The Wrong Side of Goodbye(92)

“It is Vance, isn’t it?” Vibiana said. “You haven’t denied it.”

Bosch looked at her for a long moment.

“Does it make a difference who it is?” he asked.

She stood up and came toward him. She gestured at the sculpture with the soldier.

“I read about him this week,” she said. “He helped build the helicopters. His company was part of the war machine that killed his own son. My father, who I never got to know. How could I take that money?”

Bosch nodded.

“I guess it would depend on what you did with it,” he said. “My lawyer called it change-the-world money.”

She looked at him but he could tell she was seeing something else. Maybe an idea that was planted by his words.

“All right,” she said. “Swab me.”

“Okay, but you have to understand something,” Bosch said. “There will be people with power involved in the corporations that currently hold this fortune. They will not be happy to part with it and may go to great lengths to stop it. Not only will your life be changed by the money, but you and your son will have to take measures to protect yourselves until the case runs its course. You will not be able to trust anyone.”

His words clearly gave her pause, as he wanted them to.

“Gilberto,” she said, thinking out loud. Then her eyes flashed toward Bosch. “Do they know you’re here?”

“I’ve taken precautions,” he said. “And I’ll give you a card. If you see anything unusual or feel any kind of threat, you can call me at any time.”

“It’s so surreal,” she said. “When I was coming up the steps today with my coffee, I was thinking about how I didn’t have enough money for resin. I haven’t sold any of my art in seven weeks and I have an arts grant but it just covers living for me and my son. So I’m sculpting my next piece but can’t get the material I need to wrap it and finish it. And then you were just standing there. And you had this crazy story about money and inheritance.”

Bosch nodded.

“So should we do the swab now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “What do I do?”

“You just have to open your mouth.”

“I can do that.”

Bosch took a tube out of his inside coat pocket and unscrewed the cap. He removed the swab stick and stepped closer to Vibiana. Holding the stick with two fingers he wiped the swab end up and down the inside of her cheek, turning it to get a good sample. He then sealed the stick back in its tube.

“You usually do two—just in case,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

Bosch repeated the process. It seemed so intrusive to him, his hand so close to her mouth. But Vibiana seemed unfazed by it. He put the second swab back in its tube and sealed it.

“I took a swab from your mother on Monday,” he said. “It will be part of the analysis. They will want to identify her chromosomes and separate them from your father’s and grandfather’s.”

“You went down to San Diego?” she asked.

“Yes. I went by Chicano Park and then over to her apartment. Is that where you grew up?”

“Yes. She’s still in the same place.”

“I showed her a photo. It was of you on that day you met your father. He’s not in it because he was the one who took it.”

“I’d like to see that.”

“I don’t have it with me but I’ll get it to you.”

“So she knows about this. The inheritance. What did she say?”

“She doesn’t know the details. But she told me where to find you and said it was your choice.”

Vibiana didn’t respond. She seemed to be thinking about her mother.

“I’m going to go now,” Bosch said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know something.”

He handed her one of the cheap business cards he’d had printed with his name and number, then turned toward the door.

Bosch made his way back to his car, which he had left parked in a lot near the courthouse before his appointment at the D.A.’s Office. As he walked he repeatedly checked his perimeter for surveillance. He saw nothing and soon he was back to the rented Cherokee. He opened the rear hatch of the SUV and flipped up the rug liner in the back. He lifted the lid of the spare tire and tools compartment and removed the padded envelope he had put there that morning.

Closing up the back, he got in behind the wheel and opened the padded envelope. It contained the swab tube provided by Whitney Vance and marked W-V. It also contained two tubes collected from Gabriela Lida marked G-L. With a Sharpie marker he wrote V-V on the side of the two tubes containing the swabs he had just collected from Vibiana.

He put the extra tubes from Vibiana and her mother into his coat pocket and repackaged the envelope so it contained one swab from each of the principals. He put the envelope down on the seat next to him and called Mickey Haller.

“I have the granddaughter’s sample,” he said. “Where are you?”

“In the car,” Haller said. “The Starbucks in Chinatown, parked under the dragons.”

“I’ll be there in five. I have hers, her mother’s, and Vance’s with me. You can take the package to the lab.”

“Perfect. They opened probate today in Pasadena. So I want to get this going. Need confirmation before we make a move.”