There was no story on the abduction on Hollywood Boulevard because that had occurred during the night and long after the paper’s deadline. The coverage of the Waits story had moved off the front page to the state and local section but it was still extensive. There were three stories in all. The most prominent report was on the so-far-unsuccessful nationwide search for the escaped serial killer. Most of the information had already been rendered obsolete by the events of the night. There was no nationwide search anymore. Waits was still here in the city.
This story jumped inside the section and was framed by two sidebars. One was an update on the investigation that filled in some of the details of what had happened during the shoot-out and escape, and the other story was a political update. This latter story was written by Keisha Russell and Bosch quickly scanned it to see if anything they had discussed about Rick O’Shea’s campaign financing had gotten into the paper. Luckily there was nothing, and he felt his trust in her rising.
Bosch finished reading the stories and there was still no sign of Rachel. He moved into other sections of the paper, studying the box scores of sporting events he cared nothing about and reading reviews of movies he would never see. When there was nothing left for him to read he put the paper aside and started pacing in front of the building. He became anxious, worried that he’d lose the edge the morning’s discoveries had given him.
He got out his phone to call her but decided instead to call St. Joseph’s Hospital and check on Kiz Rider’s condition. He was transferred to the third-floor nursing station and was then put on hold. While he was waiting to be connected he saw Rachel finally pull up in a federal cruiser. He closed the phone, crossed the sidewalk and met her as she was getting out.
“What’s the plan?” he said by way of greeting.
“What, no ‘how are you doing’ or ‘thanks for coming’?”
“Thanks for coming. What’s the plan?”
They started walking into the building.
“The plan is the federal plan. I go in and draw down on the man in charge the full force and weight of the government of this great country. I raise the specter of terrorism and he gives us the file.”
Bosch stopped.
“You call that a plan?”
“It’s worked pretty well for us for more than fifty years.”
She didn’t stop. He now had to hurry to catch up.
“How do you know it’s a man in charge?”
“Because it always is. Which way?”
He pointed straight ahead in the main hallway. Rachel didn’t break stride.
“I didn’t wait around for forty minutes for this, Rachel.”
“You have a better idea?”
“I had a better idea. A federal search warrant, remember?”
“That was a nonstarter, Bosch. I told you, I open that door and you get trampled. This is better. In and out. If I get you the file, I get you the file. Doesn’t matter how.”
She was two paces in front of him now, moving with federal momentum. Bosch secretly started to believe. She moved through the double doors beneath the sign that said RECORDS with an authority and command presence that could not be questioned.
The clerk Bosch had dealt with was at the counter speaking with another citizen. Walling stepped right up and didn’t wait for an invitation to speak. She drew her credentials from her suit jacket pocket in one smooth move.
“FBI. I need to see your office manager in regard to a matter of urgency.”
The clerk looked at her with an unimpressed face.
“I will be with you as soon as I fin-”
“You’re with me now, honey. Go get your boss or I’ll go get him. This is life-or-death urgent.”
The woman made a face that seemed to indicate she had never encountered such rudeness before. Without a word to the citizen in front of her or anyone else she stepped away from the counter and walked to a door behind a row of cubicles.
They waited less than a minute. The clerk stepped back out through the door, followed by a man wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt and a maroon tie. He came directly to Rachel Walling.
“I’m Mr. Osborne. How can I help you?”
“We need to step into your office, sir. This is a highly confidential matter.”
“Over this way, please.”
He pointed to a swing door at the far end of the counter. Bosch and Walling walked down to it and its lock was buzzed open. They followed Osborne back through the rear door to his office. Rachel let him get a look at her credentials once he was seated behind a desk festooned with dusty Dodgers memorabilia. There was a wrapped sandwich from Subway front and center on his desk.
“What’s this all-”
“Mr. Osborne, I work for the Tactical Intelligence Unit here in Los Angeles. I’m sure you understand what that means. And this is Detective Harry Bosch of the LAPD. We’re working a joint investigation of high importance and urgency. We’ve learned from your clerk that there exists a file pertaining to an individual named Robert Foxworth, date of birth eleven/three/’seventy-one. It is vitally important that we be allowed to review that file immediately.”
Osborne nodded, but what he said didn’t go with a nod.
“I understand. But here at DCFS we work under very precise laws. State laws that protect the children. The records of our juvenile wards are not open to the public without court order. My hands are-”
“Sir, Robert Foxworth is no longer a juvenile. He is thirty-four years old. The file might contain information that will lead us to the containment of a very grave threat to this city. It will undoubtedly save lives.”
“I know, but you have to understand that we are not-”
“I do understand. I understand perfectly that if we don’t see that file now, we could be talking about a loss of human life. You don’t want that on your conscience, Mr. Osborne, and neither do we. That’s why we are on the same team. I’ll make a deal with you, sir. We will review the file right here in your office with you watching. In the meantime, I will get on the phone and instruct a member of my team at Tactical to draw up a search warrant. I will see to it that it is signed by a judge and furnished to you before the end of business today.”
“Well… I’d have to call it up from Archives.”
“Are the archives here in the building?”
“Yes, down below.”
“Then, please call Archives and get that file up here. We don’t have a lot of time, sir.”
“Just wait here. I will handle it personally.”
“Thank you, Mr. Osborne.”
The man left the office and Walling and Bosch sat down in chairs in front of his desk. Rachel smiled.
“Now let’s hope he doesn’t change his mind,” she said.
“You’re good,” he responded. “I tell my daughter that she could talk a zebra out of its stripes. I think you could talk a tiger out of its.”
“If I get this, you owe me another lunch at Water Grill.”
“Fine. Just no sashimi.”
They waited for Osborne’s return for nearly fifteen minutes. When he came back to the office he was carrying a file folder that was nearly an inch thick. He presented it to Walling, who took the file as she was standing up. Bosch took the cue and stood as well.
“We’ll get this back to you as soon as possible,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Osborne.”
“Wait a minute! You said you were going to look at it here.”
Rachel was heading toward the office door, gathering that momentum again.
“There’s no longer time, Mr. Osborne. We have to move. You’ll have the file back by tomorrow morning.”
She was already through the door. Bosch followed, closing it behind him on Osborne’s final words.
“What about the court ord-”
As they passed behind the clerk, Walling asked her to buzz them out. Rachel kept a two-pace lead on Bosch as they headed out into the hallway. He liked walking behind her and admiring how she handled herself. Command presence in spades.
“Is there a Starbucks around here where we could sit and look at this thing? I’d like to look before heading back.”
“There’s always a Starbucks around.”
Out on the sidewalk they walked east until they came to a tiny luncheonette that had a small inside counter with stools. It beat looking for a Starbucks, so they went in. While Bosch ordered two coffees from the man behind the counter Rachel opened the file.
By the time the coffees were put down on the counter and paid for she had a one-page lead on him. They sat side by side and she passed each page to him after she was finished with her review of it. They worked silently and neither one drank their coffee. Buying the coffee had merely bought them the work space at the counter.
The first document in the file was a copy of Foxworth’s birth certificate. He was born at Queen of Angels Hospital. The mother was listed as Rosemary Foxworth, DOB 6/21/54, Philadelphia, Pa., and the father was listed as unknown. The mother’s address was an apartment on Orchid Avenue in Hollywood. Bosch placed the address in the middle of what was now called the Kodak Center, part of the Hollywood renovation and rebirth plan. It was all glitz and glass and red carpets now, but back in 1971 it would have been a neighborhood patrolled by streetwalkers and hypes.
The birth certificate also listed the doctor who delivered the child and a hospital social worker involved in the case.