Giving nothing away, I calmly said, “Mr. Seguin, I am Detective Harry Bosch with the LAPD. Is that your car in the driveway?”

“Yeah, it’s mine. What about it? What’s going on?”

“We need to ask you about it, if you don’t mind. Can we come in for a few minutes?”

“Well, no, I’d first like to know what-”

“Thank you.”

I moved through the threshold, forcing him to step back. The others followed me in.

“Hey, wait a minute, what is this?”

We had worked it out before we’d arrived. The interview was mine to conduct. Sheehan was second seat. McCaleb said he just wanted to observe.

The living room was carpenter overkill. Built-in bookshelves on three walls. A wooden mantel that was too big for the room had been built around the small, brick fireplace. A floor to ceiling television cabinet was built in place as a divider between the sitting area and what looked like a little office space.

I nodded approvingly.

“Nice work. You get a lot of downtime with your work?”

Seguin reluctantly nodded.

“Did most of this when we had a strike a couple years ago.”

“What do you do?”

“Stage builder. Look, what is this about my car? You can’t just push your way in here like this. I have rights.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Seguin, and I’ll explain. We believe your car was possibly used in the commission of a serious crime.”

Seguin dropped into a soft chair positioned for best viewing of the television. I noticed that McCaleb was moving about the outer edges of the room, studying the books on the shelves and the various knickknacks displayed on the mantel and other surfaces. Sheehan sat down on the couch to Seguin ’s left. He stared at him coldly, wordlessly.

“What crime?”

“A murder.”

I let that sink in. But it appeared to me that Seguin had recovered from his initial shock and was hardening. I had seen this before. He was going to try to ride it out.