“No, you don’t have anything right, Lieutenant. I went up there—at taxpayers’ expense—to interview a convict with vital information in the Anneke Jespersen case. I got that information and with time left before I had to return to the airport, I checked on Shawn Stone. I also made the deposit in his account. The whole thing took less than a half hour and it caused me no delay in my return to Los Angeles. If you are going to take a run at me, Lieutenant, you are going to need something more than that.”

O’Toole nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, we’ll let the PSB decide that.”

Bosch wanted to reach over and yank O’Toole across the desk by his tie. The PSB was the Professional Standards Bureau, the new name for Internal Affairs. A black rose by any other name smelled just as rotten to Bosch. He stood up.

“You are filing a one-twenty-eight on me?”

“I am.”

Bosch shook his head. He could not believe the shortsightedness of the move.

“Do you realize you are going to lose the entire room if you go ahead with this?”

He was talking about the squad room. As soon as the rest of the detectives learned that O’Toole was making a move on Bosch for something as trivial as a fifteen-minute conversation at San Quentin, the meager level of respect O’Toole enjoyed would collapse like a bridge made of toothpicks. Oddly, Bosch was more worried about O’Toole and his standing in the unit than about the PSB investigation that would follow his ill-advised move.

“That’s not my concern,” O’Toole said. “My concern is the integrity of the unit.”

“You are making a mistake, Lieutenant, and for what? For this? Because I wouldn’t let you kill my investigation?”

“I can assure you, one has nothing to do with the other.”

Bosch shook his head again.

“I can assure you that I will walk away from this, but you won’t.”

“Is that some kind of a threat?”

Bosch didn’t dignify that with a response. He turned and headed out of the office.

“Where are you going, Bosch?”

“I have a case to work.”

“Not for long.”

Bosch went back to his desk. O’Toole didn’t have the authority to suspend him. Police Protective League regulations were clear. A PSB investigation must lead to a formal finding and complaint before that could happen. But what O’Toole was doing would wind the clock tighter. He had a greater need than ever to keep his momentum.

When he got back to the cubicle, Chu was there at his desk with his coffee.

“How’s it going, Harry?”

“It’s going.”

Bosch sat down heavily in his desk chair. He hit the spacebar on his keyboard and the computer screen came back to life. He saw that he already had a reply from Bonn. He opened the email.