“Mr. and Mrs. Helton?” he asked.

They nodded in unison. But the man corrected Bosch.

“I’m Stephen Helton and this is my wife, Arlene Haddon.”

“I’m Detective Bosch with the Los Angeles Police Department and this is my partner, Detective Ferras. We are very sorry for the loss of your son. It is our job now to investigate William’s death and to learn exactly what happened to him.”

Helton nodded as his wife stepped close to him and put her face into his chest. Something silent was transmitted.

“Does this have to be done now?” Helton asked. “We’ve just lost our beautiful little-”

“Yes, sir, it has to be done now. This is a homicide investigation.”

“It was an accident,” Helton weakly protested. “It’s all my fault but it was an accident.”

“It’s still a homicide investigation. We would like to speak to each of you privately, without the intrusions that will occur here. Do you mind coming down to the police station to be interviewed?”

“We’ll leave him here?”

“The hospital is making arrangements for your son’s body to be moved to the medical examiner’s office.”

“They’re going to cut him open?” the mother asked in a near-hysterical voice.

“They will examine his body and then determine if an autopsy is necessary,” Bosch said. “It is required by law that any untimely death fall under the jurisdiction of the medical examiner.”

He waited to see if there was further protest. When there wasn’t, he stepped back and gestured for them to leave the room.

“We’ll drive you down to Parker Center and I promise to make this as painless as possible.”

They placed the grieving parents in separate interview rooms in the third-floor offices of Homicide Special. Because it was Sunday the cafeteria was closed and Bosch="0ed and had to make do with the vending machines in the alcove by the elevators. He got a can of Coke and two packages of cheese crackers. He had not eaten breakfast before being called in on the case and was now famished.