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and was just trying to steer us wrong by planting the suggestion?” Rider asked. “Or do you think he just missed it?”
    “What I know about Garwood is that he is not a stupid man,” Bosch said. “He and fifteen of his men were about to be pulled into federal court on Monday by Elias and dragged right through the shit. He knows any one of those boys might possibly be capable of this. He was protecting them. That’s what I think.”
    “Well, that’s bullshit. Protecting a killer cop? He should be — ”
    “Maybe protecting a killer cop. We don’t know. He didn’t know. I think it was probably a just-in-case move.”
    “Doesn’t matter. If that’s what he was doing, he shouldn’t have a badge.”
    Bosch didn’t say anything to that and Rider wasn’t placated. She shook her head in disgust. Like most cops in the department, she was tired of fuck-ups and cover-ups, of the few tainting the many.
    “What about the scratch on the hand?”
    Edgar and Rider looked at him with arched eyebrows. “What about it?” Edgar said. “Prob’ly happened when the shooter pulled off the watch. One of those with the expanding band. Like a Rolex. Knowing Elias, it was prob’ly a Rolex. Makes a nice motive.”
    “Yeah, if it was a Rolex,” Bosch said.
    He turned and looked out across the city. He doubted Elias wore a Rolex. For all of his flamboyance, Elias was the kind of lawyer who also knew the nuances of his profession. He knew that a lawyer wearing a Rolex might turn jurors off. He wouldn’t wear one. He would have a nice and expensive watch, but not one that advertised itself like a Rolex.
    “What, Harry?” Rider said. “What about the scratch?”
    Bosch looked back at them.
    “Well, whether it was a Rolex or a high-priced watch or not, there’s no blood in the scratch.”
    “Meaning?”
    “There is a lot of blood in there. The bullet wounds bled out, but there was no blood in the scratch. Meaning I don’t think the shooter took the watch. That scratch was made after the heart stopped. I’d say long after. Which means it was made after the shooter left the scene.”
    Rider and Edgar considered this.
    “Maybe,” Edgar finally said. “But that vascular system shit is hard to nail down. Even the coroner isn’t gonna be definitive on that.”
    “Yeah,” Bosch said, nodding. “So call it gut instinct. We can’t take it to court but I know the shooter didn’t take the watch. Or probably the wallet, for that matter.”
    “So what are you saying?” Edgar asked. “Somebody else came along and took it?”
    “Something like that.”
    “You think it was the guy who ran the train — the one who called it in?”
    Bosch looked at Edgar but didn’t answer him. He hiked his shoulders.
    “You think it was one of the RHD guys,” Rider whispered. “Another just-in-case move. Send us down the robbery path, just in case it was one of their own.”
    Bosch looked at her a moment, thinking about how to respond and how thin the ice was where they now stood.
    “Detective Bosch?”
    He turned. It was Sally Tam.
    “We’re clear and the coroner’s people want to bag ’em and tag ’em if that’s okay.”
    “Fine. Hey, listen, I forgot to ask, did you get anything with the laser?”
    “We got a lot. But probably nothing that will help. A lot of people ride that car. We probably got passengers, not the shooter.”
    “Well, you’ll run them anyway, right?”
    “Sure. We’ll put everything through AFIS and DOJ. We’ll let you know.”
    Bosch nodded his thanks.
    “Also, did you collect any keys from the guy?”
    “We did. They’re in one of the brown bags. You want them?”
    “Yeah, we’re probably going to need them.”
    “Be right back.”
    She smiled and went back to the train car. She seemed too cheerful to be at a crime scene. Bosch knew that would wear off after a while.
    “See what I mean?” Edgar said. “They gotta be real.”
    “Jerry,” Bosch said.
    Edgar raised his hands in