The Black Box Read Free Page B

We’ve got a job here. Keep the watch.”
    He pointed down the alley toward the gathering of onlookers.
    “And make sure we keep those people back.”
    The guardsmen did as they were told and Drummond headed out of the alley to radio Dowler and get the light truck.
    Bosch’s pager buzzed on his hip. He reached to his belt and snapped the device out of its holder. The number on the screen was the command post, and he knew he and Edgar were about to be given another call. They hadn’t even started here and they were going to be yanked. He didn’t want that. He put the pager back on his belt.
    Bosch walked over to the first fence that started from the back corner of the appliance shop. It was a wood-slat barrier that was too tall for him to look over. But he noticed it had been freshly painted. There was no graffiti, not even on the alley side of it. He noted this because it indicated that there was a homeowner on the other side who cared enough to whitewash the graffiti. Maybe it was the kind of person who kept their own watch and might have heard or even seen something.
    From there he crossed the alley and dropped to a squatting position at the far corner of the crime scene. Like a fighter in his corner, waiting to come out. He started playing the beam of his flashlight across the broken concrete-and-dirt surface ofthe alley. At the oblique angle, the light refracted off the myriad surface planes, giving him a unique view. Soon enough he saw the glint of something shiny and held the beam on it. He moved in on the spot and found a brass bullet casing lying in the gravel.
    He got down on his hands and knees so he could look closely at the casing without moving it. He moved the light in close and saw that it was a 9mm brass casing with the familiar Remington brand mark stamped on the flat base. There was an indentation from the firing pin on the primer. Bosch also noted that the casing was lying on top of the gravel bed. It had not been stepped on or run over in what he assumed was a busy alleyway. That told him that the casing had not been there long.
    Bosch was looking around for something to mark the casing’s location with when Edgar stepped back into the crime scene. He was carrying a toolbox and that told Bosch that they weren’t going to get any help.
    “Harry, what’d you find?”
    “Nine-millimeter Remington. Looks fresh.”
    “Well, at least we found something useful.”
    “Maybe. You get the CP?”
    Edgar put down the toolbox. It was heavy. It contained the equipment they had quickly gathered in the kit room at Hollywood Station once they heard they could not count on any forensic backup in the field.
    “Yeah, I got through but it’s no-can-do from the command post. Everybody’s otherwise engaged. We’re on our own out here, brother.”
    “No coroner, either?”
    “No coroner. The National Guard’s coming with a truck for her. A troop transporter.”
    “You gotta be kidding me. They’re going to move her in a fucking flatbed?”
    “Not only that, we got our next call already. A crispy critter. Fire Department found him in a burned-out taco shop on MLK.”
    “Goddamnit, we just got here.”
    “Yeah, well, we’re up again and we’re closest to MLK. So they want us to clear and steer.”
    “Yeah, well, we’re not done here. Not by a long shot.”
    “Nothing we can do about it, Harry.”
    Bosch was obstinate.
    “I’m not leaving yet. There’s too much to do here and if we leave it till next week or whenever, then we’ve lost the crime scene. We can’t do that.”
    “We don’t have a choice, partner. We don’t make the rules.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Okay, tell you what. We give it fifteen minutes. We take a few pictures, bag the casing, put the body on the truck, and then we shuffle on down the road. Come Monday, or whenever this is over, it isn’t even going to be our case anymore. We go back to Hollywood after everything calms down and this thing stays right here. Somebody else’s