She walked away and Bosch waited until she was out of earshot before speaking.
    “Okay, Jerry, what’s the problem?”
    “I just want to know if that’s how it’s going to be on this team. Am I going to get the shit work while the princess skates?”
    “No, Jerry, it’s not going to be like that, and I think you know me well enough not to ask. What’s the real problem?”
    “I don’t like your choices on this, Harry. We should be on the phone with Organized Crime right now. If anything looks like an OC case, this is it. I think you should call ’em, but I think ’cause you’re fresh back on the table and been waiting for a case so long, you’re not making the call. That’s the problem.”
    Edgar held his hands out as if to indicate how obvious this was.
    “You know, you’ve got nothing to prove here, Harry. And there’s never going to be a shortage of bodies to come along. This is Hollywood, remember? I think we should just turn this one over and wait for the next one.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “You may be right,” he said. “You probably are. About all of it. But I’m the three. So we do it my way for now. I’m going to call Bullets and tell her what we’ve got, then I’m going to call OCID. But even if they roll out, we’re going to keep a part of this. You know that. So let’s do it good. Okay?”
    Edgar nodded reluctantly.
    “Look,” Bosch said, “your objection is noted for the record, okay?”
    “Sure, Harry.”
    Bosch saw the blue ME’s van pull into the clearing then. The tech behind the wheel was Richard Matthews. It was a break. Matthews wasn’t as territorial as some of the others, and Bosch figured he could convince him to go along with the plan to move the whole package to the print shed. Matthews would understand that it was the only choice.
    “Stay in touch,” Bosch said as Edgar walked off.
    Edgar sullenly waved without looking back.
    For the next few moments Bosch stood alone in the midst of the activities of the crime scene. He realized he truly reveled in his role. The start of a case always seemed to jazz him this way, and he knew how much he had missed it and craved it during the last year and a half.
    Finally, he put his thoughts aside and walked toward the ME’s van to talk to Matthews. There was a burst of applause from the Bowl as Sheherazade ended.
    The print shed was a World War II Quonset hut that sat in the City Services equipment yard behind the police headquarters at Parker Center. It had no windows and a double-wide garage door. The interior was painted black and every crack or crevice where light might come in was taped over. There were thick black curtains that could be pulled closed after the garage door was shut. When they were pulled, the interior was as black as a loan shark’s heart. The techs who worked there even referred to the place as “the cave.”
    While the Rolls was being unloaded from the OPG truck, Bosch took his briefcase to a workbench inside the shed and got the phone out. The Organized Crime Investigation Division was a secret society