“I’ve worked cases he later went to court on. I got subpoenaed and deposed. Plus, the Bradbury. He’s got his office there, we’ve got offices there. I’d see him every now and then. But if you’re asking if I played golf with the guy, the answer is no. I didn’t know him like that.”

“The guy made a living suing cops. When he got into court he always seemed to have real good information. Inside stuff. Some say better stuff than he should have had access to through legal discovery. Some say he might’ve had sources inside — ”

“I wasn’t a snitch for Howard Elias, Bosch,” Chastain said, his voice tight. “And I don’t know anyone in IAD who was. We investigate cops. I investigate cops. Sometimes they deserve it and sometimes it turns out they don’t. You know as well as I do that there has to be somebody to police the police. But snitching to the likes of Howard Elias and his bunch, that’s the lowest of the low, Bosch. So fuck you very much for asking.”

Bosch looked at him now, studying the way the anger was moving into his dark eyes.

“Just asking,” he said. “Had to know who I am dealing with.”

He looked back out across the city and then down to the plaza below. He saw Kiz Rider and Loomis Baker crossing toward Angels Flight with a man Bosch assumed was Eldrige Peete, the train operator.

“All right, you asked,” Chastain said. “Can we get on with it now?”

“Sure.”

They were silent during the elevator ride down. It wasn’t until they were in the lobby that Bosch spoke.

“You go on ahead,” he said. “I’m gonna see if there’s a can around here. Tell the others I’ll be right there.”

“Sure.”

The doorman had overheard the exchange from his little lobby desk and told Bosch the rest room was around the corner behind the elevators. Bosch headed that way.

In the rest room Bosch put his briefcase on the sink counter and got his phone out. He called his house first. When the machine picked up he punched in the code to play all new messages. Only his own message played back to him. Eleanor hadn’t got it.

“Shit,” he said as he hung up.

He then called information and got the number for the Hollywood Park poker room. The last time Eleanor had not come home she had told him she was playing cards there. He called the number and asked for the security office. A man identifying himself as Mr. Jardine answered and Bosch gave his name and badge number. Jardine asked him to spell his name and give the number again. He was obviously writing it down.

“Are you in the video room?”

“Sure am. What can I do for you?”