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He raised his gun to aim, but Rawls fired first, and Bosch felt a searing pain spark through his brain.
37
BOSCH’S VOICE WAS cut off by a loud crashing sound followed by the squeal of tires on asphalt and then a final sound of crunching metal.
“Harry!” Ballard yelled into the phone.
She got no response.
“Harry? Are you there?”
There was still no answer, and then she heard his voice, but it was muffled and distant. She couldn’t make out the words.
“Harry? Can you hear me?”
Then she heard him clearly, though it was also obvious he was not talking into the phone.
“No, no, no, no …”
And then came the shots. Clear, sharp reports. First one shot, followed by the shattering of glass, then a hail of gunfire. Too many shots in too few seconds to count. And then a final shot, muffled and spaced long enough after the others to be the coup de grâce, the kill shot.
“Harry!” Ballard yelled.
She yanked the wheel of her car into a U-turn. She hit the siren and code 3 lights hidden in the front grille and took off toward Santa Monica.
PART 2
HALLOWED GROUND
38
BOSCH WAS SITTING sideways on the examination bed, not wanting to lie down, because that might lead to him being admitted and spending the night, and he had no intention of staying any longer than the minimum. UCLA Santa Monica might be a great hospital, but he wanted to get home to his own bed.
He needed to call his daughter but he didn’t have his phone. It had flown from his hand when his car was hit from behind. He waited for the ER doctor to come through the curtain, do a final check, and hand him a prescription slip before releasing him.
His injuries were minor, though technically he had been shot. He had bruised ribs, a knee contusion, and a handful of minor lacerations from flying glass, and a bullet had clipped the upper helix of his left ear. It was about as near a miss as he could possibly have had. If the bullet had been an inch more on target, he’d be spending the night in the morgue. For that he was certainly thankful. Otherwise, he was mostly upset. Ted Rawls was dead and whatever secrets he kept had probably died with him.
The wound had been cleaned and stitched closed with black thread by the ER physician, who needlessly warned him not tosleep with that ear on the pillow. Bosch could hear lots of activity and medical talk in the other curtained examination bays, but no one had been in to see him in more than twenty minutes. He decided he would wait another fifteen before he’d part the curtains and tell the supervising nurse he had to get back to work.
But that didn’t happen. Five minutes before his self-imposed deadline, the curtain opened and Maddie entered, still in her uniform. She was far off her beat.
“Dad!”
He stood as she hurried to him. They hugged tightly while he did his best to protect his damaged ear.
“Are you okay? Renée called me.”
“I’m good. Everything’s fine. Really.”
She pulled back and looked first at his face and then his ear.
“That’s gotta hurt.”
“Uh, at first it did, but now it’s okay. The doctor said there aren’t a lot of nerve endings up there.”
The doctor had told him no such thing but Bosch didn’t want his daughter to worry.
“And the guy, he’s dead?” she asked.
