But Bosch quickly realized he knew the area and the liquor store that was their destination for a different riot and a different reason.

Fortune Liquors was already cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. A small number of onlookers was gathered, but murder in this neighborhood was not that much of a curiosity. The people here had seen it before-many times. Bosch pulled their sedan into the middle of a grouping of three patrol cars and parked. After going to the truck to retrieve his briefcase he locked the car up and headed to the tape.

Bosch and Ferras gave their names and badge numbers to a patrol officer with the crime scene attendance log and then ducked under the tape. As they approached the front door of the store, Bosch put his hand into his right jacket pocket and pulled out a book of matches. It was old and worn. On the front cover it said Fortune Liquors and carried the address of the small yellow building in front of them. He thumbed the book open. There was only one match missing, and on the inside cover was the fortune that came with every matchbook: Happy Is the Man Who Finds Refuge in Himself Bosch had carried the matchbook with him for almost twelve years. Not so much for the fortune, though he did believe in what it said. It was because of the missing match and what it reminded him of.

"Harry, what's up?" Ferras asked.

Bosch realized he had paused in his approach to the store.

"Nothing, I've just been here before."

"When? On a case?"

"Sort of. But it was a long time ago. Let's go in."

Bosch walked past his partner and entered the open front door of the liquor store.

Several patrol officers and a sergeant were standing inside. The store was long and narrow. It was a shotgun design and essentially three aisles wide. Bosch could see down the center aisle to a rear hallway and an open back door leading to a parking area out back. The cold beverage cases ran along the wall on the left aisle and then across the back of the store. The liquor was on the right aisle, while the middle aisle was reserved for wine, with red on the right and white on the left.

Bosch saw two more patrol officers in the rear hallway and he guessed they were holding the witness in what was probably a rear storage room or office. He put his briefcase down on the floor by the door. He unsnapped the locks and pulled out two pairs of latex gloves. He gave a set to Ferras and they put them on.

The sergeant noticed the arrival of the two detectives and broke away from his men.

"Ray Lucas," he said by way of greeting. "We have one vic down behind the counter here. His name is John Li, spelled L-I. Happened, we think, about an hour ago. Looks like a robbery where the guy just didn't want to leave a witness. A lot of us down here in 77th knew Mr. Li. He was a good old guy."

Lucas signaled Bosch and Ferras over to the counter. Bosch held his coat so it wouldn't touch anything when he went around and squeezed into the small s.p.a.ce behind the counter. He squatted down like a baseball catcher to look closer at the dead man on the floor. Ferras leaned in over him like an umpire.

The man on the floor was Asian and looked to be almost seventy. He was on his back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. His lips were pulled back from clenched teeth, almost in a sneer. There was blood on his lips, cheek, and chin. It had been coughed up as he had died. The front of his shirt was soaked with his blood and Bosch could see at least three bullet entry points in his chest. His right leg was bent at the knee and folded awkwardly under his other leg. He had obviously been shot and collapsed on the spot where he had been standing.

"No casings that we can see," Lucas said. "The shooter cleaned those up and then he was smart enough to pull the disc out of the recorder in the back."

Bosch nodded. The patrol guys always wanted to be helpful but it was information Bosch didn't need yet. There was much to do first.

Bosch studied the body silently. He was pretty sure it was the same man he had encountered in here so many years before. He was even in the same spot on the floor behind the counter. And Bosch could see a soft pack of cigarettes in the shirt pocket.

He noticed that the victim's right hand had blood smeared on it. This was not unusual. From earliest childhood you touch your hand to an injury to try to protect it and make it better. It's a natural instinct. This victim had done the same here, most likely grabbing at his chest after the first shot hit him.

There was a substantial spatial separation between the bullet wounds. At least four inches separated the shots as they formed the points of a triangle. Bosch knew that three quick shots from close range would usually have made a tighter cl.u.s.ter. This led him to believe that the victim had likely been shot once and then fell to the floor. The killer had then probably leaned over the counter and shot him twice more, creating the spread.

The slugs tore through the victim's chest, causing ma.s.sive damage to the heart and lungs. The blood expectorated through the mouth showed that death was not immediate. The victim had tried to breathe. After all his years working cases Bosch was sure of one thing. There was no easy way to die.

"No headshot," Bosch said.

"Right," Ferras said. "What's it mean?"

Bosch realized he had been musing out loud.

"Maybe nothing. Just seems like three in the chest, the shooter wanted no doubt. But then no headshot to be sure."

"Like a contradiction."

"Maybe."

Bosch took his eyes off the body for the first time and looked around from his low angle. His eyes immediately held on a gun that was in a holster attached to the underside of the counter. It was located for easy access in case of a robbery or worse, but it had not even been pulled from its holster.

"We've got a gun under here," Bosch said. "Looks like a forty-five in a holster, but the old man never got the chance to pull it."

"The shooter came in quick and shot the old guy before he could reach for his piece," Ferras said. "Maybe he knew he was strapped."

"The gun's gotta be new," Lucas said. "The guy's been robbed at least six times in the last three years since I've been here. As far as I know, he never pulled a gun."

Bosch nodded and turned his head to speak over his shoulder to the sergeant.

"Tell me about the witness," he said.

"Uh, she's not really a witness," Lucas said. "It's Mrs. Li, the wife. She came in and found her husband when she brought the dinner in. We've got her in the back room but you'll need a translator. We called the ACU, asked for Chinese to go."

Bosch took another look at the dead man's face then stood up, and both his knees cracked loudly. Lucas had jumped the gun by calling the Asian Crime Unit. That was supposed to be Bosch's call, but the department had so many specialty units that a patrol sergeant like Lucas was probably always quick to make use of whatever seemed necessary.

"You speak Chinese, Sarge?"

"No, that's why I called ACU."

"Then how did you know to ask for Chinese and not Korean or maybe even Vietnamese?"

"I've been on the job twenty-six years, Detective. And-"

"And you know Chinese when you see it?"

"No, what I'm saying is I have a hard time making it through a shift these days without a little jolt. Once a day I stop by here to pick up one of those energy drinks, you know? Five-hour boost, it gives you. Anyway, I got to know Mr. Li a little bit from coming in. He told me he and his wife came from China and that's how I knew."

Bosch nodded and was embarra.s.sed.

"I guess I'll have to try one of those," he said. "Did Mrs. Li call nine-one-one?"

"No, like I said, she'd doesn't have much English. From what I got from dispatch, Mrs. Li called her son and he's the one who called nine-one-one."

Bosch stepped out and around the counter. Ferras lingered behind it, squatting to get the same view of the body and the gun that Bosch had just had.

"Where is the son?" Bosch asked.

"He's coming but he works up in the Valley," Lucas said. "Should be here any time now."

Bosch pointed to the counter.

"When he gets here you and your people keep him away from this."

"Got it."

"And we're going to have to try to keep this place as clear as possible now."

Lucas got the message and took his officers out of the store. Finished behind the counter, Ferras joined Bosch near the front door, where he was looking up at the camera mounted on the ceiling at the center of the store.

"Why don't you check out the back?" Bosch said. "See if the guy really pulled the disc and look in on our witness."

"Got it."

"Oh, and find the thermostat. Turn the air down. It's too warm in here and I don't want that body to turn."

Ferras headed down the center aisle. Bosch turned to look back at the counter to take it all in as a whole. The counter was about twelve feet long. The cash register was set up at the center with an open s.p.a.ce for customers to put down their purchases. On one side of this were racks of gum and candy. On the other side of the register were other point-of-purchase products like energy drinks, a plastic case containing cheap cigars, and a lotto display case. Overhead was a wire mesh storage box for cigarette cartons.

Behind the counter were shelves where high-end liquors were stored and had to be asked for by customers. Bosch saw six rows of Hennessy. He knew the high-priced cognac was favored by high-rolling gang members. He was pretty sure the location of Fortune Liquors would put it into the territory of the Hoover Street Crips.

Bosch noticed two things and stepped closer to the counter.

The cash register had been turned askew on the counter, revealing a square of grit and dust on the Formica where it had been located. Bosch reasoned that the killer had pulled it toward him while he took the money from the drawer. This was a significant a.s.sumption because it meant that Mr. Li had not opened the drawer and given the robber the money. This likely meant he had already been shot. This could be significant in an eventual prosecution in proving intent to kill. More importantly it gave Bosch a better idea of what had happened in the store.

Bosch reached into his pocket and pulled the gla.s.ses he wore for close-in work. He put them on, and without touching anything, leaned over the counter to study the cash register's keyboard. He saw no b.u.t.ton that said OPEN OPEN or any other obvious indication of how to open the cash drawer. Bosch realized he was unsure how to open the register. How did the killer? or any other obvious indication of how to open the cash drawer. Bosch realized he was unsure how to open the register. How did the killer?

He straightened back up and looked at the shelves of bottles on the wall behind the counter. The Hennessy was front and center with easy access for Mr. Li when Hoover boys came in. But the rows were flush. No bottle was missing.

Again Bosch leaned forward across the counter. This time he tried to reach across to one of the bottles of Hennessy. He realized that if he put his hand down on the counter for balance he would be able to reach the row and take one of the bottles easily.

"Harry?"

Bosch straightened back up and turned to his partner.

"The sergeant was right," Ferras said. "The camera system records to disc. There's no disc in the machine. It was either pulled or he wasn't recording to disc and the camera was just for show."

"Probably not likely. Are there any back-up discs?"

"There's a couple back there on the counter but it's a one-disc system. It just records over and over on the same disc. I worked robbery way back when and we saw a lot of these. They last about a day and then it records over it. You pull the disc if you want to check something but you have to do it in the same day."

"Okay, make sure we get those extra discs."

Lucas came back in through the front door.

"ACU is here," he said. "Should I send him in?"

Bosch looked at Lucas for a long moment before answering.

"No," he finally said. "I'll be right out."

Three

Bosch stepped out of the store into the sunlight. It was still warm, though it was getting late in the day. The dry Santa Ana winds were pa.s.sing through the city. Fires in the hills had put a pallor of smoke in the air. Bosch could feel the air drying the sweat on the back of his neck.

He was almost immediately met outside the door by a plainclothes detective.

"Detective Bosch?"

"That's me."

"Detective Steven Chu, ACU. Patrol called me down. How can I be of help?"

Chu was short and slightly built. There was no trace of accent in his voice. Bosch signaled him to follow as he ducked back under the tape and headed to his car. He took off his suit jacket as he went. He took the matchbook out and put it in his pants pocket, then folded the jacket inside out and put it in a clean cardboard box he kept in the trunk of his work car.

"Hot in there," he told Chu.

"Hot out here, too," Chu said.

Bosch opened the middle b.u.t.ton of his shirt and stuck his tie inside so it wouldn't get in the way.

"Okay, what we've got is the old man who has run this store for a number of years is dead behind the counter. Shot at least three times in what looks like a robbery. His wife, who does not speak English, came in the store and found him. She called their son, who was the one who called it in. We obviously need to interview her and that's where you come in. We may also need help with the son when he gets here. That's about all I know at the moment."

"And we're sure they're Chinese?"

"Pretty sure. The patrol sergeant who made the call knew the victim, Mr. Li."

"Do you know which dialect Mrs. Li speaks?"

They headed back to the tape.

"Nope. Is that going to be a problem?"

"I am familiar with the five main Chinese dialects and proficient in Cantonese and Mandarin. These are the two we most often encounter here in L.A."

This time Bosch held the tape up for Chu so he could go back under.

"Which are you?"

"I was born here, Detective. But my family is from Hong Kong and I was raised speaking Mandarin at home."

"Yeah? I have a kid who lives in Hong Kong with her mother. She's getting good at Mandarin."

"Good for her. I hope it will be useful to her." They entered the store and Bosch gave Chu a quick view of the body behind the counter and then walked him to the rear of the store. They were met by Ferras and then Chu was used to make introductions to Mrs. Li.

The newly widowed woman appeared to be in shock. Bosch saw no indication that she had shed a single tear for her husband so far. She seemed to be in a disa.s.sociated state that Bosch had seen before. Her husband was lying dead in the front of the store. She was surrounded by strangers who spoke a different language. Bosch guessed she was waiting for her son to arrive, and then the tears would fall.

Chu was gentle with her and conversational at first. Bosch believed that they were speaking Mandarin. His daughter had told him that Mandarin was more sing-song and less guttural than Cantonese and some of the other dialects.

After a few minutes Chu broke away to report to Bosch and Ferras.