“You ever heard of Quentin McKinzie?”

Braxton shook his head.

“I don’t think so.”

“They called him Sugar Ray McK. On account of when he played the sax he’d bob and weave like the fighter Sugar Ray Robinson. He was good. He was mostly a session guy but he put out a few records. ‘The Sweet Spot,’ you never heard that tune?”

“Sorry, man, not into jazz. Too much of a cliché, you know? Detectives and jazz. I listen to country myself.”

Bosch felt disappointed. He wanted to tell him about that day on the ship but if Braxton didn’t know jazz it couldn’t be explained.

“What’s the connection?” Braxton asked.

Bosch held up the saxophone.

“This was his. It says inside here, ‘Custom made for Quentin McKinzie.’ That’s Sugar Ray McK.”

“You ever see him play?”

Bosch nodded.

“One time. Nineteen sixty-nine.”

Braxton whistled.

“Long time ago. You think he’s still alive?”

“I don’t know. He’s not recording. Last disc he put out was Man with an Ax. That was at least ten years ago. Maybe longer. It was a compilation.”

Bosch looked at the saxophone.

“Can’t record without this anyway, I suppose.”

Bosch’s cell phone chirped. It was Edgar.

“Harry, whereyat?”

“On the way back to the station. We just checked out Kelman’s apartment.”

“Anything?”

“Not really. A junkie and a saxophone. What have you got?”

“First off, we’ve got lividity issues. This guy was moved.”

“And what’s the ME say about cause?”

“He’s going with your theory at the moment. Electrocution. The burns on the hand and foot-where the juice went in and out.”

“You find the source?Kelm sasource?

“I looked around. Can’t find it.”

Bosch thought about all of this. Postmortem lividity was the settling of the blood in a dead body. It was a purple gravity line. If a body is moved after the blood has settled, then a new gravity line will appear. It is an easy tip-off that most people outside of homicide investigation don’t know about.