was not far from Bosch’s home. He dropped down to Cahuenga and then took Barham across the 101 Freeway. From there it was a quick run up Lake Hollywood Drive to a neighborhood of homes clustered on the hills surrounding the reservoir and the Mulholland Dam. They were expensive homes.
He worked his way around the fenced reservoir, stopping only for a moment when he came upon a coyote in the road. The animal’s eyes caught the headlights and glowed brightly. It then turned and sauntered slowly across the road, disappearing into the brush. It was in no hurry to get out of the way, almost daring Bosch to do something. It reminded him of his days on patrol, when he saw the same challenge in the eyes of most of the young men he encountered on the street.
After passing the reservoir he took Tahoe Drive farther up into the hills and then connected with the eastern terminus of Mulholland Drive. There was an unofficial overlook of the city here. It was posted with NO PARKING and OVERLOOK CLOSED AT DARK signs. But these were routinely ignored at all hours of the day and night.
Bosch pulled in behind the grouping of official vehicles-the Forensics van and the coroner’s wagon as well as several marked and unmarked police cars. There was an outer perimeter of yellow police tape surrounding the crime scene and inside this boundary was a silver Porsche Carrera with its hood open. It had been sectioned off by more yellow tape and this told Bosch that it was most likely the victim’s car.
Bosch parked and got out. A patrol officer assigned to the outer perimeter took down his name and badge number-2997-and allowed him under the yellow tape. He approached the crime scene. Two banks of portable lights had been erected on either side of the body, which was in the center of a clearing that looked down upon the city. As Bosch approached he saw forensics techs and coroner’s people working on and around the body. A tech with a video camera was documenting the scene as well.
“Harry, over here.”
Bosch turned and saw Detective Jerry Edgar leaning against the hood of an unmarked detective cruiser. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and appeared to be just waiting. He pushed himself off the car as Bosch came over.
Edgar had been Bosch’s partner once, back when he had worked in Hollywood Division. Back then Bosch was a team leader on the homicide squad. Now Edgar was in that position.
“Been waiting on somebody from RHD,” Edgar said. “Didn’t know it would be you, man.”
“It’s me.”
“You working this solo?”
“No, my partner’s on the way.”
“Your new partner, right? I haven’t heard from you since that mess over in Echo Park last year.”
“Yeah. So what do you have here?”
Bosch didn’t want to talk about Echo Park with Edgar. With anyone, as a matter of fact. He wanted to stay focused on the case at hand. It was his first call out since his transfer to Homicide Special. He knew there would be a lot of people watching his moves. Some of them would be people hoping he would fail.
Edgar turned so that Bosch could see what was spread out on the trunk of the car. Bosch took out glasses and put them on as he leaned in close to look. There wasn’t a lot of light but he could see an array of evidence bags. The bags separately contained items taken from the body. These included a wallet, a key ring and a clip-on name tag. There was also a money clip with a thick fold of currency and a BlackBerry that was still on, its green light flashing and ready to transmit calls its owner would never make or receive.
“The coroner’s guy just gave me all of this,” Edgar said. “They should be done with the body in about ten minutes.”
Bosch picked up the bag containing the ID tag and angled it toward the light. It said Saint Agatha’s Clinic for Women. On it was a photograph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes. It identified him as Dr. Stanley Kent. He was smiling at the camera. Bosch noticed that the ID tag was also a swipe key that could open locked doors.
“You talk to Kiz much?” Edgar asked.
It was a reference to Bosch’s former partner, who had transferred after Echo Park to a management job in the OCP-the office of the chief of police.
“Not too much. But she’s doing fine.”
Bosch moved on to the other evidence bags and wanted to move the conversation away from Kiz Rider and onto the case at hand.
“Why don’t you run down what you’ve got for me, Jerry?” he said.
“Happy to,” Edgar said. “The stiff was found about an hour ago. As you can see from the signs out on the street, there is no parking up here and no loitering after dark. Hollywood always has a patrol swing by here a few times a night to chase lookyloos away. Keeps the rich locals up here happy. I am told that house over there is Madonna’s. Or it was.”
He pointed to a sprawling mansion about a hundred yards from the clearing. The moonlight silhouetted a tower rising from the structure. The mansion’s exterior was striped in alternating hues of rust and yellow like a Tuscan church. It was on a promontory that afforded anyone looking through its windows a magnificent, sweeping view of the city below. Bosch imagined the pop star up in the tower looking down on the city that lay at her command.
Bosch looked back at his old partner, ready for the rest of the report.
“The patrol car swings around about eleven and sees the Porsche with the hood open. Engine’s in the back of those Porsches, Harry. It means the trunk was open.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, so you knew that already. Anyway, the patrol car pulls up, they don’t see anybody in or around the Porsche, so the two officers get out. One of them walks out into the clearing and finds our guy. He’s facedown and has two in the back of the head. An execution, clean and simple.”
Bosch nodded at the ID tag in the evidence bag.
“And this is the guy, Stanley Kent?”
“Looks that way. The tag and the wallet both say he’s Stanley Kent, forty-two years old from just around the corner on Arrowhead Drive. We ran the plate on the Porsche and it comes back to a business called K and K Medical Physicists. I just ran Kent through the box and he came up pretty clean. He’s got a few speeding tickets on the Porsche but that’s it. A straight shooter.”
Bosch nodded as he registered all the information.
“You are going to get no grief from me, taking over this case, Harry,” Edgar said. “I got one partner in court this month and I left my other one at the first scene we caught today-a three-bagger with a fourth victim on life support at Queen of Angels.”
Bosch remembered that Hollywood ran its homicide squad in three-man teams instead of the traditional partnerships.
“Any chance the three-bagger is connected to this?”
He pointed to the gathering of technicians around the body on the overlook.
“No, that’s a straight gang shoot-’em-up,” Edgar said. “I think this thing is a whole different ball game and I’m happy for you to take it.”
“Good,” Bosch said. “I’ll cut you loose as soon as I can. Anybody look in the car yet?”
“Not really. Waiting on you.”
“Okay. Anybody go to the victim’s house on Arrowhead?”
“No on that, too.”
“Anybody knock on any doors?”
“Not yet. We were working the scene first.”
Edgar obviously had decided early that the case would be passed to RHD. It bothered Bosch that nothing had been done but at the same time, he knew it would be his and Ferras’s to work fresh from the start, and that wasn’t a bad thing. There was a long history in the department of cases getting damaged or bungled while in transition from divisional to downtown detective teams.
He looked at the lighted clearing and counted a total of five men working on or near the body for the forensics and coroner’s teams.
“Well,” he said, “since you’re working the crime scene first, did anybody look for foot impressions around the body before you let the techs approach?”
Bosch couldn’t keep the tone of annoyance out of his voice.
