Bosch opened his briefcase after getting to his car and looked through all the paperwork until he found the call-out sheet he’d had put together on Saturday morning. He called Chastain’s pager and punched in the number of his cell phone. He then sat in the car for five minutes, waiting for the callback and watching the protest march. As he watched, several of the television crews broke away from their positions and hurried with their equipment toward their vans and he realized that the helicopters were already gone. He sat up straight in his seat. His watch said ten minutes to eleven. He knew that if the media were leaving all at once, and before making their broadcasts, then something must have happened — something big. He flipped on the radio, which was already tuned to KFWB, and caught the middle of a report being delivered in an urgent, quavering voice.

“—out of the truck, then the beating began. Several bystanders attempted to stop the attack but initially the angry mob of youths held them back. The firefighters were pulled into separate knots of attackers and were being assaulted until a platoon of LAPD units stormed the intersection and rescued the victims, who were pulled into the patrol cars and then driven away — to receive medical attention, we assume, at nearby Daniel Freeman Hospital. The fire engine, left behind, had been set ablaze after the mob unsuccessfully tried to turn it over. The police quickly established a perimeter in the area and calmed things. While some of the attackers were arrested, several escaped into the residential neighborhoods bordering Normandie Boul— ”

Bosch’s phone began ringing. He cut off the radio and flipped the phone open.

“Bosch.”

“It’s Chastain, what do you want?”

Bosch could hear lots of voices and radio squawking in the background. Chastain wasn’t at home.

“Where are you? We have to talk.”

“Not tonight. I’m on duty. Twelve and twelves, remember?”

“Where are you?”

“In wonderful south L.A.”

“You’re A shift? I thought all detectives were B shift.”

“All except IAD. We got the shaft — night shift. Listen, Bosch, I’d love to talk about the schedule but — ”

“Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

Bosch turned the car’s ignition and started backing out of his spot.

“I’m at the Seventy-seventh.”

“I’m on my way. Meet me out front in fifteen minutes.”

“Forget it, Bosch. I’ll be swamped. I’m on arrest processing and I hear they’re bringing in a dozen mooks who just attacked a fire truck, for chrissakes. These guys were trying to put out a fire in their neighborhood and these animals go after them. I tell you, it’s un-fucking believable.”

“It never is believable. Be out front in fifteen minutes, Chastain.”