“Well, fuck him. I’m gonna get back to the table and then he goes back to autos.”

Edgar took his time before answering. It was as if Bosch had said something that made no sense to him.

“You really think that, Harry? Pounds ain’t going to stand for you coming back. Not after what you did. I told him when he told me I was with Burns that, you know, no offense but I’d wait until Harry Bosch came back and he said if I wanted to handle it that way, then I’d be waitin’ until I was an old man.”

“He said that? Well, fuck him, too. I still got a friend or two in the department.”

“ Irving still owes you, doesn’t he?”

“I guess maybe I’ll find out.”

He didn’t go further with it. He wanted to change the subject. Edgar was his partner but they had never gotten to the point where they completely confided in each other. Bosch played the mentor role in the relationship and he trusted Edgar with his life. But that was a bond that held fast on the street. Inside the department was another matter. Bosch had never trusted anyone, never relied on anyone. He wasn’t going to start now.

“So, what’s the case?” he asked, to divert the conversation.

“Oh, yeah, I wanted to tell you about it. This was weird, man. First the killing’s weird, then what happened after. The call out was to a house on Sierra Bonita. This is about five in the A.M. The citizen reports he heard a sound like a gunshot, only muffled-like. He grabs his deer rifle out of the closet and goes outside to take a look. This is a neighborhood that’s been picked clean lately by the hypes, you know? Four B and Es on his block alone this month. So, he was ready with the rifle. Anyway, he goes down his driveway with the gun-the garage is in the back-and he sees a pair of legs hanging out of the open door of his car. It was parked in front of the garage.”