A few minutes later, when the suspect returned from the hardware store with the gun oil he needed to finish his work on the Uzi, he was arrested. Ballistics matched the gun to the killings and he was convicted after a judge refused to throw out the fruits of the search. Though the defendant claimed the entry of the apartment was without permission and unlawful, the judge ruled that Bosch and Sheehan were acting in good faith when they acted on the invitation from the parrot. The case was still winding its way through the nation’s appellate courts, while the killer remained in jail.

The Jeep’s front passenger door opened and Sheehan got into the car.

“When did you get this ride?” he asked.

“When they made me start driving a slickback.”

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that.”

“Yeah, you RHD bigshots don’t have to worry about that shit.”

“So, what’s up? You got your ass out in the wind on this case, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s out there. How’re Margaret and the girls doing?”

“They’re all fine. What are we doing? Riding, talking, what?”

“I don’t know. Is that Irish place still over on Van Nuys?”

“No, that one’s gone. Tell you what, go on up to Oxnard and go right. There’s a little sports bar down there.”

Bosch pulled away from the curb and started following the directions.

“I was just thinking about the Polly-wants-an-Uzi case,” he said.

Sheehan laughed.

“That one still cracks me up. I can’t believe it’s shot the rapids this far. I hear the douche bag’s down to one last shot — El Supremo Court.”

“It’ll make it. It woulda got shot down by now if it wasn’t going to fly — no pun intended.”

“Well, what’s it been, eight years? We got our money’s worth, even if they do kick him loose.”

“Yeah, six murders, eight years. Sounds fair.”

“Six douche bags.”

“You still like saying douche bag, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m partial to it. So you didn’t come over the hill to talk about parrots and douche bags and old times, did you?”

“No, Frankie. I need to ask you about the Kincaid thing.”

“Why me?”

“Why do you think? You were lead detective.”

“Everything I know is in the files. You should be able to get them. You’re lead on Elias.”

“I got ’em. But the files don’t always have everything in them.”

Sheehan pointed to a red neon sign and Bosch pulled over. There was a parking place at the curb right outside the bar’s door.

“This place is always pretty dead,” Sheehan said. “Even Saturday nights. I don’t know how the guy makes it by. Must be taking numbers or selling weed on the side.”