Bosch shook his head. He didn’t understand what was happening.
“So what?” he said. “I don’t care what the public or politicians think. Waits pushed the action in that tunnel. It was clearly a kill-or-be-killed situation and I did what I had to do.”
“But there is no witness to your description of events.”
“What about Agent Walling?”
“She didn’t go into the tunnel. She warned you not to go in.”
“You know, there’s a woman over at County-USC who probably wouldn’t be alive right now if I hadn’t gone in. What is going on here, Lieutenant?”
Randolph started playing with his ring again. He looked like a man with a distaste for what his duty called on him to do.
“That’s probably enough for today. You’ve been through a lot. What we’re going to do is keep things open for a few days while we wait for the forensics to come in. You’ll continue on home duty. Once we have everything in order I’ll bring you in to read and sign your statement.”
“I asked what’s going on, Lieutenant.”
“And I told you what’s going on.”
“You didn’t tell me enough.”
Randolph took his hand away from his ring. It had the effect of underlining with importance what he would say next.
“You rescued the hostage and brought a resolution to the case. That’s good. But you were reckless in your actions and got lucky. If we believe your story, then you shot a man who was threatening the lives of you and others. The facts and forensics, however, might just as easily lead to another interpretation, perhaps one that indicates the man you shot was attempting to surrender. So what we’re going to do is take our time with it. In a few days we’ll get it right. And then we’ll let you know.”
Bosch studied him, knowing that he was delivering a message that was not so hidden in his words.
“This is about Olivas, isn’t it? The funeral’s set for tomorrow, the chief is going to be there and you want to keep Olivas a hero killed in the line of duty.”
Randolph went back to turning his ring.
“No, Detective Bosch, you have that wrong. If Olivas was dirty, then nobody is going to bend over backwards to worry about his reputation.”
Bosch nodded. He now had it.
“Then it’s about O’Shea. He reached out to a higher authority. He told me he would. That authority then reached out to you.”
Randolph leaned back in his chair and seemed to search the ceiling for a proper reply.
“There are a great number of people in this department as well as the community who believe Rick O’Shea would make a fine district attorney,” he said. “They also believe he would be a good friend to have on the side of the LAPD.”
Bosch closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Randolph continued.
“His opponent, Gabriel Williams, has allied himself with an anti-law enforcement constituency. It would not be a good day for the LAPD if he were to be elected.”
Bosch opened his eyes and stared at Randolph.
“You’re actually going to do this?” he asked. “You’re going to let this guy skate because you think he could be a friend to the department?”
Randolph shook his head sadly.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Detective. I’m simply making a political observation. But I do know this. There is no evidence real or imagined of this conspiracy you speak of. If you think that Robert Foxworth’s attorney will do anything other than deny the conversation you have outlined here, then you would be a fool. So don’t be a fool. Be wise. Keep it to yourself.”
Bosch took a moment to compose himself.
“Who made the call on this?”
“Excuse me?”
“How high up did O’Shea reach? It couldn’t have been directly to you. He would have gone higher. Who told you to knock me down?”
Randolph spread his hands and shook his head.
“Detective, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Right. Of course not.”
Bosch stood up.
“Then, I guess you’ll write it up the way you’ve been told and I’ll either sign it or I won’t. Simple as that.”
Randolph nodded but said nothing. Bosch leaned down and put both hands on the table so he could get close to his face.
“You going to Deputy Doolan’s funeral, Lieutenant? It’s right after they put Olivas in the ground. Remember him, the one Waits shot in the face out there? I thought maybe you’d be going to the funeral to explain to his family about how choices had to be made and how the man directly behind that bullet could be a friend to the department and therefore doesn’t need to face the consequences of his actions.”
Randolph stared straight ahead at the wall across the table. He said nothing. Bosch straightened up and pulled open the door, startling Osani, who had been standing just outside. He wasn’t holding any water bottles. Bosch pushed past him and left the squad room.
At the elevator Bosch pushed the up button. He waited and paced and thought about taking his grievance up to the sixth floor. He envisioned himself charging into the chief of police’s suite and demanding to know if he was aware of what was being done in his name and under his command.
But as the elevator opened he dismissed the idea and pushed the 5 button. He knew that the Byzantine levels of bureaucracy and politics in the department were impossible to fully understand. If he didn’t watch himself he could end up complaining about all the bullshit to the very person who created it.
The Open-Unsolved Unit was deserted when he got there. It was just after four and most detectives worked seven-to-four shifts that put them on the road home before rush hour. If something wasn’t breaking, they left at four on the dot. Even a fifteen-minute delay could cost them an hour on the freeways. The only one still around was Abel Pratt, and that was because as a supervisor he had to work eight to five. Company rules. Bosch waved as he walked by the open door of Pratt’s office on the way to his desk.
Bosch dropped into his chair, exhausted by the day’s events and the weight of the departmental fix. He looked down and saw that his desk was littered with pink phone message slips. He started looking through them. Most were from colleagues in different divisions and stations. They were all call-backs. Bosch knew they wanted to say nice shooting or words to that effect. Anytime anybody got a clean kill the phones lit up.
There were several messages from reporters, including Keisha Russell. Bosch knew he owed her a call but would wait until he got home. There was also a message from Irene Gesto, and Bosch guessed that she and her husband wanted to know if there was any update on the investigation. He had called them the night before to tell them that their daughter had been found and the ID confirmed. He put that slip in his pocket. Home duty or not, he would make the call back to them. With the autopsy completed the body would be released and at the very least they could finally, after thirteen years, claim their daughter and take her home. He could not tell them that their daughter’s killer had been brought to justice, but at least he could help them get her home.
There was also a message from Jerry Edgar, and Bosch remembered that his old partner had called his cell right before the shooting had gone down in Echo Park. Whoever had taken the message had written Says it’s important on the slip and underlined it. Bosch checked the time on the slip and noted that this call had come in before the shooting as well. Edgar had not been calling to congratulate him on taking out a bad guy. He assumed that Edgar had heard that Harry had met his cousin and that he wanted to chew the fat about it. At the moment Bosch didn’t feel up for that.
Bosch wasn’t interested in any of the other messages, so he stacked them and put them in a desk drawer. Nothing else to do, he then started straightening the papers and files on his desk. He thought about whether he should call Forensics and see about getting his phone and car back from the Echo Park crime scene.
“I just got the word.”
Bosch looked up. Pratt was standing in the doorway of his office. He was in shirtsleeves, his tie loose at his neck.
“What word?”
“From OIS. You haven’t cleared home duty, Harry. I gotta send you home.”
Bosch looked back down at his desk.
“So what’s new? I’m leaving.”
Pratt paused as he tried to interpret Bosch’s tone of voice.
“Everything okay, Harry?” he asked tentatively.
“Nope, everything’s not okay. The fix is in and when the fix is in, then everything’s not okay. Not by a long shot.”
“What are you talking about? They’re going to cover up Olivas and O’Shea?”
Bosch looked up at him.
“I don’t think I should talk to you about it, Top. It could put you in a spot. You wouldn’t want the blowback.”
“They’re that serious about it, huh?”
Bosch hesitated but then answered.
“Yeah, they’re serious. They’re willing to jam me up if I don’t play the game.”
He stopped there. He didn’t want to be having this conversation with his supervisor. In Pratt’s position loyalties went both up and down the ladder. It didn’t matter if he was only a few weeks from retirement. Pratt had to play the game until the buzzer sounded.
“My cell is back there, part of the crime scene,” he said, reaching for the phone. “I just came in to make a phone call and then I’m out of here.”
“I was wondering about your phone,” Pratt said. “Some of the guys have been trying to call you and they said you weren’t answering.”