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“How many murders have you solved, Agent Cavanaugh?” he asked. “Rough estimate.”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Cavanaugh said. “And I wouldn’t keep count.”

“That explains a lot.”

“About what?”

Cavanaugh punched the button for floor seven again even though it was already lit and they were on the way up.

“Cutler wants somebody on the team who knows his way around a cold case,” Bosch said. “Not your fault the FBI doesn’t get too involved in those kinds of cases.”

“Man, you are so wrong,” Cavanaugh responded. “But go ahead and keep thinking that. See where it gets you around here.”

The elevator doors opened and Cavanaugh led the way down a hall to an unmarked door, where he used a key card to gain entrance. Inside was the task force room, which amounted to six desks, two of which were occupied, and a whiteboard that had an organizational chart on it. Nikolai Novak’s photo was at the top of the pyramid. There was a table against the rear wall with a coffee maker next to a row of faded blue binders that Bosch knew were the Wonderland murder books forwarded from the LAPD through Renée Ballard.

Agent Singer was sitting at one of the desks, a phone held to his ear. He nodded to Cavanaugh and gave Bosch a once-over that showed no surprise. This indicated to Bosch that Cutler’s invitation to him to join the task force was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. It had been discussed well before Bosch entered Cutler’s office. Bosch could imagine the pushback his inclusion must have gotten from the federal agents.

At the desk behind Singer was another man. There was no mistaking his affiliation. Unlike the FBI agents in their cookie-cutter blue suits, he wore a black polo shirt with ATF emblazoned over the left breast. He stood up and came over to Bosch with his hand out.

“You’re Bosch, right?” he said. “Steve Shear.”

Bosch shook his hand. Now he had no doubt that they had planned to bring him into the investigation.

“Why don’t you take that desk for now,” Cavanaugh said, pointing at the desk next to Shear’s.

“Sure,” Bosch said. “But is somebody else there?”

On the desk was a coffee mug, a file rack, and a small cactus in a terra-cotta pot.

“My partner,” Shear said. “But she’s in Prague this week.”

“What’s in Prague?” Bosch asked.

Before Shear could answer, Cavanaugh broke in.

“You have a laptop with you?” he asked. “I need you to write up a summary of your investigation to date.”

“I don’t have one with me, no,” Bosch said. “I wasn’t expecting to be… here.”

“Well, it’s late and we’re about to close up shop,” Cavanaugh said. “I think coming back tomorrow for a fresh start is the way to go. We can sit down and go over some things. But bring your laptop. I want a summary of the MacLaren case. Everything you know, everything you’ve done.”

“If you’ve got a computer I can use, I could do that now,” Bosch said.

“We don’t,” Cavanaugh said. “And I want to lock up. Tomorrow when you come in, they’ll have your name at the front desk and a key card. They’ll send you up. Any time after eight is good. Agent Singer or I will be here to get you going.”

Singer finished his call and swiveled around in his chair to look at the others. He made eye contact with Cavanaugh and nodded slightly.

“Okay, then,” Cavanaugh said.

It was clear he wanted some alone time with his partner to discuss whatever Singer’s call had been about.

“I’ll walk you out,” Shear said to Bosch.

The two men left the room. Bosch looked around for landmarks in the hall so that in the morning he would be able to find his way back to the unmarked door of the task force room. Shear noticed and read what he was doing.

“That’s funny,” Shear said. “I had the same problem. All you have to remember is it’s the seventh door down from the elevators.”

“Good to know,” Bosch said. “Thanks.”