The Burning Room

7



After the phone call Bosch went on the computer and started to type up his first report on the Merced case. It was primarily an update on the case, including a cause of death report and an evaluation of existing evidence and investigative leads. He was twenty minutes in when his desk phone rang. He picked it up without looking at the display, assuming it was Soto calling in after her psych session.

“Bosch.”

“Yes, I want to register for the reward.”

Bosch realized it was a call spawned by the ex-mayor’s announcement. As he responded, he pulled up the Internet window on his computer and went to the Los Angeles Times website.

“What do you mean, ‘register,’ sir? It’s not a lottery. Do you have information that can help us?”

Sure enough, there was a story already up on the front page of the news site, complete with a photo of Zeyas at the press conference, announcing the reward.

“Yeah, I got information,” the caller said. “The shooter is named Jose. You can mark it down.”

“Jose what?”

“I don’t know that part. I just know it’s Jose.”

“How do you know this?”

“I just do.”

“He was the shooter.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know this man? Do you know why he did it?”

“No, but I’m sure you will get all of that once you arrest him.”

“Where do I arrest him?”

The man on the other end of the line seemed to scoff at the question.

“I don’t know that. You’re the detective.”

“Okay, sir, so you are saying that I need to go out and find and arrest a man named Jose. No last name, no known whereabouts. Do you know what he looks like?”

“He looks Mexican.”

“Okay, sir, thank you.”

Bosch hung up the phone, banging it hard into the cradle.

“Douche bag,” he said to himself.

The phone rang again while his hand was still on it. He answered it with an annoyed tone in his voice.

“Bosch.”

“Yes, I have a question on the reward.”

It was a different man’s voice.

“What is the question?”

“If I turn myself in, do I get the reward?”

Bosch paused for a moment. His instinct was that this was as bogus as the first call.

“Good question,” he said. “I don’t see why not. The reward is for information leading to a conviction. I think a confession would qualify. Do you plan to confess?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But we would have to be able to prove you did it. Can’t just take your word for it, you know what I mean?”

“I understand.”

“So why’d you do it?”

“Because I hate that mariachi shit. This is America. You come here, you should play American music.”

“I see. And what weapon did you use?”

“My Smith and Wesson. I’m a good shot.”

Bosch nodded to himself, instinct confirmed.

“I’m sure you are. Thanks for the call.”

He hung up, then stared at the phone for a long moment, expecting it to ring right away. Sure enough it did, but he could see on the display that it was an internal call. He picked it up.

“Bosch.”

“Detective, this is Gwen in the PBX.”

One of the in-house operators. Bosch wasn’t exactly sure where she was located in the building. The PBX operators handled all calls that came in on the general lines—like the main Robbery-Homicide Division number that was included in the Times story—and distributed them as required.

“Yes, Gwen.”

“I’ve got a Spanish speaker now for the Merced reward. Do you want to take it?”

Bosch shook his head. The onslaught he warned Crowder and Samuels about was beginning.

“I don’t have a Spanish speaker right now. Get a name and number and someone will call them back.”

“Will do.”

Bosch hung the phone up a little more gently this time. He switched over to the La Opinión website, clicked on the Locales page, and, sure enough, saw another photo of Zeyas and a story on the Merced case and the accompanying reward offer. He was a bit stunned by how fast the media were moving on the story.

He went back to the report he was writing and picked up the pace. He wanted to get out of the office, whether Soto got back soon or not. He had a feeling that the phone would soon become an anchor wrapped around his neck. He would drown in these calls. Before he finished typing, the phone rang one more time, and it was the very first caller again.

“Hey, you didn’t take my name for the reward.”

“That’s correct, sir. I don’t want your name.”

“Well, what about the reward?”

“There is no reward. Not for you.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a guy name Jose. He did it.”

“If we arrest a guy named Jose, you call me back, okay?”

This time Bosch slammed the phone down so hard in its cradle, he drew the attention of detectives in the other cubicles. He didn’t offer any explanation. While his hand was still on the phone, it rang again. He picked it up and gruffly said, “What?”

“It’s Gwen from PBX?”

“Oh. Yes, Gwen, what is it?”

“I just wanted you to know that the Spanish speaker refused to give me her name or number.”

“Okay, Gwen. I guess that’s one call I don’t need to worry about. Thank you.”

After that, Bosch quickly wrapped up the report he was writing, printed it out on three-hole-punch paper, and clipped it into the murder book. He then picked up the phone, called the PBX number, and asked for Gwen.

“Gwen, it’s Detective Bosch. I’m going to be out in the field and my partner is not available. Can you forward any calls that come in regarding the Merced case and the reward to Lieutenant Samuels?”

“Lieutenant Samuels. Yes, I can.”

“Good. Thank you. Why don’t you make a note there that all such calls should go to the lieutenant until further notice from me.”

“Will do, Detective. Have a good day.”

“You, too, Gwen.”

Bosch stood up, checking the clock on the wall over the doorway to the squad. Soto’s psych sessions generally lasted an hour, with a half-hour travel time on either side of it. Even if she went by the crime lab to pick up the slug from Gun Chung, she should have been back by now. This annoyed him because Soto had a tendency to disappear or lose track of time. He wanted to keep things moving but she was missing in action. He didn’t want to call her cell in case she was still in session with Dr. Hinojos, the Department’s head shrink. But he was frustrated because Soto hadn’t bothered to shoot him a text saying she had been held up. He should not be the one sending out texts and making where-are-you calls, anyway.

He grabbed his keys and the video discs. At the sign-out board on the wall next to the door he wrote Lab next to his name and headed out.

Rodriguez had told him that he and Rojas had not taken the surveillance recordings to the lab to see if any enhancements could be made to the visuals. He’d explained that it didn’t seem to be a worthwhile move considering that the videos did not capture the shooter. Additionally, ten years ago video forensics amounted to little more than a lab rat taking a second look at the footage the detective had already studied.

Today was different. There was a dedicated video-and-data-imaging unit with experts who could amplify sound and visuals, often bringing forward information that was not apparent during casual viewing. The last decade had seen an explosion in the use of videos as tools of investigations. L.A. was a city of cameras, public and private, and it was standard case protocol now to look for cameras at a crime scene in the same way it had always been standard to knock on doors and look for witnesses. This necessitated the formation of the VFU—the Video Forensics Unit. Not all cameras were created equal and it took some expertise to maximize the potential of images and sounds captured at or near crime scenes.

It took Bosch twenty minutes to get over to the lab. On the way, Soto called him and told him she had just finished her psych session.

“She was backed up with new shooters,” she said. “But I’m on my way to the lab now to pick up the slug.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bosch said. “I’m on my way there now with the videos. I’ll go see Gun and pick up the slug.”

“I thought…”

She didn’t finish but Bosch knew what she was going to ask.

“Right, yeah, I looked at them all and there wasn’t a whole lot there,” he said. “The camera in the music shop picked up Merced getting hit but it’s all pretty murky. I’m hoping the video unit can do something with it.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t sound mollified.

“If you want I can wait, let you take a look before running it over.”

“No, no, go ahead. You might as well. Are you coming back to the squad after?”

“Actually I’m trying to stay away from the squad. The ex-mayor’s reward has already hit the media sites and the calls are coming in. I want to work the case, not the phones.”

Bosch pulled into the parking lot outside the crime lab building and started looking for an open slot.

“But what if we get the right call?”

“It’s a million to one, you ask me. But if someone really can deliver the shooter, they’ll get to us. Anyway, right now I have all the calls going to Samuels. Maybe that will light a fire and get him to put somebody on the calls so we can work the case.”

“Okay, so what time do you want me to set up the ballistics trajectory for tomorrow?”

Bosch had forgotten about that. Now he thought it might be too soon.

“I want to hold off on that now. Let’s see what they come up with in video. It might help set the trajectory.”

“Okay. Where do you want me to go now?”

“Give me thirty minutes and meet me at Mariachi Plaza. Let’s see if the media’s left the place alone.”

“That’ll give me time to hit Starbucks. You want something?”

Bosch thought a moment about his caffeine level.

“No, I’m good. I’ll just see you there.”

Bosch parked and got out. While he was walking toward the glass doors of the lab building, his phone rang again. It was Lieutenant Samuels.

“Bosch, where the hell are you?”

“About to go into the lab—I wrote it on the board. What’s up?”

“What’s up is the phone is starting to go crazy with tip calls.”

“What do you want me to do about it, L-T? I’m working the case. I’ve got two stops in the lab here and then I’m meeting my partner at the crime scene. I told you this was going to happen.”

“Where’s Lucky Lucy right now?”

“She has her psych session on Wednesday afternoons. Anything good coming in?”

“How the hell should I know? You set this up, Bosch!”

“I didn’t set up anything. I didn’t want any reward put out there in the first place. I knew—”

“Never mind. I’ll put someone on the phones. Starting tomorrow morning.”

Samuels hung up before Bosch could respond. But he was smiling when he pushed through the doors to the crime lab.