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"Clear!" a voice yelled. "We're clear in here!"

The men in the hall raised their weapons up in unison and moved toward the open doorway. "LAPD in the back!" Bosch yelled and then stepped into the hallway.

Edgar glanced back at him as he followed the two uniforms into the room. Bosch walked quickly down the hallway and was about to enter the room when he had to step back to let a uniform officer out. He was talking on his rover.

"Central, we need paramedics to forty-one Highland, thirteenth floor. Suspect down, gunshot wounds."

As Bosch entered the room he looked back. The cop on the rover was Edgewood. Their eyes locked for just a moment and then Edgewood disappeared into the shadows of the hallway. Bosch turned back to view the room. Stokes was sitting in a closet that had no door. He was leaning back against the rear wall. His hands were in his lap, one holding a small gun, a .25 caliber pocket rocket. He wore black jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt that was covered with his own blood.

Он разглядел Эдгара с пистолетом в руке позади двух полицейских. Они стояли спиной к Босху, их оружие было наведено на один из проемов.

От Босха до них было футов пятьдесят.

- Порядок! - раздался чей-то крик. - Здесь чисто!

Люди в коридоре одновременно подняли пистолеты и двинулись к проему.

- Сзади полицейский! - крикнул Босх и шагнул в коридор.

Эдгар, направляясь за двумя патрульными в комнату, кивнул ему. Босх быстро пошел по коридору и, уже собираясь войти в комнату, был вынужден отступить, пропуская патрульного.

Тот говорил по рации:

- Центральная, срочно нужны фельдшеры, Хайланд-авеню, сорок один, тринадцатый этаж. Ранен подозреваемый.

В комнате Босх обернулся. Полицейский с рацией оказался Эджвудом. Их глаза встретились на миг, потом Эджвуд исчез в темноте коридора.

Стокс сидел в чулане без двери, прислонившись спиной к задней стене.

Его руки лежали на коленях, в одной - маленький пистолет двадцать пятого калибра. Он был в черных джинсах и майке-безрукавке, залитой его кровью.

He had entry wounds on his chest and right below his left eye. His eyes were open but he was clearly dead.

Edgar was squatted in front of the body. He didn't touch it. There was no use trying for a pulse and everybody knew it. The smell of burnt cordite invaded Bosch's nose and it was a welcome relief from the smell outside the room.

Bosch turned around to take in the whole room. There were too many people in the small space. There were three uniforms, Edgar, and a plainclothes Bosch assumed was a narc.

Two of the uniforms were huddled together at the far wall, studying two bullet holes in the plaster. One raised a finger and was about to probe one of the holes.

"Don't touch that," Bosch barked. "Don't touch anything. I want everybody to back out of here and wait for OIS. Who fired a weapon?"

"Edge did it," said the narc. "The guy was waitin' for us in the closet and we —"

"Excuse me, what’s your name?"

"Phillips."

"Okay, Phillips, I don't want to hear your story. Save it for OIS. Go get Edgewood and go back downstairs and wait. When the paramedics get here tell them never mind. Save them a trip up the steps."