Michael Connelly - Angels Flight

“Suspect unknown. Sniper fire on a marked investigative services unit. Request immediate backup. Request air surveillance of rooftops east and west sides of Western. Extreme caution is advised.”

He clicked off the transmit button. While the dispatch operator repeated most of what he had just said to other units, he told Edgar that they had gone far enough and that he could stop.

“I think it came from the East Side,” Bosch said to Edgar. “Those apartments with the flat roof. I think I heard it in my right ear first.”

Edgar exhaled loudly. His hands were gripped so tight on the steering wheel now that the knuckles were as white as Bosch’s.

“You know what?” he said. “I think I’m never going to drive one of these fucking targets again.”

YOU guys are late. I was thinkin’ about goin’ home, already.”

Jenkins Pelfry was a big man, with a barrel chest and a complexion so dark it was hard to make out the lines of his face. He sat on the top of a small secretary’s desk in the anteroom of his office suite in the Union Law Center. There was a small television on a credenza to his left. It was tuned to a news channel. The view on the screen was from a helicopter circling a scene somewhere in the city.

Bosch and Edgar had arrived forty minutes late for their noon appointment.

“Sorry, Mr. Pelfry,” Bosch said. “We ran into a little problem on the way over. Appreciate you staying.”

“Lucky for you I lost track of the time. I was watching the tube here. Things are not looking too good at the moment. It’s looking a little testy out there.”

He indicated the television with one of his huge hands. Bosch looked again and realized the scene that the helicopter was circling was the scene he and Edgar had just left – the search for the sniper who had taken the shot at their car. On the tube Bosch could see the sidewalks on Western were now crowded with people watching the cops moving from building to building. More officers were arriving on the scene and these new officers were wearing riot helmets.

“These guys oughta just get out of there. They’re baitin’ the crowd. This isn’t good. Just back the hell out, man. Live to fight another day.”

“Tried that last time,” Edgar said. “Didn’t work.”

The three of them watched for a few more moments in silence, then Pelfry reached over and turned off the tube. He looked at his visitors.

“What can I do for you?”

Bosch introduced himself and his partner.

“I suppose you know why we’re here. We’re working the Howard Elias case. And we know you were doing some work for him on the Black Warrior thing. We could use your help, Mr. Pelfry. If we find who did this, we maybe have a shot at cooling this place off.”

Bosch nodded at the blank tube of the television to underline his point.

“You want my help,” Pelfry said. “Yeah, I worked for Eli – I always called him Eli. But I don’t know what I can do for you.”

Bosch looked at Edgar and his partner made a subtle nod of his head.

“Mr. Pelfry, our conversation here has to be kept confidential. My partner and I are following an investigative trail that indicates that whoever killed Stacey Kincaid may have also killed your employer. We think Elias got too close to the truth. If you know what he knew, then you could be in danger yourself.”

Pelfry laughed at him – a short, loud snort. Bosch looked at Edgar and then back at Pelfry.

“No offense but that’s about the worst pickup line I ever heard,” Pelfry said.

“What are you talking about?”

He pointed at the television once more. Bosch noticed how white the underside of his hand was.

“I told you I been watchin’ the news. Channel Four says you guys are already measuring a cell for somebody. One of your own.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re sweatin’ a suspect over at Parker right now.”

“Did they have a name?”

“They didn’t say a name but they knew it. They said it was one of the Black Warrior cops. The lead detective, in fact.”

Bosch was dumbfounded. The lead detective was Frankie Sheehan.

“That’s impos – can I use your phone?”

“Help yourself. By the way, do you know you have glass in your hair?”

Bosch brushed his hand through his hair while he stepped to the desk and picked up the phone. While he punched in the number of Irving’s conference room Pelfry watched. The phone was answered immediately.

“Let me talk to Lindell.”

“This is Lindell.”

“It’s Bosch. What’s this on Channel Four about a suspect?”

“I know. I’m checking into it. Somebody leaked. All I can say is that I updated Irving and the next thing I know it’s on TV. I think he’s your leak, not Chas – ”

“I don’t care about that. What are you saying, it’s Sheehan? That’s im – ”

“I’m not saying that. That’s the leak talking and I think the leak is the goddamned deputy chief.”

“Have you brought Sheehan in?”

“Yeah, we got him in here and we’re talking to him. Strictly voluntary at this point. He thinks he can talk his way out of the box. We got all day and then some. We’ll see if he can.”

“Why Sheehan? Why’d you bring him in?”

“I thought you knew. He was on top of Chastain’s list this morning. Elias sued him once before. Five years ago. He shot some asshole while trying to make an arrest on a murder. Put five holes in him. The widow sued and eventually won a hundred grand – even though to me it looked like a righteous shoot. In fact your buddy Chastain was the one who investigated the shoot and cleared him.”

“I remember the case. It was a righteous shoot. But that didn’t matter to the jury. It was just a little while after Rodney King.”

“Okay, well before it went to trial, Sheehan threatened Elias. During a depo, in front of the lawyers, the widow and, most important, the steno girl. She got it down word for word and it was in the depo which was in the file that Chastain and his people read yesterday. The threat was that Sheehan told Elias that someday when he least expected it, somebody was going to come up from behind and put him down like a dog. Words to that effect. Words that describe what happened on Angels Flight pretty good.”

“Come on, that was five years ago. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Bosch noticed that both Edgar and Pelfry were watching him intently.

“I know it, Bosch. But then you have this new lawsuit on the Black Warrior thing and who’s the lead? Detective Frank Sheehan. On top of that, he uses a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson. And one other thing, we pulled his file. He’s qualified eleven straight years at the range as an expert marksman. And you know the kind of shooting it took on Angels Flight. You take it all into consideration and it put him at the top of the list of people to talk to. So we’re talking to him.”

“The marksman thing is bullshit. They give those pins out like candy at the range. I bet seven or eight out of every ten cops have that ribbon. And eight out of ten cops carry Smith nines. Meantime, Irving – or whoever the leak is – is throwing him to the wolves. Sacrificing him to the media so maybe he can stop the city from burning.”

“He’s only a sacrifice if he didn’t do it.”

There was a cynical casualness in Lindell’s voice that Bosch didn’t like.

“You better take it slow,” Bosch said. “Because I guarantee you Frankie wasn’t the shooter.”

“Frankie? You guys friends, are you?”

“We were partners. A long time back.”

“Well, it’s funny. He doesn’t seem so fond of you now. My guys tell me that the first thing he said when they knocked on his door was ‘Fuck Harry Bosch.’ He thinks you ratted him out, man. He doesn’t know that we have the threat in the deposition. Or he doesn’t remember it.”