Bosch sat down and noticed that Teed had listed his work phone number with a 323 area code and a Hollywood exchange. That might explain why a man who lived in the Valley had used a pawnshop in Hollywood. He picked up the phone and punched in Teed’s work number. It was answered immediately by a woman who said, “Splendid Age.”

“Excuse me?” Bosch said.

“Splendid Age Retirement Home, how can I help you?”

“Yes, is Donald Teed a resident there?”

“A resident? No. We have a Donald Teed who works here. Is that who you mean?”

“I think so. Is he there?”

“He is here today but I am not sure where he is right now. He’s a custodian and moves around. Who is calling? Is this a solicitation?”

Bosch felt things falling into place. He decided to take a shot.

“I’m a friend. Can you tell me if another friend of mine is there? His name is Quentin McKinzie.”

“Yes, Mr. McKinzie is a resident here. What is this about?”

“I’ll call back.”

Bosch hung up the phone and his eyes drifted to the saxophone.

Nikolai Servan opened his eyes the moment Bosch came through the door. Bosch put the piece of paper he carried down on the table and took the seat across from Servan, folding his arms and putting his elbows on the table in almost a mirror image.

“We’ve hit a snag, Mr. Servan.”

“A snag?”

“A problem. Actually a few imaually aof them. And what I’d like to do here is give you the opportunity to tell me the truth this time.”

“I don’t understand. I tol’ you truth. I tol’ you truth.”

“I think you left some things out, Mr. Servan.”

Servan clasped his hands together on the table and shook his head.

“No, I tol’ everything.”

“I’m going to advise you of your rights now, Mr. Servan. Listen closely to what I read you.”