AVERAGING OVER NINETY miles an hour, including a fifteen-minute stop at a McDonald’s, they got to Las Vegas in four hours. They drove to McCarran International Airport, parked in the garage and took their briefcases and overnighters out of the trunk. While Edgar waited outside, Bosch went into the terminal and rented a car at the Hertz counter.

It was almost four-thirty by the time they got to the Metro building. As they walked through the detective bureau, Bosch saw Iverson sitting at his desk and talking to Baxter, who stood nearby. A thin smile played on Iverson’s face but Bosch ignored it and went straight to Felton’s office. The police captain was behind his desk doing paperwork. Bosch knocked on the open door and then entered.

“Bosch, where ya been?”

“Taking care of details.”

“This your prosecutor?”

“No, this is my partner, Jerry Edgar. The prosecutor isn’t coming out until the morning.”

Edgar and Felton shook hands but Felton continued to look at Bosch.

“Well, you can call him and tell him not to bother.”

Bosch looked at him a moment. He knew now why Iverson had smiled. Something was going on.

“Captain, you’re always full of surprises,” he said. “What is it this time?”

Felton leaned back in his chair. He had an unlit cigar, one end soggy with saliva, on the edge of the desk. He picked it up and clenched it between two fingers. He was playing it out, obviously trying to get a rise out of Bosch. But Bosch didn’t bite and the captain finally spoke.

“Your boy, Goshen, is packing his bags.”

“He’s waiving extradition?”

“Yeah, he got smart.”

Bosch took the chair in front of the desk and Edgar took one to the right. Felton continued.

“Fired that mouthpiece Mickey Torrino and got his own guy. Not that much of an improvement, but at least the new guy’s got Lucky’s best interest in mind.”

“And how did he get smart?” Bosch asked. “You tell him about the ballistics?”

“Sure, I told him. Brought him over, told him the score. I also told him how we broke his alibi down to shit.”

Bosch looked at him but didn’t ask the question.

“Yeah, that’s right, Bosch. We haven’t been exactly sitting over here on our asses. We went to work on this guy and we’re helping to pound him into the ground for you. He said he never left his office Friday night until it was time to go home at four. Well, we went over and checked that office out. There’s a back door. He could’ve come in and gone out. Nobody saw him from the time Tony Aliso left until four, when he came out to close the club. That gave him plenty of time to go out there, take down Tony and hop the last flight back. And here’s the kicker. Girl that works over there goes by the name of Modesty. She got into it with another dancer and went to the office to complain to Lucky. She said nobody answered when she knocked. So she tells Gussie she wants to see the boss and he tells her the boss ain’t in. That was about midnight.”

Felton nodded and winked.

“Yeah, and what did Gussie say about that?”

“He isn’t saying shit. We don’t expect him to. But if he wants to get on the stand and back up Lucky’s alibi, you can tear him apart easy. He’s got a record goin’ back to the seventh grade.”

“All right, never mind him. What about Goshen?”

“Like I said, we brought him over this morning and told him what we got and that he was running out of time right quick. He had to make a decision and he made it. He switched lawyers. That’s about as clear a sign as you’re going to get. He’s ready to deal, you ask me. That means you’ll get him and Joey Marks, a few of the other douche bags in town. We’ll take the biggest bite out of the outfit in ten years. Everybody’s happy.”

Bosch stood up. Edgar followed suit.

“This is the second time you’ve done this to me,” Bosch said, his voice measured and controlled. “You’re not going to get a third. Where is he?”

“Hey, cool down, Bosch. We’re all working for the same thing.”

“Is he here or not?”

“He’s in interview room three. Last I checked, Weiss was in there with him, too. Alan Weiss, he’s the new lawyer.”

“Has Goshen given you any statement?”

“No, of course not. Weiss gave us the particulars. No negotiating until you get him to L.A. In other words, he’ll waive and you take him home. Your people will have to work out the deal over there. We’re out of it after today. Excepting when you come back to pick up Joey Marks. We’ll help with that. I’ve been waiting for that day for a long time.”

Bosch left the office without further word. He walked through the squad room without looking at Iverson and made his way to the rear hallway that led to the interview rooms. He lifted the flap that covered the door’s small window and saw Goshen in blue jail overalls sitting at the small table, a much smaller man in a suit across from him. Bosch knocked on the glass, waited a beat and opened the door.

“Counselor? Could we speak for a moment outside?”

“Are you from L.A.? It’s about time.”

“Let’s talk outside.”

As the lawyer got up, Bosch looked past him at Goshen. The big man was handcuffed to the table. It was barely thirty hours since Bosch had seen him last but Luke Goshen was a different man. His shoulders seemed slumped, as if he was closing in on himself. His eyes had a hollow look, the kind of stare that comes from a night of looking at the future. He didn’t look at Bosch. After Weiss stepped out, Bosch closed the door.

Weiss was about Bosch’s age. He was trim and deeply tanned. Bosch wasn’t sure but thought he wore a hairpiece. He wore glasses with thin gold frames. In the few seconds he had to size the lawyer up, Bosch decided that Goshen had probably done well for himself.

After introductions Weiss immediately got down to business.

“My client is willing to waive any challenge to extradition. But, Detectives, you need to act quickly. Mr. Goshen does not feel comfortable or safe in Las Vegas, even in Metro lockup. My hope was that we would have been able to go before a judge today but it’s too late now. But at nine A.M. tomorrow, I’ll be in court. It’s already arranged with Mr. Lipson, the local prosecutor. You’ll be able to take him to the airport by ten.”

“Slow down a second, Counselor,” Edgar said. “What’s the hurry all of a sudden? Is it ’cause Luke in there heard about the ballistics we got or because maybe Joey Marks has heard, too, and figures he better cut his losses?”

“I guess maybe it’s easier for Joey to put the hit out on him in Metro than all the way over in L.A., right?” Bosch added.

Weiss looked at them as if they were some form of life he had not previously encountered.

“Mr. Goshen doesn’t know anything about a hit and I hope that statement is just part of the usual intimidation tactics you employ. What he does know is he is being set up to take the fall for a crime he did not commit. And he feels the best way to handle this is to cooperate fully in a new environment. Someplace away from Las Vegas. Los Angeles is his only choice.”

“Can we talk to him now?”

Weiss shook his head.

“Mr. Goshen won’t be saying a word until he’s in Los Angeles. My brother will take the case from there. He has a practice there. Saul Weiss, you may have heard of him.”

Bosch had but shook his head in the negative.

“I believe he has already contacted your Mr. Gregson. So, you see, Detective, you’re just a courier here. Your job is to get Mr. Goshen on a plane tomorrow morning and get him safely to Los Angeles. It will most likely be out of your hands after that.”

“Most likely not,” Bosch said.

He stepped around the lawyer and opened the door to the interview room. Goshen looked up. Bosch stepped in and moved to the table. He leaned over it and put his hands flat on the table. Before he could speak, Weiss had moved into the room and was talking.