The Burning Room

Who gave Himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession who are zealous for good works.

—Titus 2:14



Bosch dug further into the box of papers and brought out a folded document that was revealed to be a birth certificate for Esther Maria Gonzalez. It was issued in 1972 in Hyde County, North Carolina. It was printed on heavy-stock paper and appeared legitimate but Bosch had no doubt that it was phony. He knew that the easiest way to build a new and false identity was to start with what appeared to be a birth certificate from a small rural county in a state far from the state where the fraud would be perpetrated. A birth certificate was the only requirement to apply for a California driver’s license. The problem was, there was no national template for birth certificates. Thousands of counties across the country issued them, each with its own design. A DMV clerk in California would be hard-pressed to declare as false a certificate from Hyde County, North Carolina, if the document presented appeared official and legitimate.

A driver’s license would be only one stop on the way to a full identity package, with Social Security number and passport to follow. The document Bosch held in his hand explained a lot.

Harry sat down on the bed as he slipped the birth certificate into his jacket pocket with the other papers. He put the top back on the box and looked at Soto, who was still going through the closet.

“Does this bother you?” he asked.

She turned around and looked at him.

“Does what bother me?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess that she chose her own penance. She came here and went on missions and took care of children and all of that. Vow of poverty, paid off the mortgage, whatever. But she didn’t turn herself in and say, ‘I’m responsible.’ She didn’t tell all those parents how come their kids died.”

He gestured to the box.

“She talks about redemption. But she chose all of this. Nothing was taken from her. You know what I mean?”

Soto nodded.

“I understand,” she said. “It’s going to take a while for me to process everything about this. I’ll tell you how I feel when I know. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Soto went back to work in the closet, and Bosch moved on to the desk. The top surface was devoid of anything of a personal nature and the single drawer contained more of the same—pencil writings with themes of redemption and multiple references to children.

Bosch closed the drawer and looked up at the shelf. There were four different versions of the Bible as well as a Spanish dictionary and books on the sacraments, catechism, and teaching methods.

He grabbed the first Bible off the shelf and fanned the pages, hoping a nicely folded, handwritten confession would drop out of the book into his lap.

Instead, he found a holy card that depicted Christ ascending to heaven. The card marked a page in Acts where words had been underlined intermittently and formed a sentence if read consecutively. Repent…and…your sins may be blotted out.

“Harry.”

Bosch turned to Soto. She was crouched on the floor, a photo album open in front of her. From its pages she had raised what looked like a photo cut from a newspaper.

“This was loose in this photo album,” she said. “It’s them, isn’t it?”

Bosch took the clip and studied it. It was faded newsprint depicting side-by-side photos of two men. Bosch had no trouble recognizing the two North Hollywood bank robbers. There wasn’t a cop in L.A. who wouldn’t recognize them.

He nodded.

“It’s them.”

“So Gus Braley was right?”

Bosch kept staring at the photo. Remembering that day.

“I guess so,” he finally said. “But he couldn’t connect the dots back then.”

Soto came over and sat on the bed next to his chair so she could see the clip as well.

“It’s not a picture of her with them,” she said. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Maybe not in court,” Bosch said. “But it pretty much closes things for me.”

“But where did they all cross paths?”

“Good question. I remember something about the two guys meeting in a gym somewhere. I think Venice.”

“Ana was about as far from Venice as you could get. They must’ve crisscrossed someplace else.”

“Well, we may need to find that place if we ever want the D.A. to sign off on our closing it.”

“What if we put it out to the media? Maybe somebody comes forward with the connection.”

Bosch thought about that. Twenty-one years had gone by. It was a long shot but he didn’t want to be pessimistic with Soto.

She seemed to read him anyway.

“All those families who lost kids,” she said. “They should know. The family of Esi Gonzalez, too. The real one.”

She took the clip out of Bosch’s hand and studied it.

Bosch remembered something and snapped his fingers. It was the thing that had bothered him before, after he had spoken to Gus Braley.

“Varsol,” he said.

“What?” Soto said.

“I just remembered something. That day of the shoot-out…I got there at the end and I was put on the evidence team. I had their car, actually.”

He pointed at the men in the clip she held.

“I basically had to babysit it until an evidence team could get to it. And that took a couple hours because they were needed all over the place that day for, like, a five-block stretch. Anyway, while I’m waiting, I put the gloves on and poke around the car, and there is this army blanket in the backseat covering up something. So I pull it, and there are a few more guns laid across the seat and there’s a Molotov cocktail held under the seatbelt so it wouldn’t move.”

“Was it made with Varsol?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it was ever even analyzed that way but we could find out. Either way, the use of Molotov cocktails is another link between these guys and the Bonnie Brae.”

Soto nodded.

“So what do you think? Was Ana a planner or just a gofer?”

Bosch thought a moment and then shook his head.

“Hard to say. It looks like she played Burrows and Boiko like a pro. Got close to them and knew they would open up at the shop when she was threatened. But she could have been directed by one of those guys. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

They sat in silence for a little bit. Bosch knew Soto had something she wanted to say. Finally, she spoke.

“I sure thought it would be different,” she said.

“What would?” Bosch asked.

“Ever since I wanted to be a cop I thought about solving the case. It was my motivation. It burned inside of me, you know?”

“Yes.”

He thought about what he had said before about opening the door on a burning room.

“And now, here I am,” she said.

“You solved it,” he said.

“But there’s no…it’s just not what I thought when I had all those fantasies.”

Bosch nodded. There was nothing he could say. After a few moments, Soto seemed to put her angst aside for the time being and spoke in a positive tone.

“So,” she said, “I think we’re done here. I want to go home, Harry.”

Bosch nodded once more.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”