In answer to the medical questions, she responded that her brother had been injured during a fall from a skateboard a few months before his disappearance. He suffered a brain injury that required hospitalization and neurosurgery. She did not remember the exact medical details but was sure the hospital was Queen of Angels. She could not recall the name of any of the doctors who treated her brother. Other than an address and call-back number for Sheila Delacroix, that was all the information on the report.

Bosch circled the word “skateboard” on the sheet. He opened his briefcase and got out a business card Bill Golliher had given him. He called the first number and got a machine at the anthropologist’s office at UCLA. He called the second and got Golliher while he was eating lunch in Westwood Village.

“Got a quick question. The injury that required surgery on the skull.”

“The hematoma.”

“Right. Could that have been caused by a fall from a skateboard?”

There was silence and Bosch let Golliher think. The clerk who took the calls to the general lines in the squad room came up to the homicide table and shot Bosch a peace sign. Bosch covered his receiver.

“Who is it?”

“Kiz Rider.”

“Tell her to hold.”

He uncovered the receiver.

“Doc, you there?”

“Yes, I’m just thinking. It might be possible, depending on what it was he hit. But a fall just to the ground, I would say it’s not likely. You had a tight fracture pattern, which indicates a small area of surface-to-surface contact. Also, the location is high up on the cranium. It’s not the back of the head, which you would normally associate with fall injuries.”

Bosch felt some of the wind going out of his sails. He had thought he might have an ID on the victim.

“Is this a particular person you are talking about?” Golliher asked.

“Yeah, we just got a tip.”

“Are there X-rays, surgical records?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, I’d like to see them to make a comparison.”

“As soon as I get them. What about the other injuries? Could they be from skateboarding?”

“Of course some of them could be from that,” Golliher said. “But I would say not all. The ribs, the twist fractures-also, some of these injuries dated to very early childhood, Detective. There aren’t many three-year-olds on skateboards, I would think.”

Bosch nodded and tried to think if there was anything else to ask.

“Detective, you do know that in abuse cases the reported cause of injury and the true cause are not often the same?”

“I understand. Whoever brought the kid into the emergency room wouldn’t volunteer he hit him with a flashlight or whatever.”

“Right. There would be a story. The child would adhere to it.”

“Skateboard accident.”

“It’s possible.”

“Okay, Doc, I gotta go. I’ll get you the X-rays as soon as I get them. Thanks.”

He punched line two on the phone.

“Kiz?”

“Harry, hi, how’re you doing?”

“Busy. What’s up?”

“I feel awful, Harry. I think I fucked up.”

Bosch leaned back in his chair. He would have never guessed it was her.

“Channel Four?”

“Yeah. I, uh… yesterday after you left Parker and my partner stopped watching the football game, he asked what was up with you being in there. So I told him. I’m still trying to establish the relationship, Harry, you know? I told him I ran the names for you and there was a hit. One of the neighbors had a molestation record. That’s all I told him, Harry. I swear.”

Bosch breathed out heavily. He actually felt better. His instinct about Rider had been right on. She was not the leak. She had simply trusted someone she should have been able to trust.

“Kiz, I got IAD sitting up here waiting to talk to me about this. How do you know Thornton gave it to Channel Four?”

“I saw the report on TV this morning when I was getting ready. I know Thornton knows that reporter. Surtain. Thornton and I worked a case a few months ago-an insurance murder on the Westside. It got some media play and he was feeding her stuff off the record. I saw them together. Then yesterday, after I told him about the hit, he said he had to go to the can. He picked the sports page up and went down the hall. But he didn’t go to the can. We got a call out and I went down and banged on the door to tell him we were rolling. He didn’t answer. I didn’t really think anything about it until I saw the news today. I think he didn’t go to the can because he went into another office or down to the lobby to use a phone to call her.”

“Well, it explains a lot.”

“I’m really sorry, Harry. That TV report didn’t make you look good at all. I’m going to talk to IAD.”

“Just hold on to that, Kiz. For now. I’ll let you know if I need you to talk to IAD. But what are you going to do?”

“Get a new partner. I can’t work with this guy.”

“Be careful. You start jumping partners and pretty soon you’ll be all alone.”

“I’d rather work alone than with some asshole I can’t trust.”

“There’s that.”

“What about you? The offer still stand?”

“What, I’m an asshole you can trust?”

“You know what I mean.”

“The offer stands. All you have to do is-”

“Hey, Harry, I gotta go. Here he comes.”

“Okay, bye.”

Bosch hung up and rubbed his mouth with his hand as he thought about what to do about Thornton. He could tell Kiz’s story to Carol Bradley. But there was still too much room in it for error. He wouldn’t feel comfortable going to IAD with it unless he was sure. The actual idea of going to IAD about anything repulsed him, but in this instance someone was harming Bosch’s investigation.

And that was something he could not let pass.

After a few minutes he came up with a plan and checked his watch. It was ten minutes before noon. He called Kiz Rider back.

“It’s Harry. Is he there?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Repeat after me, in a sort of excited voice. ‘You did, Harry? Great! Who was he?’ ”

“You did, Harry? That’s great! Who was he?”

“Okay, now you’re listening, listening, listening. Now say, ‘How did a ten-year-old get here from New Orleans?’ ”

“How did a ten-year-old get all the way here from New Orleans?”

“Perfect. Now hang up and don’t say anything. If Thornton asks you, tell him we ID’d the kid through dental records. He was a ten-year-old runaway from New Orleans last seen in nineteen seventy-five. His parents are on a plane heading here now. And the chief is going to have a press conference about it all today at four.”

“Okay, Harry, good luck.”

“You, too.”

Bosch hung up and looked up. Edgar was standing across the table from him. He had heard the last part of the conversation and his eyebrows were up.

“No, it’s all bullshit,” Bosch said. “I’m setting up the leak. And that reporter.”

“The leak? Who is the leak?”

“Kiz’s new partner. We think.”

Edgar slid into his chair and just nodded.

“But we do have a possible ID on the bones,” Bosch said.

He told Edgar about the call-in sheet on Arthur Delacroix and his subsequent conversations with Bill Golliher.

“Nineteen eighty? That’s not going to work with Trent. I checked the reverses and property records. He wasn’t on that street until ’eighty-four. Like he said last night.”

“Something tells me he isn’t our guy.”

Bosch thought about the skateboard again. It wasn’t enough to alter his gut feeling.

“Tell that to Channel Four.”

Bosch’s phone rang. It was Rider.

“He just went to the can.”

“You tell him about the press conference?”

“I told him everything. He kept asking questions, the dipshit.”

“Well, if he tells her that everybody will have it at four, she’ll go out with the exclusive on the noon news. I’m going to go watch.”

“Let me know.”

He hung up and checked his watch. He still had a few minutes. He looked at Edgar.