“Wait a minute, Harry,” Zane said. “Don’t say anything. Where’s this going, Chastain?”

“It’s very clear from the orders from the chief. I’m investigating Bosch’s conduct during this investigation. As far as who I have been talking to or where I get my information, you are not privy to that at this point in the process.”

“This is supposed to be about a supposedly planted gun that we all know is bullshit. That’s what we are here to answer.”

“Do you wish to read the order from the chief again? It’s quite clear.”

Zane looked at him a moment.

“Give us five minutes so we can talk about this. Why don’t you go get the points of your teeth filed?”

Chastain stood up and reached over and turned the tape recorder off. As he stepped to the door, he looked back at them with a smile.

“This time I got you both. You won’t get out from under this one, Bosch. And Zane, well, I guess you can’t win them all, can you?”

“You ought to know that better than me, you sanctimonious asshole. Get out of here and leave us alone.”

After Chastain was gone, Zane bent over the tape recorder to make sure it was off. He then got up and checked the thermostat on the wall to make sure it wasn’t a secret listening device. After he was satisfied their conversation was private, he sat back down and asked Bosch about Eleanor Wish. Bosch told him about his encounters with Eleanor over the past few days but left out mention of the abduction and her subsequent confession.

“One of those cops over there in Metro must’ve told him you shacked up with her,” Zane said. “That’s all he’s got. He’s going for an associating beef. If you admit it here, then he’s got you. But if that’s all he gets, then it’s a slap on the wrist at best. As long as he gets nothing else. But if you lie about it and say you weren’t with her when you were, and he can prove you were, then you’ve got a problem. So my advice is that you tell him, yeah, you know her and you’ve been with her. Fuck it, it’s nothing. Tell him it’s over, and if that’s all he’s got, then he’s a chickenshit asshole.”

“I don’t know if it is or it isn’t.”

“What?”

“Over.”

“Well, don’t tell him nothin’ about that unless he asks for it. Then use your best judgment. Ready?”

Bosch nodded and Zane opened the door. Chastain was sitting outside at a desk.

“Where ya been, Chastain?” Zane complained. “We’re waiting in here.”

Chastain didn’t answer. He came in, turned the recorder back on and continued the Q and A.

“Yes, I know Eleanor Wish,” Bosch said. “Yes, I’ve spent time with her over the last few days.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know exactly. A couple of nights.”

“While you were conducting the investigation?”

“Not while I was conducting it. At night, when I was done for the day. We all don’t work around the clock like you, Chastain.”

Bosch smiled at him without humor.

“Was she a witness in this case?” Chastain asked with a tone that denoted that he was shocked that Bosch would cross that line.

“Initially, I thought she might be a witness. After I located her and talked to her, I learned pretty quickly that she was not an evidentiary witness of any kind.”

“But you did initially encounter her while you were in your capacity as an investigator on this case.”

“That’s correct.”

Chastain consulted his pad for a long moment before asking the next question.

“Is this woman, that’s the convicted felon Eleanor Wish I am still talking about, is she living in your home at this time?”

Bosch felt the bile rising in his throat. The personal invasion and Chastain’s tone were getting to him. He struggled to remain calm.

“I don’t know the answer to that,” he said.

“You don’t know if someone is living in your house or not?”

“Look, Chastain, she was there last night, okay? Is that what you want to hear? She was there. But whether she’ll be there tonight I don’t know. She’s got her own place in Vegas. She may have gone back today, I don’t know. I didn’t check. You want me to call and ask her if she is officially living in my home at this time, I will.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I think I have everything I need for the time being.”

He then went directly into the standard IAD end-of-interview spiel.

“Detective Bosch, you will be informed of the results of the ongoing investigation into your conduct. If departmental charges are filed, you will be informed of the scheduling of a Board of Rights hearing in which three captains will hear evidence. You will be allowed to choose one of those captains, I will select a second and the third will be chosen at random. Any questions?”

“Just one. How can you call yourself a cop when all you do is sit up here and conduct these bullshit investigations into bullshit?”

Zane reached over and put a hand on Bosch’s forearm to quiet him.

“No, that’s okay,” Chastain said, waving off Zane’s effort to calm things. “I don’t mind answering. In fact, I get that question a lot, Bosch. Funny, but it always seems I get it from the cops I happen to be investigating. Anyway, the answer is that I take pride in what I do because I represent the public, and if there is no one to police the police then there is no one to keep the abuse of their wide powers in check. I serve a valuable purpose in this society, Detective Bosch. I’m proud of what I do. Can you say the same?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bosch said. “I’m sure that sounds great on tape for whoever listens to it. I get the feeling you probably sit alone at night and listen to it yourself. Over and over again. After a while, you believe it. But let me ask you this, Chastain. Who polices the police who police the police?”

Bosch stood up and Zane followed. The interview was over.

After leaving IAD and thanking Zane for his help, Bosch went down to the SID lab on the third floor to see Art Donovan. The criminologist had just come back from a crime scene and was sorting through evidence bags and checking the material against an evidence list. He looked up as Bosch was approaching.

“How’d you get in here, Harry?”

“I know the combination.”

Most detectives who worked RHD knew the door-lock combo. Bosch hadn’t worked RHD in five years and they still hadn’t changed it.

“See,” Donovan said. “That’s how the trouble starts.”

“What trouble?”

“You coming in here while I’m handling evidence. Next thing you know some wiseass defense lawyer says it got tainted and I look like an asshole on national TV.”

“You’re paranoid, Artie. Besides, we’re not due for another trial of the century for at least a few years.”

“Funny. What do you want, Harry?”

“You’re the second guy who said I was funny today. What happened with my shoe prints and all the rest of the stuff?”

“The Aliso case?”

“No, the Lindbergh case. What do you think?”

“Well, I heard that Aliso wasn’t yours anymore. I’m supposed to have everything ready for the FBI to pick up.”

“When is that?”

Donovan looked up from what he was doing for the first time.

“They just said they’d send somebody by five.”

“Then it’s still my case until they show up. What about the shoe prints you pulled?”

“There’s nothing about them. I sent copies to the bureau’s crime lab in D.C. to see if they could ID the make and model.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I haven’t heard back. Bosch, every department in the country sends shit to them. You know that. And last I heard, they don’t drop everything they’re doing when a package from the LAPD comes in. It will probably be next week sometime before I hear back. If I’m lucky.”

“Shit.”

“It’s too late to call the East Coast now, anyway. Maybe Monday. I didn’t know they suddenly became so important to you. Communication, Harry, that’s the secret. You ought to try it sometime.”

“Never mind that, do you still have a set of copies?”