There were two patrol cars with flashing blues out front. A van from the Scientific Investigation Division and a station wagon from the coroner’s office were already there as well. This told Bosch that the sergeant on scene either had forgotten about the night shift detectives or didn’t think them necessary. He told Edgar to park behind the patrol car that didn’t have a light bar on the roof. That would be the sergeant’s car. Bosch would make sure he didn’t go anywhere until Bosch wanted him to.

As they got out Edgar looked over the roof of their cruiser at Bosch.

“I hate night watch in Hollywood,” he said. “All the suicides come out at night.”

It was true. This would be their third suicide in four nights.

“In Hollywood, everything comes out at night,” Bosch said.

There was a patrol officer at the entrance and he took badge numbers from Bosch and Edgar and then directed them to apartment 6. The front door of the apartment was open and they walked into a nest of activity. It was the end of shift for everybody and everybody was in a hurry. Bosch saw the watch sergeant, who turned out to be a woman named Polly Fulton, standing in a hallway that most likely led to a bedroom.

“Detectives,” she said. “Glad you could swing by. Right in here.”

“What do you mean, we just got the call,” Edgar said.

“Really?” Fulton said. “I called it in at least forty-five minutes ago. The watch must have his hands full.”

She gestured for them to pass by her and they did. The hall ended at three doors: a closet, a bathroom and a bedroom. They entered the bedroom and saw that all the activity was centered on a naked woman lying on the bed. Two coroner’s investigators, a forensics tech, a photographer and another patrol officer were all hovering around the bed.