“Last night, but you already know that, right Chet?”
“Till when?”
“Till we walked out the muthafuckin’ door. Are you throwin’ down on me, man?”
“What?”
“You in-ter-OH-gatin’ me, man?”
“I’m trying to find out who killed Elias.”
“You did that. You people got him.”
“Well, that’s a possibility. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
Harris laughed as if what Bosch had said was absurd.
“Yeah, you know that thing they say about the kettle and the pot, that’s what that is.”
“We’ll see. When did you two part company? You and Howard Elias.”
“When he went to his apartment and I went home.”
“Which was when?”
“I don’t know, Chet. Quarter to ’leven, ’leven a’clock. I don’t wear a watch. People tell me the time when I want to know it. They say on the news he got his ass shot at ’leven, so we left quarter of.”
“Had he mentioned any threats? Was he afraid of anyone?”
“He wasn’t afraida shit. But he knew he was a dead man.”
“What do you mean?”
“You people is what I mean. He knew you would come gunnin’ for him someday. Somebody finally did. Prob’ly come for me, too, one day. Tha’s why as soon as I get my money I’m splittin’ this place. All you cops can have it. And tha’s all I got to say, Chet.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because that’s what you are. You’re a Chet, Chet.”
Harris’s smile was a challenge. Bosch held his gaze for a moment, then turned to Entrenkin and nodded. She took it from there.
“Michael, do you know who I am?”
“Sure, I seen ya on the TV. Just like Mr. Elias. I know you.”
“Then you know I am not a police officer. My job is to make sure the police officers in this city are honest and do their jobs the way they should be done.”
Harris snickered.
“You got a lot a work ’head you, lady.”
“I know that, Michael. But the reason I am here is to tell you that I think these three detectives want to do what is right. They want to find the person who killed Howard Elias, whether it is a cop or not. And I want to help them. You should want to help as well. You owe Howard that much. So will you please answer a few more questions?”
Harris looked around the room and at the gun in his hand. It was a Smith amp; Wesson 9 millimeter with a satin finish. Bosch wondered if Harris would have brandished it in front of them if he knew the murder weapon was a nine. Harris shoved the weapon into the crack between the seat cushion and the arm of the big chair.
“Okay, I guess. But not Chet. I don’ talk to white cops or Tom boys. You ask me.”
Entrenkin looked back at Bosch and then back to Harris.
“Michael, I want the detectives to ask the questions. They are better at it than me. But I think it’s okay for you to answer.”
Harris shook his head.
“You don’t unnerstand, lady. Why should I help these fuckers? These people tortured me for no fucking reason. I ain’t got forty percent of my hearing because of the L-A-P-D. I ain’t cop-eratin’. Now if you got a question, then you ask it.”
“Okay, Michael, that’s fine,” Entrenkin said. “Tell me about last night. What did you and Howard work on?”
“We worked on my testimony. Only you know how the cops call it testi-lying on account they never tell the damn truth when it comes to the brothers? Well, I call it my testi-money ’cause the LAPD is going to pay my ass for framin’ me and then fuckin’ with me. Damn right.”
Bosch picked up the questioning as though Harris had never said he wouldn’t speak to him. “Did Howard tell you that?”
“Sure did, Mr. Chet.”
“Did he say he could prove it was a frame?”
“Yeah, ’cause he knew who really done the murder a that little white girl and then put her in the lot near my place. An’ it wudn’t me. He was goin’ to court Monday to start to ’zonerate me completely and get my money, my man Howard.”
Bosch waited a beat. The next question and answer would be crucial.
“Who?”
“Who what?”
“Who really did the murder? Did he tell you?”
“Nope. He said I didn’t need to know. Said it was dangerous to know that shit. But I bet it’s in there in his files. He ain’t gonna get away again.”
Bosch glanced at Entrenkin.
“Michael, I spent all day with the files. Yes, there are indications that Howard knew who killed Stacey Kincaid but no name was recorded anywhere. Are you sure he never told you a name or gave you any indication of who this person was?”
Harris was momentarily nonplussed. He evidently realized that if Elias went down with the murderer’s name kept to himself, his case might have gone down a few notches as well. He would always carry the stigma of being a murderer who got off because a slick defense lawyer knew how to play a jury.
“Got-damn,” he said.
Bosch came over and sat on the corner of the coffee table, so that he could be close to Harris.
“Think hard,” he said. “You spent a lot of time with him. Who would it be?”
“I don’t know,” Harris said defensively. “Whyn’t you ask Pelfry about it, man?”
“Who is Pelfry?”
“Pelfry’s his leg man. His investigator.”
“You know his whole name?”
“I think it’s somethin’ like Jenks or somethin’.”
“Jenks?”
“Yeah, Jenks. Tha’s what Howard call him.”
Bosch felt a finger poke his shoulder and he turned to see Entrenkin give him a look. She knew who Pelfry was. He could let it go. Bosch stood up and looked down at Harris.
“You came back here last night after you left Elias?”
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
“Anybody with you? You call anybody?”
“What the fuck is this? You’re throwin’ down on me, man.”
“It’s routine. Relax. We ask everybody where they’ve been. Where were you?”
“I was here, man. I was beat. I came home and got in my bed. Ain’t nobody with me.”
“Okay. Mind if I have a look at your pistola for a second?”
“Jesus Christ, I shoulda known you people weren’t on the level. Got-damn.”
He pulled the gun out from the side of the chair cushion and handed it to Bosch. Bosch kept his eyes on Harris’s until the gun was safely in his hand. He then studied the weapon and smelled the barrel. He smelled no oil or burned gunpowder. He ejected the cartridge and thumbed out the top bullet. It was a Federal, full metal jacket. A very popular brand and make of ammunition, Bosch knew, and the same brand used in the Angels Flight murders. He looked back down at Harris.
“You’re a convicted felon, Mr. Harris. You realize it is a crime for you to have this weapon?”
“Not in my house, man. I need protection.”
“Anywhere, I’m afraid. This could send you back to prison.”
