“Come on, that was five years ago. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Bosch noticed that both Edgar and Pelfry were watching him intently.

“I know it, Bosch. But then you have this new lawsuit on the Black Warrior thing and who’s the lead? Detective Frank Sheehan. On top of that, he uses a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson. And one other thing, we pulled his file. He’s qualified eleven straight years at the range as an expert marksman. And you know the kind of shooting it took on Angels Flight. You take it all into consideration and it put him at the top of the list of people to talk to. So we’re talking to him.”

“The marksman thing is bullshit. They give those pins out like candy at the range. I bet seven or eight out of every ten cops have that ribbon. And eight out of ten cops carry Smith nines. Meantime, Irving — or whoever the leak is — is throwing him to the wolves. Sacrificing him to the media so maybe he can stop the city from burning.”

“He’s only a sacrifice if he didn’t do it.”

There was a cynical casualness in Lindell’s voice that Bosch didn’t like.

“You better take it slow,” Bosch said. “Because I guarantee you Frankie wasn’t the shooter.”

“Frankie? You guys friends, are you?”

“We were partners. A long time back.”

“Well, it’s funny. He doesn’t seem so fond of you now. My guys tell me that the first thing he said when they knocked on his door was ‘Fuck Harry Bosch.’ He thinks you ratted him out, man. He doesn’t know that we have the threat in the deposition. Or he doesn’t remember it.”

Bosch put the phone down on its hook. He was in a daze. Frankie Sheehan believed that Bosch had turned their conversation of the night before against him. He believed Harry had turned him in to the bureau. It made Bosch feel worse than the knowledge that his old partner and friend now sat in an interview room fighting for his life.

“Sounds like you don’t agree much with Channel Four,” Pelfry said.

“No, I don’t.”

“You know something, I’ma take a wild ass guess here, but I think that glass in your hair means you’re the two guys they were talkin’ about on TV getting potshotted over on Western.”

“Yeah, what about it?” Edgar asked.

“Well, that’s a few blocks from where that Stacey Kincaid girl ended up.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, if that’s where you were comin’ from, then I wonder if you met my two buddies, Rufus and Andy.”

“Yeah, we met ’em and we know all about the body being dumped three days late.”

“You’re following my footsteps then.”

“Some of them. We visited Mistress Regina last night, too.”