Bosch swiveled in his seat so he could look up at his supervisor. O’Toole had his suit jacket off and was wearing suspenders with a design of little golf clubs on them. His tie tack was a miniature LAPD badge. They sold them in the gift shop at the Police Academy.

“It’s taken care of,” Bosch said.

“Good. I want this cleared up as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“It’s nothing personal, Bosch.”

Bosch smiled at that.

“I just want to know one thing, Lieutenant. Did you come up with this all on your own, or did you have help from upstairs?”

“Harry?” Jackson said from across the cubicle divider. “I don’t think you should get into a—”

Bosch held up his hand to stop Jackson from getting involved.

“It’s okay, Rick. It was just a rhetorical question. The lieutenant doesn’t have to answer it.”

“I don’t know what you mean by upstairs,” O’Toole said anyway. “But it would be typical of you to focus on where the complaint came from instead of the complaint itself and your own actions.”

Bosch’s cell phone began to buzz. He pulled it from his pocket and looked away from O’Toole to check the screen. The caller ID was blocked.

“The question is simple,” O’Toole continued. “Did you act properly while up there in the prison or did you—”

“I have to take this,” Bosch said, cutting him off. “I’m working a case, L-T.”

O’Toole turned to leave the cubicle. Bosch connected to the call but told the caller to hold. He then held the phone to his chest so his words would not be overheard by whoever was on the other end.

“Lieutenant,” he said.

He had called to his supervisor loud enough for several detectives in their nearby cubicles to hear. O’Toole turned around and looked back at him.

“If you continue to harass me,” Bosch said, “I will file a formal complaint.”

He held eye contact with O’Toole for a few moments, then raised his phone to his ear.

“This is Detective Bosch, how can I help you?”

“This is Suzanne Wingo, ATF. Are you presently in the PAB?”

It was Rachel Walling’s contact. Bosch felt a tremor of adrenaline hit his bloodstream. She might have already traced the ownership of the gun used to kill Anneke Jespersen.

“Yes, I’m here. Have you—”

“I’m on a bench in the front plaza. Can you come down? I have something for you.”

“Uh, sure. But would you rather come up to the office? I can—”

“No, I would prefer that you come down here.”

“Then I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Come alone, Detective.”

She disconnected. Bosch sat for a long moment, wondering why she had told him to come alone. He quickly called Rachel Walling’s number.

“Harry?”

“It’s me. This Suzanne Wingo—what’s with her?”