Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (68)

Bosch could see that he was carrying a gun down at his side.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Bosch said.

He leaned across the center console and groaned as he felt pain in his ribs. He opened the glove box, reached in, and wrapped his hand around his own gun. Leaning back into his seat, he held the gun on his thigh. He had no idea what kind of confrontation was about to occur.

Rawls continued to advance, and as he got closer, he suddenly raised his gun up into a ready-fire position.

“No, no, no, no,” Bosch said.

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 grace, 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 to sleep 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.

“Unfortunately,” Bosch said. “We wanted to talk to him and now …”

“Well, it’s not your fault. Have you talked to FID yet?”

The LAPD’s Force Investigation Division would investigate his actions, even though the shooting was in the city of Santa Monica. SMPD would do its own investigation as well.

“I gave a preliminary interview at the scene,” Bosch said. “But I know there will be more. They’re probably still at the scene, looking for witnesses and cameras and all of that stuff.”

“Do you have to stay overnight?” Maddie asked.

“No. I’ve been waiting for the doctor to come in and discharge me. As soon as he does, I’m out of here. Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol in Hollywood?”

“The captain let me go when we heard what happened. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Thanks, Mads. Tell you what, though, my car is still out there at the scene, and I don’t think I’ll be getting it back for a while. If I can get out of here, you think you can give me a lift home?”

“Of course, but Renée is in the waiting room, and she said she was going to need to talk to you after me. Case stuff, she said.”

“Okay, then I’ll get her to drive me and we can talk in the car.”

“You sure?”