“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “You know I’ve got your back. I’ll do what I can when I can. But-”

“I know, Harry. I appreciate that. It’s just the first year with the twins, you know? It will be a lot easier when they get a little older.”

“Yeah, but what I’m trying to say here is that maybe it’s more than just the twins. Maybe it’s you, Ignacio.”

“Me? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying maybe it’s you. Maybe you came back too soon-you ever think about that?”

Ferras did a slow burn and didn’t respond.

“Hey, it happens sometimes,” Bosch said. “You take a bullet and you start thinking that lightning might strike twice.”

“Look, Harry, I don’t know what kind of bullshit that is, but I’m fine that way. I’m good. This is about sleep deprivation and being fucking exhausted all the time and not being able to catch up because my wife is riding my ass from the moment I get home, okay?”

“Whatever you say, partner.”

“That’s right, partner. Whatever I say. Believe me, I get it enough from her. I don’t need it from you, too.”

Bosch nodded and that was enough said. He knew when to quit.

The address Gandle had given them was in the Seventieth block of South Normandie Avenue. This was just a few blocks from the infamous corner of Florence and Normandie, where some of the most horrible images of the 1992 riots had been captured by news helicopters and broadcast around the world. It seemed to be the lasting image of Los Angeles to many.

But Bosch quickly realized he knew the area and the liquor store that was their destination from a different riot and for a different reason.

Fortune Liquors was already cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. A small number of onlookers were gathered but murder in this neighborhood was not that much of a curiosity. The people here had seen it before-many times. Bosch pulled their sedan into the middle of a grouping of three patrol cars and parked. After going to the trunk to retrieve his briefcase, he locked the car up and headed toward the tape.