The Burning Room

39



Bosch waited until noon on the Friday two weeks after the Broussard shooting to approach Lucy Soto at her new desk. On Fridays the squad room was half empty because of the four-tens workweek option. The rest of the detectives were at lunch. Soto was “riding the pine”—on desk duty—pending the outcome of the officer-involved shooting investigation and psych evaluation. She was assigned the desk outside the captain’s office until she got Return to Duty orders. Her job was to answer the tip line. Holcomb was back working with her partner.

“So,” he said. “What do you hear?”

“Dr. Hinojos gave me the RTD stamp on the psych eval yesterday,” she said. “Nothing yet from OIS but the captain said I can move back to my desk Monday. I don’t think he likes me sitting so close to his office and hearing stuff.”

Bosch nodded. He liked that she had referred to the Officer Involved Shooting team instead of what the unit was called now—FID, as in Force Investigation Division. It showed her old-school allegiance.

“Good,” he said. “You shouldn’t have any trouble with the OIS. They just take forever because of the paperwork.”

“I don’t know,” Soto said. “Two incidents in less than a year…they might think there’s some kind of pattern.”

Bosch frowned.

“Twenty-five years ago they would have given you a medal and a raise for a pattern like that,” he said.

“Different times, Harry,” she said.

He nodded and decided it was time to move off the subject, even if the next part of the conversation was going to be uncomfortable.

“So…I have some news on Sister Esther,” he said.

“What is it?” Soto said, not hiding her excitement. “Is she back at the convent?”

Bosch shook his head.

“Uh, no. And she’s not coming back. I talked to Sister Geraldine yesterday. She said they killed her down there.”

“What? Oh my god!”

“She said the narcos came into the village where she was and dragged her out, said she was an informant for the Judicial Policia. They did things to her and then they killed her, left her on the side of a road to be found.”

Soto rolled back in her chair and stared into oblivion as she considered the fate of Ana Acevedo aka Sister Esther Gonzalez.

“I can’t believe it,” she finally said.

“Well, I’m not sure I do either,” Bosch said. “Not yet, at least. That’s why I’m going down there. To Calexico. The body is supposedly coming across the border today for burial in a cemetery behind the convent. I’m going to check things to make sure, and Sister Geraldine said she’d let me look through Sister Esther’s room and her belongings. I wanted to see if you’re interested in going down with me.”

“Harry, I’m riding this desk. That captain’s not going to let me—”

“That’s why I’m going tomorrow. I figure Saturdays you’re on your own time. The captain can’t tell you what to do. They’re putting her in the ground Sunday. So it’s tomorrow or never.”

Soto was nodding before he was finished.

“I’m in,” she said.

“Good,” Bosch said. “I want to get an early start.”

“I’m okay with early.”

Bosch smiled and nodded.

“I know. Let’s meet here at seven.”

Soto got that faraway look in her eyes again.

“What?” Bosch asked.

“I was just thinking,” she said. “Do you think Sister Geraldine told her that we had been at the convent asking about her?”

“Yes,” Bosch said. “I asked her that and she said she did tell Sister Esther we were there and we wanted to talk to her. She finally heard from her a few days later and that’s when Sister Geraldine told her.”

“Okay,” Soto said. “So do you think she…”

Soto didn’t finish but Bosch knew what she was thinking and what she was about to ask. Could Sister Esther have informed on someone because she knew the word would get back to the narcos and there would be swift and sure consequences, no matter that she was a nun on a mission in the region?

“Yes,” Bosch said. “That’s exactly what I think.”





They got to the Sisters of the Sacred Promise convent at noon Saturday. They came directly from the funeral home in downtown Calexico, where they had first stopped to view Sister Esther’s body and confirm both her death and identification. Bosch had borrowed a mobile fingerprint reader from Flowers in the tech unit. He used it to take the right thumbprint off the body and then sent it to the state Department of Motor Vehicles database, where it was matched to the print taken from Ana Maria Acevedo when she had applied for a driver’s license in 1992—the last license she had before disappearing.

Young Sister Theresa greeted them at the convent door and invited them in. She had been told by Sister Geraldine to expect the detectives from Los Angeles and to allow them access to Sister Esther’s room. She led the way up a flight of stairs and then down a long hallway that looked like a college dormitory except for all the religious iconography and Bible quotes on the bulletin boards between doors.

“Will you be staying for the funeral mass tomorrow?” Sister Theresa asked.

“No, we’re just here today,” Bosch said.

“Oh, that’s too bad. It’s going to be very special. Sister Esi is going home to the Lord.”

Bosch just nodded. He didn’t know what to say to that.

Sister Theresa stopped at the last door on the right side of the hall. There were a variety of holy cards stuck into the edge of the door and she removed them before opening the door. It had not been locked.

“It’s small,” she said. “So I am sure you don’t need me in there taking up space.”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Bosch said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

She glanced down the hall as if to confirm that they were alone and Sister Geraldine wasn’t watching.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. “What are you looking for? What is it you think Sister Esi did? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as kind as she was.”

Bosch thought a moment. He didn’t think there was any need to taint anyone’s vision and feelings about another human being—especially if that human being was dead. Besides, she would probably find out soon enough when the story hit the media.

“We’re just trying to confirm if she happened to be a woman who disappeared a long time ago in L.A.,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” Sister Theresa said. “I thought it was something really bad and we would be unable to celebrate her union with Jesus tomorrow. Did you see what we’re putting on the stone?”

“No, what’s that?”

“Well, she’s actually putting it on the stone. She wrote it in her funeral instructions. It’s going to say, ‘Sister Esther Gonzalez, She Found Redemption for the Children with the Children.’ Isn’t that beautiful?”

Bosch nodded.

“‘Redemption for the Children with the Children,’” he repeated.

“Yes,” Sister Theresa said. “She wrote it a long time ago. Her final instructions were found in that old box on her bed.”

She pointed through the open doorway into the room.

“Okay, well, thank you, Sister,” Bosch said. “Like I said, we won’t be too long.”

“My room is last on the left at the other end of the hall,” she said. “That’s because I’m the newest.”

She proudly bounced on her heels.

“Okay, we’ll find you.”

Bosch turned and entered the room, followed by Soto. As expected, it was sparely furnished. There was a single bed with a crucifix on the wall over the wooden headboard. It was accompanied by a side table, bureau, and a desk with a shelf of books mounted on the wall above it. There was a closet with no door that was no bigger than one of the old phone booths at Union Station. But that was all the room that was needed for the few things hanging in it.

Bosch and Soto separated and started opening drawers. Most were empty or contained the meager clothing and belongings of a person who had held true to the vow of poverty. Bosch checked the box that Sister Theresa had pointed at. It contained mostly loose pages of notes. There were handwritten sermons and prayers and Bible verses, many of them with the word redemption underlined. Ephesians, Galatians, Romans…the quotes were written on half pages, envelopes, and other scraps.

Bosch chose two of the inscribed envelopes and slid them into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom He has redeemed from trouble.

—Psalm 107:2