“Shut up!” Bosch ordered.

More cops were coming down the ramp and he just wanted to get Stokes out of there.

When they got to daylight, Bosch saw Edgar standing on the sidewalk talking on his cell phone and using his other hand to signal a transport ambulance into the parking garage. Bosch pushed Stokes toward him. As they approached, Edgar closed the phone.

“I just talked to the lieutenant. She’s on the way.”

“Great. Where’s your car?”

“Still at the car wash.”

“Go get it. We’re taking Stokes to the division.”

“Harry, we can’t just leave the scene of a-”

“You saw what Edgewood did. We need to get this shit-bag to a place of safety. Go get your car. If we get any shit for it, I’ll take it.”

“You got it.”

Edgar started running in the direction of the car wash.

Bosch saw a utility pole near the corner of the apartment building. He walked Stokes to it and recuffed him with his arms around it.

“Wait here,” he said.

He then stepped away and ran a hand through his hair.

“What the hell happened back there?”

He didn’t realize he had spoken out loud until Stokes started answering the question, stammering about him not doing anything wrong.

“Shut up,” Bosch said. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Chapter 32

BOSCH and Edgar walked Stokes through the squad room and down the short hallway leading to the interview rooms. They took him into room 3 and cuffed him to the steel ring bolted to the middle of the table.

“We’ll be back,” Bosch said.

“Hey, man, don’t leave me in here,” Stokes began. “They’ll come in here, man.”

“Nobody’s coming in but me,” Bosch said. “Just sit tight.”

They left the room and locked it. Bosch went to the homicide table. The squad room was completely empty. When a cop went down in the division everybody responded. It was part of keeping the faith in the blue religion. If it was you who went down, you’d want everybody coming. So you responded in kind.

Bosch needed a smoke, he needed time to think and he needed some answers. His mind was crowded with thoughts about Julia and her condition. But he knew it was out of his hands and the best way to control his thoughts was to concentrate on something still in his hands.

He knew he had little time before the OIS detail would pick up the trail and come for him and Stokes. He picked up the phone and called the watch office. Mankiewicz answered. He was probably the last cop in the station.

“What’s the latest?” Bosch asked. “How is she?”

“I don’t know. I hear it’s bad. Where are you?”

“In the squad. I’ve got the guy here.”

“Harry, what are you doing? OIS is all over this. You should be at the scene. Both of you.”

“Let’s just say I was fearful of a deteriorating situation. Listen, let me know the minute you hear something about Julia, okay?”

“You got it.”

Bosch was about to hang up when he remembered something.

“And Mank, listen. Your guy Edgewood tried to kick the shit out of the suspect. He was cuffed and on the ground at the time. He’s probably got four or five broken ribs.”

Bosch waited. Mankiewicz didn’t say anything.

“Your choice. I can go formal with it or I can let you take care of it your way.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“All right. Remember, let me know what you know.”

He hung up and looked at Edgar, who nodded his approval on the way Bosch was handling the Edgewood matter.

“What about Stokes?” Edgar said. “Harry, what the fuck happened in that garage?”

“I’m not sure. Listen, I’m going to go in there and talk to him about Arthur Delacroix, see what I can get before OIS storms the place and takes him away. When they get here, see if you can stall them.”

“Yeah, and this Saturday I’m planning to kick Tiger Woods’s ass on Riviera.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Bosch went into the rear hallway and was about to enter room 3 when he realized he had not gotten his recorder back from Detective Bradley of IAD. He wanted to record his interview with Stokes. He walked past the door to room 3 and stepped into the adjoining video room. He turned on the room 3 camera and auxiliary recorder and then went back to room 3.

Bosch sat across from Stokes. The life appeared drained from the younger man’s eyes. Less than an hour before he had been waxing a BMW, picking up a few bucks. Now he was looking at a return to prison-if he was lucky. He knew cop blood in the water brought out the blue sharks. Many were the suspects who were shot trying to escape or inexplicably hung themselves in rooms just like this. Or so it was explained to the reporters.

“Do yourself a big favor,” Bosch said. “Calm the fuck down and don’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything with these people that gets you killed. You understand me?”

Stokes nodded.

Bosch saw the package of Marlboros in the breast pocket of Stokes’s jumpsuit. He reached across the table, causing Stokes to flinch.

“Relax.”

He took the pack of cigarettes and fired one up with a match from a book slipped behind the cellophane. From the corner of the room he pulled a small trash can next to his chair and dropped in the match.

“If I wanted to hurt you I would’ve done it in the garage. Thanks for the smoke.”

Bosch savored the smoke. It had been at least two months since he’d had a cigarette.

“Can I have one?” Stokes asked.

“No, you don’t deserve one. You don’t deserve shit. But I’m going to make a little deal with you here.”

Stokes raised his eyes to Bosch’s.

“You know that little kick in the ribs you got back there? I’ll trade you. You forget about it and take it like a man and I’ll forget about you spraying me in the face with that shit.”

“My ribs are broke, man.”

“My eyes still burn, man. That was a commercial cleaning chemical. The DA will be able to get assault on a police officer out of that faster than you can say five to ten in Corcoran. You remember being in the Cork, don’t you?”

Bosch let that sink in for a long moment.

“So do we have a deal?”

Stokes nodded but said, “What difference is it going to make? They’re going to say I shot her. I-”

“But I know you didn’t.”

Bosch saw a glimmer of hope returning to Stokes’s eyes.

“And I will tell them exactly what I saw.”

“Okay.”

Stokes’s voice was barely a whisper.

“So let’s start at the start. Why’d you run?”

Stokes shook his head.

“Because it’s what I do, man. I run. I’m a convict and you’re the Man. I run.”

Bosch realized that in all of the confusion and haste, nobody had searched Stokes. He told him to stand up, which could only be accomplished by Stokes leaning over the table because of his shackled wrists. Bosch moved around behind him and started checking his pockets.

“You got any needles?”

“No, man, no needles.”

“Good, I don’t want to get stuck. I get stuck and all deals are off.”

As he searched he held the cigarette in his lips. The smoke stung his already burning eyes. Bosch took out a wallet, a set of keys and roll of cash totaling $27 in ones. Stokes’s tips for the day. There was nothing else. If Stokes had been carrying drugs for sale or personal use, he had tossed them while trying to make his escape.

“They’ll be out there with dogs,” Bosch said. “If you tossed a stash, they’ll find it and there won’t be anything I can do about it.”

“I didn’t toss anything. If they find something, they planted it.”

“Yeah. Just like O.J.”

Bosch sat back down.

“What was the first thing I said to you? I said, ‘I just want to talk.’ It was the truth. All of this…”

Bosch made a sweeping gesture with his hands.

“It could have all been avoided if you had just listened.”

“Cops never want to talk. They always want something more.”