“It’s that eighth digit, Harry,” Sargent said. “It wouldn’t come up. I’ve got a slight crescent at the top, so I’m leaning toward it being another zero or a three, eight, or nine. Something with a crescent on top.”

“Got it. I’m on my way back to the office and will run it through the box. Pistol Pete, you came through. Thank you, man.”

“Anytime, Harry. Anytime you bring the Giamela’s!”

Bosch disconnected the call and started the car. He then called his partner, who took the call at his desk. Bosch read him the Beretta serial number and told him to start tracing all ten possibilities for the full number. The place to start was the California DOJ database because Chu could access it and it would track all weapons sold in the state. If there was no hit there, they would have to request the trace through the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. That would slow things down. The feds weren’t the fastest movers and the ATF had been rocked by a series of scandals and blunders that had also served to slow down action on requests from local law enforcement.

But Bosch stayed positive. He’d gotten lucky with Pistol Pete and the serial number. There was no reason to think it wouldn’t hold.

He pulled into heavy traffic on San Fernando Road and started south. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get back to the PAB.

“Hey, Harry?” Chu said, his voice low.

“What?”

“Somebody from IA came around looking to talk to you.”

So much for his luck holding. O’Toole must’ve hand-delivered the complaint to the PSB—still called IA or IAD by most cops, despite the official name change.

“What was his name? Is he still there?”

“It was a she and she said her name was Detective Mendenhall. She went in with O’Toole and closed the door for a little bit and then I think she left.”

“Okay, I’ll deal with it. Run that number.”

“Will do.”

Bosch disconnected. His lane was not moving and he could not see ahead because the Humvee in front of him blocked his view. He blew out his breath and honked the car horn in frustration. He felt that more than his luck was suddenly ebbing away. His momentum and positive attitude were eroding. It suddenly felt like it was getting dark out.

Chapter 15

15