“Yes, I do.”

They started walking toward the lights and the waiting Mustang.

“Did you get anything from the neighbors yet?” Bosch asked.

Gunn nodded.

“No shortage of witnesses,” she said. “When David Blitzstein started yelling in the street, he woke up the neighborhood. I had the best of the lot taken to the station to give formal statements.”

“Anybody hear the gun?”

“Uh-uh.”

Bosch stopped and looked at her.

“Nobody?”

“Nobody we’ve found-and that includes Blitzstein himself. I’ve been up and down the street and nobody heard a gunshot. Everybody heard the guy screaming and plenty of them looked out their windows and saw him standing in the street. Nobody heard or saw a gun. Nobody heard or saw the getaway vehicle, either.”

“You mean if there was one.”

“If there was one.”

Bosch started back toward the Mustang but then stopped again.

“What was your take on the husband?” he asked.

“Like I said, he’s been nothing but cooperative so far. You thinking the husband?”

“At the moment I’m thinking everybody. What was this guy wearing when he was in the middle of the street yelling for help?”

“Blue jeans. No shirt, no shoes.”

“Any blood on him?”

“Not that I saw.”

Bosch’s phone buzzed. It was his partner.

“Harry, I’ve been talking to the manager of the card room. He said Tracey Blitz won a lot of money last night.”

“How much is a lot?”

“She cashed in sixty-four hundred in chips.”

That jibed with what David Blitzstein had told Kimber Gunn.

“Do they have cameras in the parking lot?” Bosch asked.

“Hold on.”

Ferras put his hand over the phone and Bosch heard a muffled back-and-forth conversation. Then Ferras came back on the line.

“There are cameras,” Ferras reported. “He’s going to let me see if she was followed out of the lot.”

“Good. Let me know.”

Bosch hung up.