“By the way, IAD is in one of the rooms back there. We’re under investigation.”

Edgar’s jaw dropped. Like most cops, he resented Internal Affairs because even when you did a good and honest job, the IAD could still be on you for any number of things. It was like the Internal Revenue Service, the way just seeing a letter with the IRS return address in the corner was enough to pull your guts into a knot.

“Relax. It’s about the Channel Four thing. We should be clear of it in a few minutes. Come with me.”

They went into Lt. Billets’s office, where there was a small television on a stand. She was doing paperwork at her desk.

“You mind if we check out Channel Four’s noon report?” Bosch asked.

“Be my guest. I’m sure Captain LeValley and Chief Irving are going to be watching as well.”

The news program opened with a report on a sixteen-car pileup in the morning fog on the Santa Monica Freeway. It wasn’t that significant a story-no one was killed-but they had good video, so it led the program. But the “dog bone” case had moved up to second billing. The anchor said they were going to Judy Surtain with another exclusive report.

The program cut to Surtain sitting at a desk in the Channel 4 newsroom.

“Channel Four has learned that the bones found in Laurel Canyon have been identified as those of a ten-year-old runaway from New Orleans.”

Bosch looked at Edgar and then at Billets, who was rising from her seat with an expression of surprise on her face. Bosch put out his hand as if to signal her to wait a moment.

“The parents of the boy, who reported him missing more than twenty-five years ago, are en route to Los Angeles to meet with police. The remains were identified through dental records. Later today, the chief of police is expected to hold a press conference where he will identify the boy and discuss the investigation. As reported by Channel Four last night, police are focusing on-”

Bosch turned the TV off.

“Harry, Jerry, what’s going on?” Billets asked immediately.

“All of that was bogus. I was smoking out the leak.”

“Who?”

“Kiz’s new partner. A guy named Rick Thornton.”

Bosch explained what Rider had explained to him earlier. He then outlined the scam he had just pulled.

“Where’s the IAD detective?” Billets asked.

“One of the interview rooms. She’s listening to a tape I had of me and the reporter last night.”

“A tape? Why didn’t you tell me about it last night?”

“I forgot about it last night.”

“All right, I’ll take it from here. You feel Kiz is clean on this?”

Bosch nodded.

“She has to trust her partner enough to tell him anything. He took that trust and gave it to Channel Four. I don’t know what he’s getting in return but it doesn’t matter. He’s fucking with my case.”

“All right, Harry, I said I would handle it. You go back to the case. Anything new I should know about?”

“We’ve got a possible ID-this one legit-that we’ll be running down today.”

“What about Trent?”

“We’re letting that sit until we find out if this is the kid. If it is, the timing is wrong. The kid disappeared in nineteen eighty. Trent didn’t move into the neighborhood until four years later.”

“Great. Meantime, we’ve taken his buried secret and put it on TV. Last I heard from patrol, the media was camped in his driveway.”

Bosch nodded.

“Talk to Thornton about it,” he said.

“Oh, we will.”

She sat down behind her desk and picked up the phone. It was their cue to leave. On the way back to the table Bosch asked Edgar if he had pulled the file on Trent’s conviction.

“Yeah, I got it. It was a weak case. Nowadays the DA probably wouldn’t have even filed on it.”

They went to their respective spots at the table and Bosch saw that he had missed a callback from Trent’s lawyer. He reached for the phone but then waited until Edgar finished his report.

“The guy worked as a teacher at an elementary school in Santa Monica. He was caught by another teacher in a stall in the bathroom holding an eight-year-old’s penis while he urinated. He said he was teaching the kid how to aim it, that the kid kept pissing on the floor. What it came down to is the kid’s story was all over the place but didn’t back his. And the parents said the boy already knew how to aim by the time he was four. Trent was convicted and got a two plus one. He served fifteen months of it up at Wayside.”

Bosch thought about all of this. His hand was still on the phone.

“It’s a long ass jump from that to beating a kid to death with a baseball bat.”

“Yeah, Harry, I’m beginning to like your mojo better all the time.”

“I wish I did.”

He picked up the phone and punched in the number for Trent’s attorney, Edward Morton. He was transferred to the lawyer’s cell phone. He was on his way to lunch.

“Hello?”

“Detective Bosch.”

“Bosch, yes, I want to know where he is.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play this game, Detective. I’ve called every holding jail in the county. I want to be able to speak to my client. Right now.”

“I’m assuming you are speaking about Nicholas Trent. Have you tried his job?”

“Home and work, no answer. Pager, too. If you people have him, he’s entitled to representation. And I am entitled to know. I’m telling you now, if you fuck with me on this, I will go right to a judge. And the media.”

“We don’t have your man, counselor. I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Yes, he called me after you left. Then again after watching the news. You people fucked him over-you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Bosch’s face burned with the rebuke but he didn’t respond to it. If he didn’t personally deserve it, then the department did. He’d take the bullet for now.

“Do you think he ran, Mr. Morton?”

“Why run if you are innocent?”

“I don’t know. Ask O.J.”

A horrible thought suddenly shot into Bosch’s gut. He stood up, the phone still pressed to his ear.

“Where are you now, Mr. Morton?”

“Sunset heading west. Near Book Soup.”

“Turn around and come back. Meet me at Trent’s house.”

“I have a lunch. I’m not going-”

“Meet me at Trent’s house. I’m leaving now.”

He put the phone in its cradle and told Edgar it was time to go. He’d explain on the way.

Chapter 18

THERE was a small gathering of television reporters in the street in front of Nicholas Trent’s house. Bosch parked behind the Channel 2 van and he and Edgar got out. Bosch didn’t know what Edward Morton looked like but didn’t see anyone in the group who looked like an attorney. After more than twenty-five years on the job, he had unerring instincts that allowed him to identify lawyers and reporters. Over the top of the car, Bosch spoke to Edgar before the reporters could hear them.

“If we have to go in, we’ll do it around back-without the audience.”

“I gotya.”

They walked up to the driveway and were immediately accosted by the media crews, who turned on cameras and threw questions that went unanswered. Bosch noticed that Judy Surtain of Channel 4 was not among the reporters.

“Are you here to arrest Trent?”

“Can you tell us about the boy from New Orleans?”

“What about the press conference? Media Relations doesn’t know anything about a press conference.”

“Is Trent a suspect or not?”

Once Bosch was through the crowd and on Trent’s driveway, he suddenly turned back and faced the cameras. He hesitated a moment as if composing his thoughts. What he really was doing was giving them time to focus and get ready. He didn’t want anyone to miss this.

“There is no press conference scheduled,” Bosch said. “There has been no identification of the bones yet. The man who lives in this house was questioned last night as was every resident of this neighborhood. At no time was he called a suspect by the investigators on this case. Information leaked to the media by someone outside of the investigation and then broadcast without being checked first with the actual investigators has been completely wrong and damaging to the ongoing investigation. That’s it. That’s all I’m going to say. When there is some real and accurate information to report, we will give it to you through Media Relations.”