She closed the door without waiting for a response, locked it again and came back to Elias’s office, where she took the seat behind the desk. Bosch spoke to her in a voice low enough not to be heard outside of the office.

“I’ve got to know it all,” he said. “We both know you are in a position to help. So can’t we come to some sort of truce here?”

The first tear fell down Entrenkin’s cheek, soon followed by another on the other side. She leaned forward and began opening drawers in the desk.

“Bottom left,” Bosch said from memory of his inventory of the desk.

She opened the drawer and removed the box of tissues. She placed it on her lap, took one tissue and dabbed at her cheeks and eyes. She began to speak.

“It’s funny how things change so quickly . . .”

A long silence went by.

“I knew Howard superficially for a number of years. When I was practicing law. It was strictly professional, mostly ‘How are you’s in the hallways of the federal building. Then when I was appointed inspector general, I knew it was important that I knew the critics of the police department as well as I knew the department. I arranged to meet Howard. We met right here — him sitting right here . . . It went from there. Yes, I loved him . . .”

This confession brought more tears and she pulled out several tissues to take care of them.

“How long were you two . . . together?” Bosch asked.

“About six months. But he loved his wife. He wasn’t going to leave her.”

Her face was dry now. She returned the tissue box to its drawer and it seemed as though the clouds that had crossed her face moments before were gone. Bosch could see she had changed. She leaned forward and looked at him. She was all business.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Detective Bosch. But only with you. Despite everything . . . I think if you give me your word then I can trust you.”

“Thank you. What is your deal?”

“I will only talk to you. In return I want you to protect me. And by that I mean keep the source of your information confidential. You don’t have to worry, nothing I tell you would be admitted in court anyway. You can keep everything I tell you in background. It may help you, it may not.”

Bosch thought about this for a moment.

“I should be treating you as a suspect, not a source.”

“But you know in your gut that it wasn’t me.”

He nodded.

“It wasn’t a woman’s murder,” he said. “It’s got male written all over it.”

“It’s got cop written on it, too, doesn’t it?”