shop and Bosch saw a row of smoked ducks hanging whole, by their necks.

Farther up the road he saw the Hollywood Freeway overpass, the dark windows of the old sheriff’s jail and the Criminal Courts building behind it. To the left of that he could see the City Hall tower. Black construction tarps hung around the top floors. It looked like some kind of mourning gesture but he knew the tarps were to hold debris from falling while earthquake repairs were made. Looking past City Hall, Bosch could see the Glass House. Parker Center, police headquarters.

“Tell me what your mission is,” Hinojos said quietly from behind him. “I’d like to hear you put it in words.”

He sat back down and tried to think of a way to explain himself but finally just shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Well, I want you to think about that. Your mission. What is it really? Think about that.”

“What’s your mission, Doctor?”

“That’s not our concern here.”

“Of course it is.”

“Look, Detective, this is the only personal question I will answer. These dialogues are not to be about me. They are about you. My mission, I believe, is to help the men and women of this department. That’s the narrow focus. And by doing that, on a grander scale I help the community, I help the people of this city. The better the cops are that we have out on the street, the better we all are. The safer we all are. Okay?”

“That’s fine. When I think about my mission, do you want me to shorten it to a couple sentences like that and rehearse it to the point that it sounds like I’m reading out of the dictionary?”

“Mr.—uh, Detective Bosch, if you want to be cute and contentious the whole time, we are not going to get anywhere, which means you are not going to get back to your job anytime soon. Is that what you’re looking for here?”

He raised his hands in surrender. She looked down at the yellow legal pad on the desk. With her eyes off him, he was able to study her. Carmen Hinojos had tiny brown hands she kept on the desk in front of her. No rings on either hand. She held an expensive-looking pen in her right hand. Bosch always thought expensive pens were used by people overly concerned with image. But maybe he was wrong about her. She wore her dark brown hair tied back. She wore glasses with thin tortoiseshell frames. She should have had braces when she was a kid but didn’t. She looked up from the pad and their eyes locked.

“I am told this inci—this…situation coincided with or was close to the time of the dissolving of a romantic relationship.”

“Told by who?”

“It’s in the background material given to me. The sources of this material are not important.”

“Well, they are important because you’ve got bad sources. It had nothing to do with what happened. The dissolving, as you call it, was almost three months ago.”

“The pain of these things can last much longer than that. I know this is personal and may be difficult but I think we should talk about this. The reason is that it will help give me a basis for your emotional state at the time the assault took place. Is that a problem?”

Bosch waved her on with his hand.

“How long did this relationship last?”

“About a year.”

“Marriage?”

“No.”

“Was it talked about?”

“No, not really. Never out in the open.”

“Did you live together?”

“Sometimes. We both kept our places.”

“Is the separation final?”

“I think so.”

Saying it out loud seemed to be the first time Bosch acknowledged that Sylvia Moore was gone from his life for good.

“Was this separation by mutual agreement?”

He cleared his throat. He didn’t want to talk about this but he wanted it over with.

“I guess you could say it was mutual agreement, but I didn’t know about it until she was packed. You know, three months ago we were holding each other in bed while the house was shaking apart on the pad. You could say she was gone before the aftershocks ended.”

“They still haven’t.”

“Just a figure of speech.”

“Are you saying the earthquake was the cause of the breakup of this relationship?”

“No, I’m not saying that. All I’m saying is that’s when it happened. Right after. She’s a teacher up in the Valley and her school got wrecked. The kids were moved to other schools and the district didn’t need as many teachers. They offered sabbaticals and she took one. She left town.”

“Was she scared of