It was the kind of mystery Bosch liked. The idea of a man leaving his mark with the one shot he’s given appealed to him. Across a whole century, Bosch identified with George Wyman. He believed in the one shot. He didn’t know if he’d had his yet – it wasn’t the kind of thing you knew and understood until you looked back over your life as an old man. But he had the feeling that it was still out there waiting for him. He had yet to take his one shot.

Because of the one-way streets and traffic lights Dellacroce and Rider faced, Bosch and Chastain got to the Bradbury on foot before them. As they approached the heavy glass doors of the entrance, Janis Langwiser got out of a small red sports car that was parked illegally at the curb out front. She was carrying a leather bag on a shoulder strap and a Styrofoam cup with the tag of a tea bag hanging over the lip.

“Hey, I thought we said an hour,” she said good-naturedly.

Bosch looked at his watch. It was an hour and ten minutes since they had talked.

“So you’re a lawyer, sue me,” he said, smiling.

He introduced Chastain and gave Langwiser a more detailed rundown on the investigation. By the time he was finished, Rider and Dellacroce had parked their cars in front of Langwiser’s car. Bosch tried the doors to the building but they were locked. He got out the key ring and hit the right key on the second try. They entered the atrium of the building and each of them involuntarily looked up, such was the beauty of the place. Above them the atrium skylight was filled with the purples and grays of dawn. Classical music played from hidden speakers. Something haunting and sad but Bosch couldn’t place it.

“Barber’s ‘Adagio,’ ” Langwiser said.

“What?” Bosch said, still looking up.

“The music.”

“Oh.”

A police helicopter streaked across the skylight, heading home to Piper Tech for change of shift. It broke the spell and Bosch brought his eyes down. A uniformed security guard was walking toward them. He was a young black man with close-cropped hair and startling green eyes.

“Can I help you people? The building’s closed right now.”

“Police,” Bosch said, pulling out his ID wallet and flipping it open. “We’ve got a search warrant here for suite five-oh-five.”

He nodded to Dellacroce, who removed the search warrant from his coat pocket once again and handed it to the guard.

“That’s Mr. Elias’s office,” the guard said.

“We know,” Dellacroce said.

“What’s going on?” the guard asked. “Why do you have to search his place?”

“We can’t tell you that right now,” Bosch said. “We need you to answer a couple questions, though. When’s your shift start? Were you here when Mr. Elias left last night?”

“Yeah, I was here. I work a six-to-six shift. I watched them leave about eleven last night.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, him and a couple other guys. I locked the door right after they went through. The place was empty after that – ’cept for me.”

“Do you know who the other guys were?”

“One was Mr. Elias’s assistant or a whatchamacallit.”

“Secretary? Clerk?”

“Yeah, clerk. That’s it. Like a young student who helped him with the cases.”

“You know his name?”

“Nah, I never asked.”

“Okay, what about the other guy? Who was he?”

“Don’t know that one.”

“Had you seen him around here before?”

“Yeah, the last couple nights they left together. And a few times before that I think I saw him going or coming by hisself.”

“Did he have an office here?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Was he Elias’s client?”

“How would I know?”

“A black guy, white guy?”

“Black.”

“What did he look like?”

“Well, I didn’t get a real good look at him.”

“You said you’ve seen him around here before. What did he look like?”

“He was just a normal-looking guy. He…”

Bosch was growing impatient but wasn’t sure why. The guard seemed to be doing the best he could. It was routine in police work to find witnesses unable to describe people they had gotten a good look at. Bosch took the search warrant out of the guard’s hand and handed it back to Dellacroce. Langwiser asked to see it and began reading it while Bosch continued with the guard.

“What’s your name?”

“Robert Courtland. I’m on the waiting list for the academy.”

Bosch nodded. Most security guards in this town were waiting for a police job somewhere. The fact that Courtland, a black man, was not already in the academy told Bosch that there was a problem somewhere in his application. The department was going out of its way to attract minorities to the ranks. For Courtland to be wait-listed there had to be something. Bosch guessed he had probably admitted smoking marijuana or didn’t meet the minimum educational requirements, maybe even had a juvenile record.

“Close your eyes, Robert.”

“What?”

“Just close your eyes and relax. Think of the man you saw. Tell me what he looks like.”

Courtland did as he was told and after a moment came up with an improved but still sketchy description.

“He’s about the same height as Mr. Elias. But he had his head shaved. It was slick. He got one of them soul chips, too.”

“Soul chip?”

“You know, like a little beard under his lip.”

He opened his eyes.

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Bosch said in a friendly, cajoling tone. “Robert, how’re you going to make it into the cops. We need more than that. How old was this guy?”

“I don’t know. Thirty or forty.”

“That’s a help. Only ten years difference. Was he thin? Fat?”

“Thin but with muscles. You know, the guy was built.”

“I think he’s describing Michael Harris,” Rider said. Bosch looked at her. Harris was the plaintiff in the Black Warrior case.

“It fits,” Rider said. “The case starts Monday. They were probably working late, getting ready for court.”

Bosch nodded and was about to dismiss Courtland when Langwiser suddenly spoke while still reading the last page of the search warrant.

“I think we have a problem with the warrant.”

Now everyone looked at her.

“Okay, Robert,” Bosch said to Courtland. “We’ll be all right from here. Thanks for your help.”

“You sure? You want me to go up with you, unlock the door or something?”

“No, we have a key. We’ll be all right.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be in the security office around behind the stairs if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

Courtland started walking back the way he had come but then stopped and turned around.

“Oh, you know, all five of you better not take the elevator up at once. That’s probably too much weight on that old thing.”

“Thanks, Robert,” Bosch said.

He waited until the guard had gone around the staircase and was out of sight before turning back to Langwiser.

“Miss Langwiser, you probably haven’t gone out on too many crime scenes before,” he said. “But here’s a tip, never announce that there is a problem with a search warrant in front of somebody who isn’t a cop.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t – ”

“What’s wrong with the warrant?” Dellacroce said, his voice showing he was upset by the apparent challenge to his work. “The judge didn’t see anything wrong with it. The judge said it was fine.”

Langwiser looked down at the three-page warrant in her hand and waved it, its pages fluttering like a falling pigeon.

“I just think that with a case like this we better be damn sure of what we’re doing before we go in there and start opening up files.”

“We have to go into the files,” Bosch said. “That’s where most of the suspects will be.”

“I understand that. But these are confidential files relating to lawsuits against the police department. They contain privileged information that only an attorney and his client should have. Don’t you see? It could be argued that by opening a single file you’ve violated the rights of Elias’s clients.”