RIDER was standing next to a tall black man with graying hair just outside the door to the Angels Flight station house. They were sharing a smile about something when Bosch walked up.

“Mr. Peete, this is Harry Bosch,” Rider said. “He’s in charge of this investigation.”

Peete shook his hand.

“Worst thing I ever saw in m’life. Worst thing.”

“I’m sorry you had to witness this, sir. But I’m glad you are willing to help us out. Why don’t you go in and have a seat inside. We’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

When Peete was inside Bosch looked at Rider. He didn’t have to speak.

“Same as Garwood said. He didn’t hear anything and he didn’t see a lot until the car came up and he went to lock it up for the night. He didn’t see anybody hanging around down there as if they were waiting for anyone, either.”

“Any chance he’s just playing deaf and dumb?”

“My gut says no. I think he’s legit. He didn’t see it or hear it go down.”

“He touch the bodies?”

“No. You mean the watch and wallet? I doubt it was him.”

Bosch nodded.

“Mind if I ask him a couple follow-ups?”

“Be my guest.”

Bosch walked into the little office and Rider followed. Eldrige Peete was sitting at the lunch table, holding the phone to his ear.

“I gotta go, hon,” he said when he saw Bosch. “The policeman wants to talk to me.”

He hung up.

“My wife. She’s wondering when I’m coming home.”

Bosch nodded.

“Mr. Peete, did you go into the train after you saw the bodies in there?”

“No, sir. Uh, they looked pretty dead to me. I saw a lot of blood. I thought I should leave it all alone for the authorities.”

“Did you recognize either of those people?”

“Well, the man I couldn’t rightly see, but I thought it might be Mr. Elias just on account of the nice suit and how he looked. Now, the woman, I recognized her, too. I mean, I didn’t know her name or nothin’ but she got on the train a few minutes before and went on down.”

“You mean she went down first?”

“Yes, sir, she went down. She also a regular like Mr. Elias. ’Cept she ride maybe only one time a week. On Fridays, like last night. Mr. Elias, he ride more.”

“Why do you think she went down the hill but didn’t get off the train?”

Peete stared at him blankly, as if surprised by such an easy question.

“ ’Cause she got shot.”

Bosch almost laughed but kept it to himself. He wasn’t being clear enough with the witness.

“No, I mean before she was shot. It seems as though she never got up. As if she was on the bench and had been waiting to go back up when the shooter arrived behind the other passenger who was getting on.”

“I surely don’t know what she was doing.”

“When exactly did she go down?”

“The ride right before. I sent Olivet down and that lady was on it. This was five, six minutes to ’leven. I sent Olivet down and I just let her sit down there till ’leven and then I brought her up. You know, last ride. When she came up, those people were dead on there.”

Peete’s apparent ascribing of the female gender to the train was confusing to Bosch. He tried to make it clear.

“So you sent Olivet down with the woman on it. Then five, six minutes later she is still on the train car when you bring it up. Is that right?”

“Right.”

“And during that five or six minutes that Olivet was sitting down there, you weren’t looking down there?”

“No, I was counting the money outta the register. Then when it was ’leven ’clock I went out and locked up Sinai. Then I brought Olivet on up. That’s when I found them. They were dead.”

“But you didn’t hear anything from down there? No shots?”

“No, like I told the lady – Miss Kizmin – I wear earplugs on account of the noise underneath the station. Also, I was countin’ the money. It’s mostly all quarters. I run ’em through the machine.”

He pointed to a stainless-steel change counter next to the cash register. It looked like the machine put the quarters into paper rolls containing ten dollars. He then stamped his foot on the wood floor, indicating the machinery below. Bosch nodded that he understood.

“Tell me about the woman. You said she was a regular?”

“Yeah, once a week. Fridays. Like maybe she have a little job up here in the apartments, cleanin’ or somethin’. The bus runs down there on Hill Street. I think she caught it down there.”

“And what about Howard Elias?”

“He a regular, too. Two, three times a week, all different times, sometimes late like last night. One time I was locking up and he was down there callin’ up to me. I made a ’ception. I brought him up on Sinai. I was bein’ nice. At Christmastime he gave me a little envelope. He was a nice man, ’membering me like that.”

“Was he always alone when he rode the train?”

The old man folded his arms and thought about this for a moment.

“Mostly, I think.”

“You remember him ever being with somebody else?”

“I think one or two times I remember him bein’ with somebody. I can’t rightly remember who it was.”

“Was it a man or woman?”

“I don’t know. I think it mighta been a lady but I’m not gettin’ a picture, know what I mean?”

Bosch nodded and thought about things. He looked at Rider and raised his eyebrows. She shook her head. She had nothing more to ask.

“Before you go, Mr. Peete, can you turn everything on and let us ride down?”

“Sure. Whatever you and Miss Kizmin need.”

He looked at Rider and bowed his head with a smile.

“Thank you,” Bosch said. “Then let’s do it.”

Peete moved to the computer keyboard and began typing in a command. Immediately the floor began to vibrate and there was a low-pitched grinding sound. Peete turned to them.

“Anytime,” he said above the din. Bosch waved and headed out to the train car. Chastain and Baker, the IAD man who had been paired with Kizmin Rider, were standing at the guardrail, looking down the track.

“We’re going down,” Bosch called over. “You guys coming?”

Without a word they fell in behind Rider and the four detectives stepped onto the train car called Olivet. The bodies had long been removed and the evidence technicians cleared out. But the spilt blood was still on the wood floor and the bench where Catalina Perez had sat. Bosch moved down the steps, careful to avoid stepping in the maroon pool that had leaked from Howard Elias’s body. He took a seat on the right side. The others sat on benches further up the train, away from where the bodies had fallen. Bosch looked up at the station house window and waved. Immediately the car jerked and began its descent. And immediately Bosch again recalled riding the train as a kid. The seat was just as uncomfortable as he remembered it.

Bosch didn’t look at the others as they rode. He kept looking out the lower door and at the track as it went underneath the car. The ride lasted no longer than a minute. At the bottom he was the first off. He turned and looked back up the tracks. He could see Peete’s head silhouetted in the station house window by the overhead light inside.

Bosch did not push through the turnstile, as he could see black fingerprint powder on it and didn’t want to get it on his suit. The department did not consider the powder a hazard of the job and would not repay a dry cleaning bill if he got it on himself. He pointed the powder out to the others and climbed over the turnstile.

He scanned the ground on the off chance something would catch his eye but there was nothing unusual. He was confident that the area had already been gone over by the RHD detectives anyway. Bosch had primarily come down to get a firsthand look and feel for the place. To the left of the archway was a concrete staircase for when the train wasn’t running or for those who were afraid to ride the inclined railroad. The stairs were also popular with weekend fitness enthusiasts, who ran up and down them. Bosch had read a story about it a year or so back in the Times. Next to the stairs a lighted bus stop had been cut into the steep hill. There was a fiberglass sunshade over a double-length bench. The side partitions were used to advertise films. On the one Bosch could see there was an ad for an Eastwood picture called Blood Work. The movie was based on a true story about a former FBI agent Bosch was acquainted with.