Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (36)

“No, ma’am, we aren’t giving up. I know this must be very difficult for you to be thinking of those horrible times, but do you remember, after your daughter’s death, what happened to all her property and belongings that were here in Los Angeles?”

There was a long silence before Juanita Wilson responded.

“Well, let me see,” she said. “My husband and I went to Los Angeles to bring her home. And when we were there, we were allowed to go into her apartment after the police were all through. We packed all of her things in boxes and shipped them back here. And some of the furniture we put out in front of her building like a little garage sale and we sold it.”

Bosch tried to control his anticipation. But Juanita’s first answer gave him hope.

“How many boxes did you send back to Chicago? Do you remember?”

“Oh, there were quite a few. That’s why we sent them. There was too much to take on a plane.”

“And what happened to the boxes once they were in Chicago?”

“You know, for a long time I couldn’t bear to open them and look through her things. So they were in the closet in her bedroom for the longest time. And then I started taking a look from time to time, you know, just to get a sense of her.”

“Do you still have the boxes?”

“Of course, I couldn’t throw those things away. They were my daughter’s.”

“I understand that. Mrs. Wilson, the crime scene photographer took what we call ‘environmental photographs’ of your daughter’s apartment. These were photos that were not actually of the crime scene but of the rest of the apartment. Like what was on Laura’s refrigerator and in the drawers of her bureau, things like that. And we have one photo that shows a campaign button for a man who was running for city council out here at that time. We think it might be important to the case.”

“How would it be important?”

“Well, I can’t really talk about it at the moment, but I’m wondering if you would be willing to look through the boxes you have and see if you find it. It is probably a long shot, but it would help us if you could. If you give me an email address, I could send you the photo that was taken back then. Is this something you think you can do?”

“I could, yes.”

“When would that be?”

“As soon as I hang up this phone. If you think it will help the investigation, I’m going to do it right now.”

She gave Bosch her email address and he wrote it down.

“Give me ten minutes and then check your email,” Bosch said. “I’ll send you the photo and I’ll circle the button so you will know exactly what we’re looking for.”

He described the pin while looking at the photo of it.

“Send it to me,” Juanita said. “I’ll be waiting.”

“One thing, Mrs. Wilson,” Bosch said. “If we’re lucky enough that the button is still there, I don’t want you to touch it. Just identify it and then call me and we can talk about how to preserve it. But for now, I just want you to look for it but not touch it, okay? That’s important.”

“Okay. You’ll send the email?”

“Yes, I have to scan the photo first, so it might take a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“Thank you.”

Bosch disconnected. He thought there was only a slim chance that Juanita Wilson would find the campaign pin, but he felt his spirits boosted by her willingness to work with him. He believed that positive energy often paid off.





19


BALLARD HAD TAKEN Colleen Hatteras into the interrogation room to speak privately with her about the blurred line between her IGG work and her self-claimed empathic skills. Though this was Ballard’s first position as a supervisor, she instinctively understood the boss-employee paradigm: Praise in public, criticize in private. She knew she had broken that unwritten rule when she had angrily sent Hatteras home in front of Bosch, but now she was calm and playing it right.

“The cases are too important,” Ballard said. “We are dealing with victims and families. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk these cases. If you’re going to stay on the team, then I need you to put that psychic/empath stuff away.”

“I don’t understand,” Hatteras protested. “What is the risk?”

“Colleen, come on. You know what I’m talking about. If we make a case through IGG, then that investigator—most likely you—will have to testify to a jury about how you made the connections and the identification of the suspect. You are a civilian. You’ve never been in law enforcement, and any smart defense lawyer is going to try to destroy your credibility. And if they destroy you, they destroy the case. It’s called ‘killing the messenger.’”

“You are saying I have no credibility because I have these feelings?”

“I’m saying a defense lawyer will challenge your credibility. And even if your feelings have had nothing to do with the case, it doesn’t matter. The lawyer will kill you with the questions. Here’s one: ‘Answer this. Ms. Hatteras: Did you communicate with the victim in this case?’”

Hatteras took a moment to compose an answer.

“No, I did not,” she finally said.

“ ‘But you do call yourself a psychic, don’t you?’ ” Ballard pressed.