The Burning Room

On the way to Ralphs supermarket Bosch drove, as usual. He was quiet as he contemplated what moves they should make on the newly energized investigation. He believed they were going to get one shot, and they needed to use it well. They were heading toward a situation where they would have to put Rodney Burrows in the box and break him down. At the moment, there was little with which to do this. There were no witnesses, no physical evidence. There were just the timing and proximity of things. There was the hunch.

“Let’s review for a minute before we go in and talk to her,” he said.

“Okay,” Soto said.

“So we can now put Ana Acevedo, an employee of EZBank, in the Bonnie Brae Arms up until a month before the fire.”

“Right.”

“And she’s running romances with Maxim Boiko and Rodney Burrows, both also of EZBank.”

“Right.”

“So that’s the first thing with Perez. We need to confirm these are the three people we are talking about and we have to confirm that Ana had her boyfriends over to the apartment on a regular basis. We have to put this guy Rodney Burrows in the Bonnie Brae.”

“We have that. That’s why she kicked Ana out. She said it was headed toward a bad end and she didn’t want it to happen in the apartment.”

“Okay, well, we need to hit that again with her. Hit it hard. We want him taking the trash out. We want to establish his knowledge of the apartment complex.”

“Got it.”

“We also need to find out about Ana and clear up the possibility that she started the fire.”

“Out of revenge. Right.”

“And I want you to do this interview. You already spoke and established a rapport with her. You also both lived in that place and you can use that if needed.”

“Okay. We did speak in Spanish earlier.”

“Okay, there you go. I’m going to hang back and if I think of something to ask I’ll take you aside.”

“Okay.”

“Couple other things. We want to know how she knew Ana Acevedo in the first place. You know, how did they become roommates? And then we want to know if she had any continuing interaction over the past twenty years with any of these people.”

“She already said no about that last part but I’ll ask again.”

Bosch glanced over and saw that Soto was writing his questions down in a notebook that was just like the one he carried. The notebook was new. He hadn’t noticed it before.

Five minutes later they pulled into the Ralphs parking lot. It was on 3rd Street at Vermont. The parking lot was surprisingly full for the hour. Bosch guessed that a lot of midnight-shifters were hitting the market on their way home from work.

At the office at the front of the store, they asked for Stephanie Perez and were directed to the produce section, the area she was in charge of. Perez was a very small and round woman who wore an oversize white service jacket. Although she had spoken earlier to Soto, she seemed nervous about the detectives showing up at her workplace. Soto asked if there was a private place to talk and she took them to a break room in the rear of the store. It was too early for anyone to be taking breaks, so they had the space to themselves.

Perez asked if it was all right if the interview was conducted in Spanish and Bosch nodded his approval to Soto. Whatever made the witness most comfortable was the rule. Soto in return asked if it was okay to record the conversation and Perez gave her approval. Soto put her phone on the break table and turned on its recording feature. Bosch made a mental note to tell Soto after the interview that it was not necessary to ask permission to record an interview.

The women then started talking and Bosch tried to keep up. He was able to understand Spanish much better than he could speak it. But he quickly lost the thread, recognized only a few words, and then was distracted when his phone started vibrating. He pulled it from his pocket to check the screen and saw that it was Captain Crowder calling. He let it go to message and focused back on the conversation he didn’t understand.

Twenty minutes in, Soto turned to Bosch.

“She would like to look at pictures now,” she said.

Bosch thought for a moment. This was the big decision. If Perez couldn’t identify the EZBank employees, that could be an issue down the line. It was time to make the call on it and Soto was leaving it to him.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s do it.”

Soto had carried in a stack of files. They contained three separate six-pack photo lineups. Each lineup contained one photo of one of the EZBank employees in question along with five randomly selected photos of people of similar age and race. The photos were slipped into windows cut in a piece of cardboard. They started with the easy one. Ana Acevedo. Soto had been unable to find a current driver’s license for Acevedo in California or any of its neighboring states. While that was worrying in itself because it left Acevedo’s present whereabouts unknown, it also meant that Soto had to use a DL photo from the time of the EZBank robbery in the six-pack. It would most likely be the easiest identification Perez had to make.

Soto opened a file containing photos of six women of Latin ethnicity. Within two seconds Perez put her finger on Acevedo’s photo.

“That’s Ana,” she said.

“Okay,” Soto said.

She popped the photo out of its cardboard frame and asked Perez to sign the back of it as a confirmation of her choice. She then returned it to the file and put it to the side of the table. Soto opened the next file, which contained shots of six men of Eastern European heritage. Perez leaned over and studied all six photos before tapping the photo of Maxim Boiko.

“This one is Max,” she said.

Soto went through the same process of having Perez sign the photo she had selected.

Now came the big one. Soto opened the last six-pack and put it down in front of Perez. Soto didn’t say a word. She knew it was important not to speak or communicate anything through body language that was encouraging or confirming to the witness. That could result in a tainted identification in the eyes of a judge and jury.

Perez once again leaned forward and studied the photos—this time of six white men in their midforties. All homegrown Americans. Bosch knew there were all kinds of theories on inter-ethnic identification and that the process they were engaged in was fraught with issues relating to accuracy. The best they could do was present the photos, say nothing that might direct an identification, and simply wait. If she made an ID, the lawyers could fight about it later.

Perez studied the photos for nearly a minute and then slowly put her finger down below one of the photos.

“Him,” she said. “This is Rodney.”

Bosch and Soto exchanged eye contact and then Soto had Perez sign the photo she had chosen. It was the photo of Rodney Burrows.

“I have to return a call to the captain,” Bosch said to Soto. “You finish up and I’ll be in the car.”

Bosch thanked Perez for her time and cooperation and made his way back through the store and then out to the car. On the way, he listened to the message left on his phone by Crowder.

“Harry, this is Captain Crowder speaking. I want my update and I’m not fucking around. Call me. Now.”

Bosch got behind the wheel and turned on the engine. It was a cool morning and he wanted heat. He called the captain’s direct line.

“Where are you, Harry?” Crowder said by way of greeting.

“In the field,” Bosch said. “Something’s come up.”

“I don’t want to hear that. I want to hear the update on Merced. What’ve you got for me? It better be good.”