Two nights earlier Bosch had looked at the facts that lay inside a run-down motel room and from them extrapolated a cop’s suicide. He now knew he’d been wrong. He considered the facts again, along with everything else he had collected, and this time he saw a cop’s murder as one of several connected murders. If Mexicali was the hub of the wheel with so many spokes, then Moore was the bolt that held the wheel on.

He took out his notebook and looked up the name of the DEA agent who was listed on the intelligence report Moore had put in the Zorrillo file. He then got the DEA’s local number out of his Rolodex and dialed it. The man who answered asked who was calling when Bosch asked for Corvo.

“Tell him it’s the ghost of Calexico Moore.”

One minute later a voice said, “Who’s this?”

“Corvo?”

“Look, you want to talk, give me an ID. Otherwise I hang up.”

Bosch identified himself.

“What’s with the ruse, man?”

“Never mind. I want to meet.”

“You haven’t given me a reason yet.”

“You want a reason? Okay. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to Mexicali. I’m going after Zorrillo. I could use some help from somebody who knows his shit. I thought you might want to talk first. Being that you were Cal Moore’s source.”

“Who says I even knew the guy?”

“You took my call, didn’t you? You also were passing DEA intelligence to him. He told me.”

“Bosch, I spent seven years under. You trying to bluff me? Uh-uh. Try some of the eightball dealers on Hollywood Boulevard. They might buy your line.”

“Look, man, at seven o’clock I’ll be at the Code Seven, in the back bar. After that, I’ll be heading south. It’s your choice. If I see you, I see you.”

“And if I decide to show up, how will I know you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll know you. You’ll be the guy who still thinks he’s undercover.”

When he hung up, Harry looked up and saw Pounds hovering near the homicide table, standing there reading the latest CAP report, another sore subject for the division’s statisticians. Crimes Against Persons, meaning all crimes of violence, were growing at a rate faster than the overall crime rate. That meant not only was crime going up but the criminals were becoming meaner, more prone to violence. Bosch noticed the white dust on the upper part of the lieutenant’s pants. It was there often and was cause for great comical debate and derision in the squad room. Some of the dicks said he was probably blowing coke up his nose and was just sloppy about it. This was especially humorous because Pounds was one of the department’s born-agains. Others said the mystery dust was from sugar doughnuts that he secretly scarfed down in the glass booth after closing the blinds so no one would see. Bosch, though, figured it out once he identified the odor that was always about Pounds. Harry believed the lieutenant had the habit of putting baby powder on in the morning before he put on his shirt and tie-but after putting on his pants.

Pounds looked away from his report and said in a phoney matter-of-fact voice, “So how’s it looking? Getting anywhere with the cases?”

Bosch smiled reassuringly and nodded but said nothing. He’d make Pounds work for it.

“Well, what’s up?”

“Oh, some things. Have you heard from Porter today?”

“Porter? No, why? Forget about him, Bosch. He’s a mutt. He can’t help you. What have you got? You haven’t filed any updates. I just went through the box. Nothing from you there.”

“I’ve been busy, Lieutenant. I got something going on Jimmy Kapps and I got an ID and possible death scene on Porter’s last case. The one dumped in the alley off Sunset last week. I’m close to knowing who and why. Maybe tomorrow on both of them. I’m going to work through the weekend if that’s okay with you.”

“Excellent. By all means, take the time you need. I’ll fill the overtime authorization out today.”

“Thanks.”

“But why juggle the cases? Why don’t you pick the one you think is easier to complete? We need to clear a case.”

“I think the cases are related, that’s why.”

“Are you-” Then Pounds held up his hand, signaling Bosch not to speak. “Better come into my office for this.”

After sitting down behind his glass-topped desk, Pounds immediately picked up his ruler and began manipulating it in his hand.

“Okay, Harry, what’s going on?”

Bosch was going to wing it. He tried to make his voice sound as though he had hard evidence to back everything he was saying. Truth was it was all a lot of speculation and not a lot of glue. He sat down in the chair in front of the lieutenant’s desk. He could smell the baby powder on the other man.

“Jimmy Kapps was a payback. Found out yesterday that he set up a bust on a competitor named Dance. He was putting black ice out on the street. Jimmy apparently didn’t like that ’cause he’s trying to make Hawaiian ice the growth market. So he snitched Dance off to the BANG guys. Only after Dance got taken down, the DA kicked the case. A bad bust. He walked. Four days later Kapps gets the whack.”

“Okay, okay,” Pounds said. “Sounds good. Dance is your suspect then?”

“Until I come up with something better. He’s in the wind.”

“Okay, now how does this tie in with the Juan Doe case?”

“The DEA says the black ice that Dance was putting out comes from Mexicali. I got a tentative ID from the state police down there. Looks like our Juan Doe was a guy named Gutierrez-Llosa. He was from Mexicali.”

“A mule?”

“Possibly. Couple things don’t fit with that. The state police down there carried him as a day laborer.”

“Maybe he went for the big money. A lot of them do.”

“Maybe.”

“And you think he got whacked back, a payback for Kapps?”

“Maybe.”

Pounds nodded. So far so good, Bosch thought. They were both silent for a few moments. Pounds finally cleared his throat.

“That’s quite a lot of work for two days, Harry. Very good. Now where do you go from here?”

“I want to go after Dance and get the Juan Doe ID confirmed…” He trailed off. He wasn’t sure how much to give Pounds. He knew he was going to keep his trip to Mexicali out of it.

“You said Dance is in the wind.”

“I’m told that by a source. I’m not sure. I plan to go looking this weekend.”

“Fine.”

Bosch decided to open the door a little further.

“There’s more to it, if you want to hear it. It’s about Cal Moore.”

Pounds put the ruler down on the desk, folded his arms and leaned back. His posture signaled caution. They were stepping into an area where careers could be permanently damaged.

“Aren’t we getting on thin ice, here? The Moore case is not ours.”

“And I don’t want it, Lieutenant. I’ve got these two. But it keeps coming up. If you don’t want to know, fine. I can deal with it.”

“No, no, I want you to tell me. I just don’t like this kind of… uh, entanglement. That’s all.”

“Yeah, entanglement is a good word. Anyway, like I said, it was the BANG crew that made the Dance bust. Moore wasn’t there until after it went down, but it was his crew.

“After that, you have Moore finding the body on the Juan Doe case.”

“Cal Moore found the body?” Pounds said. “I didn’t see that in Porter’s book.”

“He’s in there by badge number. Anyway, he was the one that found the body dumped there. So you’ve got his presence around both of these cases. Then, the day after he finds Juan Doe in the alley he checks into that motel and gets his brains splattered in the bathtub. I suppose you’ve heard RHD now says it was no suicide.”

Pounds nodded. But he had a paralysed look on his face. He had thought he was going to get a summary of a couple of case investigations. Not this.

“Somebody whacked him, too,” Bosch continued. “So now you have three cases. You have Kapps, then Juan Doe, then Moore. And you have Dance in the wind.”

Bosch knew he had said enough. He could now sit back and watch Pounds’s mind go to work. He knew that the lieutenant knew that he should probably pick up the phone and call Irving to ask for assistance or at least direction. But Pounds knew that a call like that would result in RHD taking jurisdiction over the Kapps and Juan Doe cases. And the RHD dicks would take their sweet-ass time about it. Pounds wouldn’t see any of the cases closed out for weeks.