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The song went eight minutes long, and when it was over, Bosch turned off the radio so he could call Ballard again and see if she was heading to Montana Avenue yet. But before he could make the call, he saw the light inside the DGP store change. The far recesses of the store behind the shipping counter were momentarily illuminated, and Bosch guessed that someone had just opened the back door of the shop and let in daylight. He immediately started the engine and pulled out of the coveted parking space.
This time he drove by the western entrance to the alley rather than turning in. This gave him a two-second glimpse down the straightaway, and he saw a car parked about halfway down the alley, which put it in the vicinity of the DGP store. The car had its trunk open, preventing Bosch from identifying its make or seeing whether the plate number matched Rawls’s.
He continued on to Idaho Avenue, took a left through a residential neighborhood, and drove down to 17th, where he turned left again and came up on the other end of the alley. This time he could see the distinctive BMW grille and the metallic-blue paint finish on the hood. Ballard had earlier texted him a description of a blue 2021 BMW 5 Series with a vanity plate reading DGP1. The car was too far down the alley for him to read the plate on the front bumper, but he could tell that it was only four characters long. He felt confident that it was Rawls’s BMW and that he was inside the shop.
Because the BMW was pointed east, Bosch assumed that Rawls would drive out of the alley on the east side when he left his business. He put his car in reverse and backed down 17th Street and into the driveway of the first home south of the alley. The spot gave him a direct view of the alley’s exit.
He had just put the transmission into park when a call came in from Ballard.
“Rawls is here,” he said. “His car is in the alley behind the shop and I think he might be about to take off. Where are you? Do you have the warrant?”
“I got it signed,” Ballard said. “I’m just leaving now.”
“If he takes off, it’s going to be tough to run a one-car follow on a guy probably looking for it.”
“I understand. I’m on my way.”
Bosch disconnected and focused his attention on the alley exit. He didn’t like not having eyes directly on the BMW, but he also didn’t want to leave his vehicle and risk being seen by Rawls or losing him if he drove off and Bosch was separated from his car.
Because he was looking to the right through the windshield,he didn’t see the man come up on his left side and rap his fist on the roof of the car. Bosch startled and turned.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. “But do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”
“Uh, I’m waiting for somebody,” Bosch said.
Bosch turned from him to check the alley, then looked back.
“Someone living in this neighborhood?” the man asked.
“It’s not really any of your business,” Bosch said.
“Well, I’m going to make it my business. This is my driveway, and I want to know why you’re sitting in it.”
“Sorry about that. I’ll move out onto the street.”
He started the engine.
“That’s not good enough,” the man said. “If you’re hanging around here, then I need to know why or I’m going to call the police.”
“Mister, I am the police,” Bosch said.
He turned from the man and dropped the car into gear. He drove out onto the street and took a right. He cruised slowly past the alley and took a quick glance toward the BMW.
It wasn’t there.
His eyes were drawn to a set of brake lights flaring at the far end of the alley as a car turned right onto 16th Street.
“Shit,” Bosch said.
He hit the gas and drove up to Montana. At the stop sign he crept the car out into the intersection and looked down to his left. He saw the blue BMW pull out onto Montana and head west. Bosch did the same and started to follow, maintaining a block-and-a-half distance from the BMW. He guessed that Rawls was heading to Lincoln Boulevard, which in turn would take him to the 10 freeway and then anywhere he wanted to go.
He called Ballard again.
“He’s on the move,” he said. “I think he’s heading to the freeway.”
“Where should I go?”
“If he gets on the ten, he’ll be heading toward the four-oh-five.”
