“Don’t worry about Sheehan,” Irving said. “If he’s clean he goes home. I want to know how we proceed with Kincaid. It seems so . . .”

Bosch ignored his hesitancy.

“We do what we’re doing,” he said. “We get search warrants signed and ready to go. I’m supposed to meet Mrs. Kincaid tomorrow morning at the old house. I go, try to play her, try to get an admission. I think she’s fragile, maybe ready to be flipped. Either way, we spring the warrants. We use everybody and hit all places at once — the homes, the cars, the offices. We see what they bring. We also have to pull records on his dealerships. Find out what cars Kincaid was using back in July. Richter, too.”

“Richter?”

“He’s the security guy.”

Irving got up and went to the window this time.

“You’re talking about a member of a family that helped build this city,” he said. “The son of Jackson Kincaid.”

“I know that,” Bosch replied. “The guy’s from a powerful family. He’s even proprietary about the smog. He looks at it like it’s a family accomplishment. But that doesn’t matter, Chief. Not after what he’s done.”

Irving’s eyes dropped and Bosch knew he was looking down at the protest march.

“The city’s held together . . .”

He didn’t finish. Bosch knew what he was thinking. That those people down on the sidewalks were expecting news of charges being filed — against a cop.

“Where are we with Detective Sheehan?” Irving asked.

Lindell looked at his watch.

“We’ve been talking to him for six hours now. When I left he had yet to say a single self-incriminating word in regard to the murder of Howard Elias.”

“He previously threatened the victim in the manner in which the victim was killed.”

“That was a long time ago. Plus, it was said in public, in front of witnesses. It’s been my experience that people who make threats like that usually don’t carry them out. They are blowing off steam most of the time.”

Irving nodded, his face still to the window.

“What about ballistics?” he asked.

“Nothing yet. The autopsy on Elias was supposed to start this afternoon. I sent Detective Chastain over. They’ll dig the slugs out and he’ll take them over to your firearms people. It will take too long to send them to my people in Washington. But remember, Chief, Sheehan volunteered his gun. He said, ‘Do the ballistics.’ Yes, he carries a nine but I kinda think he wouldn’t have offered the gun if he didn’t know the gun wouldn’t match the bullets.”

“And his home?”

“We searched it top to bottom — again, with his permission. Nothing. No other weapons, no hate notes about Elias, nothing.”

“Alibi?”

“Only place he’s hurting. He was home alone Friday night.”

“What about his wife?” Bosch asked.