Angle of Investigation: Three Harry Bosch Short Stories by Michael Connelly Page B

the screen. The ID was blocked but he took the call. It was the chief of police. Bosch had known him for years and had even worked cases with him. He had come up through the ranks, including a long stint in RHD as both an investigator and supervisor. He had been chief for only a couple years and still had the support of the rank and file.
    “Harry, it’s Marty. What’s your twenty?”
    “We’re on the one-oh-one. We left as soon as I got the word.”
    “I need to clear before the media gets wind of this, which won’t be long now. No need to turn this from a one-ring to a three-ring circus. As you no doubt have been told, the victim is the son of Councilman Irving. The councilman insisted that I bring you into this.”
    “Why?”
    “He hasn’t really expressed his reasons to me. I know you two have a history.”
    “But not a good one. What can you tell me about the case?”
    “Not a lot.”
    He gave Bosch the same summary as Rider had with few additional details.
    “Who’s there from Hollywood?”
    “Glanville and Solomon.”
    Bosch was familiar with them from prior cases and task forces. Both investigators were known for their wide bodies and tall egos. They were called Crate and Barrel and enjoyed it. They were flashy dressers with big pinkie rings. And as far as Bosch knew, they were competent detectives. If they were about to wrap the investigation as a suicide, then they most likely had it right.
    “They will continue under your direction,” the chief said. “I told them personally.”
    “Okay, Chief.”
    “Harry, I need your best work on this. I don’t care about your history. Put it aside. We can’t have the councilman go off and say we laid down on this.”
    “Understood.”
    Bosch was silent for a moment as he thought about what else to ask.
    “Chief, where is the councilman?”
    “We’ve got him down in the lobby.”
    “Did he go into the room?”
    “He insisted. I let him look around without touching anything and then we walked him out.”
    “You shouldn’t have done that, Marty.”
    Bosch knew he was taking a risk telling the chief of police he had done something wrong. It didn’t matter that they used to roll bodies over together.
    “I guess you had no choice,” Bosch added.
    “Just get here as soon as you can and keep me apprised. If you can’t get directly to me, use Lieutenant Rider as a go-between.”
    But he didn’t offer his cell phone’s blocked number, so the message was clear to Bosch. He would no longer be talking directly with his old pal the chief. What wasn’t clear was what the chief was telling Bosch to do about the investigation.
    “Chief,” he said, going formal to make sure it was clear he wasn’t calling on old loyalties. “If I get up there and it’s a suicide, I’m going to call it a suicide. If you want something else, get somebody else.”
    “It’s okay, Harry. Just let the chips fall. It is what it is.”
    “You sure about that? Is that what Irving wants?”
    “It’s what I want.”
    “Got it.”
    “By the way, did Duvall give you the news about the DROP?”
    “Yeah, she told me.”
    “I pushed for the whole five but you got a couple of people on the commission who didn’t like everything in your file. We got what we could, Harry.”
    “I appreciate that.”
    “Good.”
    The chief closed the connection. Bosch barely had time to close his own phone before Chu was on him with questions about what had been said. Harry relayed the conversation as he pulled off the freeway onto Sunset Boulevard and headed west.
    Chu parlayed the report on the chief’s call into a question about what really had been bothering him all morning.
    “What about the lieutenant?” he said. “Were you ever going to tell me what that was about?”
    Bosch played dumb.
    “What what was about?”
    “Don’t play dumb, Harry. When she held you back in the office, what was she saying? She wants me out of the unit, doesn’t she? I never liked her either.”
    Bosch