“Goddamn it!” Bosch cursed, clearly unhappy about pointing his gun at an innocent man.

“I doubt we’ll ever get our trash cans emptied again,” I said.

Bosch went over to the door and closed and bolted it. He came back to the desk and looked at me with angry eyes. He sat back down, took a deep breath and proceeded in a much calmer voice.

“I’m glad you can keep your sense of humor, Counselor. But enough with the fucking jokes.”

“All right, no jokes.”

Bosch looked like he was struggling internally with what to say or do next. His eyes swept the room and then held on me.

“All right, look, you’re right. It is my job to catch this guy. But you had him right here. Right goddamn here! And so it stands to reason that he was here with a purpose. He came to either kill you, which seems unlikely, since he apparently doesn’t even know you, or he came to get something from you. The question is, what is it? What is in this office or in one of your files that could lead to the identity of the killer?”

I tried to match him with an even-tempered voice of my own.

“All I can tell you is that I have had my case manager in here since Tuesday. I’ve had my investigator in here, and Jerry Vincent’s own receptionist was in here up until lunchtime today, when she quit. And none of us, Detective, none of us, has been able to find the smoking gun you’re so sure is here. You tell me that Vincent paid somebody a bribe. But I can find no indication in any file or from any client that that is true. I spent the last three hours in here looking at the Elliot file and I saw no indication – not one – that he paid anybody off or bribed somebody. In fact, I found out that he didn’t need to bribe anybody. Vincent had a magic bullet and he had a shot at winning the case fair and square. So when I tell you I have nothing, I mean it. I’m not playing you. I’m not holding back. I have nothing to give you. Nothing.”

“What about the FBI?”

“Same answer. Nothing.”

Bosch didn’t respond. I saw true disappointment cloud his face. I continued.

“If this mustache man is the killer, then, of course there is a reason that brought him back here. But I don’t know it. Am I concerned about it? No, not concerned. I’m fucking scared shitless about it. I’m fucking scared shitless that this guy thinks I have something, because if I have it, I don’t even know I have it, and that is not a good place to be.”

Bosch abruptly stood up. He pulled Cisco’s gun out of his waistband and put it down on the desk.

“Keep it loaded. And if I were you, I would stop working at night.”

He turned and headed toward the door.

“That’s it?” I called after him.

He spun in his tracks and came back to the desk.

“What else do you want from me?”

“All you want is information from me. Most of the time information I can’t give. But you in turn give nothing back, and that’s half the reason I’m in danger.”

Bosch looked like he might be about to jump over the desk at me. But then I saw him calm himself once more. All except for the palpitation high on his cheek near his left temple. That didn’t go away. That was his tell, and it was a tell that once again gave me a sense of familiarity.

“Fuck it,” he finally said. “What do you want to know, Counselor? Go ahead. Ask me a question – any question – and I’ll answer it.”

“I want to know about the bribe. Where did the money go?”

Bosch shook his head and laughed in a false way.

“I give you a free shot and I say to myself that I’ll answer your question, no matter what it is, and you go and ask me the question I don’t have an answer to. You think if I knew where the money went and who got the bribe that I’d be here right now with you? Uh-uh, Haller, I’d be booking a killer.”

“So you’re sure one thing had to do with the other? That the bribe – if there was a bribe – is connected to the killing.”

“I’m going with the percentages.”

“But the bribe – if there was a bribe – went down five months ago. Why was Jerry killed now? Why’s the FBI calling him now?”

“Good questions. Let me know if you come up with any answers. Meantime, anything else I can do for you, Counselor? I was heading home when you called.”

“Yeah, there is.”

He looked at me and waited.

“I was on my way out, too.”

“What, you want me to hold your hand on the way to the garage? Fine, let’s go.”

I closed the office once again and we proceeded down the hall to the bridge to the garage. Bosch had stopped talking and the silence was nerve-racking. I finally broke it.

“I was going to go have a steak. You want to come? Maybe we’ll solve the world’s problems over some red meat.”

“Where, Musso’s?”

“I was thinking Dan Tana’s.”

Bosch nodded.

“If you can get us in.”

“Don’t worry. I know a guy.”

Thirty-three

Bosch followed me but when I slowed on Santa Monica Bou-levard to pull into the valet stop in front of the restaurant, he kept going. I saw him drive by and turn right on Doheny.

I went in by myself and Craig sat me in one of the cherished corner booths. It was a busy night but things were tapering off. I saw the actor James Woods finishing dinner in a booth with a movie producer named Mace Neufeld. They were regulars and Mace gave me a nod. He had once tried to option one of my cases for a film but it didn’t work out. I saw Corbin Bernsen in another booth, the actor who had given the best approximation of an attorney I had ever seen on television. And then in another booth, the man himself, Dan Tana, was having a late dinner with his wife. I dropped my eyes to the checkered tablecloth. Enough who’s who. I had to prepare for Bosch. During the drive, I had thought long and hard about what had just happened back at the office and now I only wanted to think about how best to confront Bosch about it. It was like preparing for the cross-examination of a hostile witness.

Ten minutes after I was seated, Bosch finally appeared in the doorway and Craig led him to me.

“Get lost?” I asked as he squeezed into the booth.

“I couldn’t find a parking space.”

“I guess they don’t pay you enough for valet.”

“No, valet’s a beautiful thing. But I can’t give my city car to a valet. Against the rules.”

I nodded, guessing that it was probably because he packed a shotgun in the trunk.

I decided to wait until after we ordered to make a play with Bosch. I asked if he wanted to look at the menu and he said he was ready to order. When the waiter came, we both ordered the Steak Helen with spaghetti and red sauce on the side. Bosch ordered a beer and I asked for a bottle of flat water.

“So,” I said, “where’s your partner been lately?”

“He’s working on other aspects of the investigation.”

“Well, I guess it’s good to hear there are other aspects to it.”

Bosch studied me for a long moment before replying.

“Is that supposed to be a crack?”

“Just an observation. Doesn’t seem from my end to be much happening.”

“Maybe that’s because your source dried up and blew away.”

“My source? I don’t have any source.”

“Not anymore. I figured out who was feeding your guy and that ended today. I just hope you weren’t paying him for the information because IAD will take him down for that.”

“I know you won’t believe me, but I have no idea who or what you are talking about. I get information from my investigator. I don’t ask him how he gets it.”

Bosch nodded.

“That’s the best way to do it, right? Insulate yourself and then you don’t get any blowback in your face. In the meantime, if a police captain loses his job and pension, those are the breaks.”

I hadn’t realized Cisco’s source was so highly placed.

The waiter brought our drinks and a basket of bread. I drank some of the water as I contemplated what to say next. I put the glass down and looked at Bosch. He raised his eyebrows like he was expecting something.