Rickard said. "We were going to give it over to RHD but thought what the hell, he was working it up for you. And those boys down there at Parker are just trying to drag him through the shit. Ain't going to help with that."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they can't let it be that the man killed himself. They hafta dissect his life and figure out exactly why he did this and why he done that. The man fucking killed himself. What else is there to say about it?"
"You don't want to know why?"
"I already know why, man. The job. It will get us all in the end. I mean, I know why."
Bosch just nodded again. The other three narcs still hadn't said anything.
"I'm just letting off steam," Rickard said. "Been one of those days. Longest fucking day of my life."
"Where was this?" Harry asked, pointing to the file. "Didn't RHD already go through his desk?"
"Yeah, they did. But that file wasn't in it. See, Cal left it in one of the BANG cars—one of those undercover pieces of shit we use. In the pocket behind the front seat. We never noticed it during the week he was missing because today was the first time any of us rode in the back of the car. We usually take two cars out on operations. But today we all jumped in one for a cruise on the Boulevard after we came in and heard the news. I saw it shoved down into the pocket. It's got a little note inside. Says to give it to you. We knew he was working on something for you 'cause of that night he peeled off early to go meet with you at the Catalina."
Bosch still hadn't opened the file. Just looking at it gave him an uneasy feeling.
"He told me that night at the Catalina that the shoeflies were on him. You guys know why?"
"No, man, we don't know what was going down. We just know they were around. Like flies on shit. IAD went through his desk before RHD. They took files, his phone book, even took the fucking typewriter off the desk. That was the only one we had. But what it was about, we don't know. The guy had a lot of years in and it burns my ass that they were gunning for him. That's what I meant before about the job doing him in. It'll get all of us."
"What about outside the job? His past. His wife said—"
"I don't want to hear about that shit. She's the one who put the suits on him. Made up some story when he walked out and dropped the dime on him. She just wanted to bring him down, you ask me."
"How do you know it was her?"
"Cal told us, man. Said the shoeflies might come around asking questions. Told us it came from her."
Bosch wondered who had been lying, Moore to his partners or Sylvia to himself. He thought about her for a moment and couldn't see it, couldn't see her dropping the dime. But he didn't press it with the four narcs. He finally reached down and picked up the file. Then he left.
He was too curious to wait. He knew that he should not even have the file. That he should pick up a phone and call Frankie Sheehan at RHD. But he unconsciously took a quick look around the car to make sure he was alone and began to read. There was a yellow Post-it note on the first page.
Give to Harry Bosch.
It was not signed or dated. It was stuck to a sheet of paper with five green Field Interview cards held to it with a paper clip. Harry detached the FI cards and shuffled through them. Five different names, all males. Each had been stopped by members of the BANG unit in October or November. They were questioned and released. Each card held little more information than a description, home address, driver's license number, and date and location of the shakedown. The names meant nothing to Bosch.
He looked at the sheet the cards had been attached to. It was marked INTERNAL MEMO and had a subheading that said BANG Intelligence Report #144. It was dated November 1 and had a FILED stamp mark on it that was dated two days after that.
In the course of gathering intelligence on narcotics activities in Reporting District 12 officers Moore, Rickard, Finks, Fedaredo and Montirez have conducted numerous field interrogations of