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“Harry, you’re not going to be able to hold this up. You have a choice: Take the settlement or don’t. Either way, the judge seals the discovery.”

“Is there a deadline?”

“End of the week. I thought this would be a no-brainer, but you’re turning it into something else. Charles Lamb died more than sixty years ago. Is there a chance in hell that there’s a suspect still alive out there? You really think you can solve something that old?”

“Maybe not, but there’s a chance that there are answers out there.”

“And say you get answers, what do you do with them?”

Bosch looked down at the traffic clogging the freeway through the Cahuenga Pass.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m coming by your office tomorrow to look at the discovery before you delete it.”

“Fine,” Haller said. “If you insist.”

Bosch nodded.

“I do,” he said.

“Then I’ll make a deal with you,” Haller said. “I’ll have everything ready for you at nine a.m. tomorrow if you take the night to think about the money.”

“Fine. See you then.”

“See you then.”

4

1963

HARRY WATCHED THE new kid as he navigated the food line and then stepped out of it to find a spot. Harry remembered the hollow feeling you got when no one had explained things and you were left on your own.

The kid scanned the tables in the dining hall. Most were full or half full. There wasn’t one completely empty table the kid could seek refuge at. When the kid’s eyes came to him, Harry gave a slight nod that was taken as an invite. The kid came to the table.

“Can I sit here?” he asked.

“It’s a free country, isn’t it?” Bosch said.

The kid nodded and started to put his tray down. He was so relieved to have a spot to eat that he flubbed the landing and came in at a bad angle, knocking his apple off the tray. It rolled across the table and over the edge. Harry shot out his left hand and caught it. He gave it back.

“Here,” he said.

The new kid sat down. He was short and wore the same striped shirt that a lot of kids had. It came from a store that had donated last year’s styles. His eyes were a startling green. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen a Black kid with green eyes.

“Thanks,” the kid said.

“You know, they haven’t had apples in a long time,” Harry said.

“How come?”

“There was a food fight and people were throwing them. One kid got hit in the eye and now he has a patch, so they went into this big thing about banning hard foods you can throw.”

The kid started digging into his ham steak. Harry watched him.

“What’s your name, anyway?” he asked. “I’m Harry.”

“Charlie,” the kid said. “My friends call me Chops.”

“That short for Charlie?”