Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (7)

Bosch took no notes as he reviewed the many interview summaries in volume 1. The original investigation was thorough and seemed complete. Bosch saw nothing overlooked or needing follow-up. When he had previously worked in the Open-Unsolved Unit, it had not been unusual for him to review a case and see the poor or even lazy quality of a murder investigation. Such was not the case with Sarah Pearlman. It appeared to Bosch that Kilmartin and Rossler had taken the case to heart and had left no stone unturned. And what made this even more impressive to Bosch was the fact that at the time of their investigation, the victim was not related to a powerful politician. That would come many years later.

Two hours into his review, he moved on to volume 2, the second murder book, and found the binder to be stocked by update summaries at thirty days, ninety days, six months, and then annually for five years before the case was officially classified as cold and inactive. No suspect or even person of interest ever emerged, and no determination of whether Sarah knew her killer was ever made.

The back of the volume 2 binder was where ancillary records of inquiries by the victim’s family and others were kept over the years. These showed that Sarah Pearlman’s parents made numerous calls asking for updates until these stopped seven years earlier. The inquiries were then taken up by Councilman Jake Pearlman or came from his chief of staff, Nelson Hastings. Bosch took this transition to mean that Sarah Pearlman’s parents had died without ever seeing justice for their daughter.

Bosch finished his review by going back to the photos in volume 3 and slowly paging through the plastic sleeves, once more looking for anything in Sarah’s bedroom that would possibly stand out as a missed lead or piece of evidence.

He finally came to the forensic shots and the final sleeve, which contained a photo of the print card on which a latent tech had taped the partial palm print. He was staring at it when he felt a peripheral presence and looked up to see that Tom Laffont had stepped over from his workstation.

“All good?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, good,” Bosch said. “Just reviewing this.”

Bosch felt awkward with Laffont studying him.

“She’s got you on the big one, huh?” Laffont said.

“What do you mean?” Bosch asked.

“The councilman’s sister. I get the feeling if we don’t solve it, we won’t be around for very long.”

“You think?”

“Well, Ballard sure spends a lot of time on the phone with him. You know, giving him the blow-by-blow of what we’re doing here. The conversations always seem to come back to the little sister. So she’s under pressure, no doubt.”

Bosch just nodded.

“You find anything we need to do?” Laffont pressed. “Would love to close that one.”

“Not yet,” Bosch said. “Still looking.”

“Well, good luck. You’re going to need it.”

“What did you do with the Bureau? Were you in the L.A. field office?”

“Started in San Diego, did stints in Sacramento and Oakland before finishing down here. Was on the Major Crimes squad. I punched out at twenty. Got kind of sick of chasing bank robbers.”

“I think I get that.”

“Lilia and I are done for the day. Welcome, and I’ll see you next time.”

“Next time.”

Bosch watched Laffont and Aghzafi gather their things and head out. He waited a beat, then got up to look for a copy machine.

On his way to the archive room exit, Bosch stopped and looked down one of the aisles. Shelves on each side were lined with murder books. Some new blue and some faded, a few of the cases contained in white binders. He stepped into the aisle and walked slowly past the books, running the fingers of his left hand along the plastic bindings as he passed. Each one the story of a murder left unsolved. This was hallowed ground to Bosch. The library of lost souls. Too many for him and Ballard and the others to ever solve. Too many to ever soothe the pain.

When he reached the end of the aisle, he made the turn and walked down the next row. The shelves were similarly stacked with cases. A skylight window above brought the afternoon sun down, throwing natural light on unnatural death. Bosch paused for a moment and stood still. There was only silence in the library of lost souls.





4


BALLARD PICKED PINTO up at the daycare on Hillhurst and walked him on a leash back to her apartment. He was a ten-pound Chihuahua mix but he managed to pull hard against the leash, his body clock telling him dinner was at the end of the walk.

As she got to the steps leading to the front door of her building, Ballard got a call and saw Bosch’s name on the caller ID.

“Harry?”

She could hear music in the background. Jazz. She assumed he was home.

“Hey. Where are you at?” he asked.

“About to walk in the door at my place,” Ballard said. “What is that? Sounds nice.”

“Clifford Brown with Strings.”

“So, did you finish your review?”

“Did. Went through it a couple times.”

“And?”

“And the original team did a good job. Actually, a really good job. I saw no flaws.”

Ballard had not really expected Bosch to break the case or even find a flaw in the original investigation. She had reviewed the files herself and had found no strings to tug or stone left unturned.