Bosch was growing impatient but wasn’t sure why. The guard seemed to be doing the best he could. It was routine in police work to find witnesses unable to describe people they had gotten a good look at. Bosch took the search warrant out of the guard’s hand and handed it back to Dellacroce. Langwiser asked to see it and began reading it while Bosch continued with the guard.

“What’s your name?”

“Robert Courtland. I’m on the waiting list for the academy.”

Bosch nodded. Most security guards in this town were waiting for a police job somewhere. The fact that Courtland, a black man, was not already in the academy told Bosch that there was a problem somewhere in his application. The department was going out of its way to attract minorities to the ranks. For Courtland to be wait-listed there had to be something. Bosch guessed he had probably admitted smoking marijuana or didn’t meet the minimum educational requirements, maybe even had a juvenile record.

“Close your eyes, Robert.”

“What?”

“Just close your eyes and relax. Think of the man you saw. Tell me what he looks like.”

Courtland did as he was told and after a moment came up with an improved but still sketchy description.

“He’s about the same height as Mr. Elias. But he had his head shaved. It was slick. He got one of them soul chips, too.”

“Soul chip?”

“You know, like a little beard under his lip.”

He opened his eyes.

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Bosch said in a friendly, cajoling tone. “Robert, how’re you going to make it into the cops. We need more than that. How old was this guy?”

“I don’t know. Thirty or forty.”

“That’s a help. Only ten years difference. Was he thin? Fat?”

“Thin but with muscles. You know, the guy was built.”

“I think he’s describing Michael Harris,” Rider said. Bosch looked at her. Harris was the plaintiff in the Black Warrior case.

“It fits,” Rider said. “The case starts Monday. They were probably working late, getting ready for court.”

Bosch nodded and was about to dismiss Courtland when Langwiser suddenly spoke while still reading the last page of the search warrant.

“I think we have a problem with the warrant.”

Now everyone looked at her.

“Okay, Robert,” Bosch said to Courtland. “We’ll be all right from here. Thanks for your help.”

“You sure? You want me to go up with you, unlock the door or something?”

“No, we have a key. We’ll be all right.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be in the security office around behind the stairs if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

Courtland started walking back the way he had come but then stopped and turned around.

“Oh, you know, all five of you better not take the elevator up at once. That’s probably too much weight on that old thing.”

“Thanks, Robert,” Bosch said.