Besides that, he needed to think and to grind things down. He knew that the wide-open spaces of the desert between Los Angeles and Las Vegas would help him open his mind to the nuances and possibilities of the investigation. This was why he always preferred driving over flying to the gambling mecca in the Nevada desert.
Halfway across, he decided to call Haller. He had not seen or heard from him since their walk among the tombstones. The call went to message and Bosch reported that he was on his way to Vegas and had time to talk.
Twenty minutes later Haller called back, saying he had just gotten out of a hearing on an unrelated case.
“Vegas?” he said. “What’s in Vegas?”
“Not sure,” Bosch said. “Sort of following a flier. If it amounts to anything, you’ll be the first I let know.”
“Couldn’t you just call over there? That’s a four-hour drive.”
“You can always just call — if you know who to call. But sometimes your gut tells you to drive.”
“Very Zen, Harry.”
“No, more like Homicide one-oh-one.”
Bosch was passing through Primm at the Nevada border. He’d be at his destination in an hour.
“So what’s happening with the video from the cemetery?” he asked.
“Got a pro working on it today,” Haller said. “Anything I get, you get.”
“Okay.”
“Your little do-si-do at the murder house has landed. The sheriffs complained to the DA, and the DA complained to the judge on this thing. I gotta go see him in chambers today to explain my actions.”
“Shit. Sorry about that. You want me there? I’ll turn around.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near there. In fact, I’m glad you’ll be in Vegas. There’s my excuse. I’ll be able to handle it. I know the judge. Former defense lawyer, so he’ll be sympathetic to my plight. I’ll tell him I just can’t get good help these days.”
Bosch smiled. He was sure Haller was smiling, too.
“Yeah, tell him I didn’t know what I was doing, that I’m new at this.”
“Definitely.”
They went off case then and talked about their daughters and graduation. Haller proposed giving the girls a joint gift, a cruise up the west coast of Canada to Alaska, where they could dogsled on glaciers while getting to know each other better before rooming together at Chapman in the fall. Bosch felt blindsided because he had not even been thinking about a graduation gift. He hadn’t realized there should be one.
He ultimately agreed to the cruise idea and Haller said he would handle it. He had a travel agent he worked with. They signed off then and Bosch went back to thoughts about the case and prepping for his destination.
It had been a long time since Bosch had come to Vegas on a case and he found that once again the city had redefined itself with new casinos, traffic patterns, and shopping meccas. The Audemars Piguet shop and service center was located in a new shopping center on the strip. It was part of a massive glass complex of casinos and hotels and commercial and residential structures that dwarfed everything around it. The whole thing had been built since the last time Bosch had been in the city. He circled the project twice — a journey of fifteen minutes because of traffic — before finding an entrance to a parking garage. Soon afterward he was walking through a mall lined with the most upscale collection of shops he had ever seen in one location, including Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.
The Audemars Piguet shop was all dark-wood-and-glass cases where watches were displayed on individual pedestals. There was a security man, complete with Secret Service — style earbud, posted at the entrance. He wore a suit nicer than anything Bosch had ever owned. A woman who looked like she was dressed for the opera sat behind a reception desk and welcomed Bosch with a sincere smile. She knew better than to judge Bosch by his blue jeans and corduroy sport jacket. Vegas gamblers often chose to hide wealth behind a rumpled facade. Bosch had the facade, at least. He felt lucky that the cuff of his jacket was just long enough to hide that he wore a Timex on his right wrist.
“Is there a different entrance for the service center?” Bosch asked.
“No, this is our showroom as well as our service center,” the woman said cheerfully. “Are you here to pick up a watch?”
“Not exactly. I’m wondering, is there a service manager I could speak to? I need to ask about a watch that came here for repairs earlier this year.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose at forty-five-degree angles as she frowned.
“Let me get Mr. Gerard for you,” she said.
She stood up and disappeared through a doorway behind her station. Bosch spent the waiting time looking at the various displays, all the while feeling the eyes of the security guy on the back of his neck.
“Sir?”
Bosch turned and saw a man standing by one of the counters. He wore a suit and tie and had a full beard — maybe to make up for the loss of hair on top — and glasses with a pull-down magnifier over the left lens.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Bosch said. “I want to make an inquiry about a watch I believe was sent to you for repair earlier this year.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Are you the owner?”
He spoke with an accent Bosch could not readily identify. Something European. Maybe Swiss, maybe German.
“No, I’m not the owner. I’m an investigator from Los Angeles and I am trying to locate the watch and find out the details surrounding it.”
“This is very unusual. Are you the police?”
“I just retired from the Los Angeles police. I have been asked to look into this matter. It involves a murder.”
The last word seemed to crowd the man’s face with suspicion.
“A murder.”
“Yes. I was a homicide detective. If you are concerned about talking with me, I can provide you with names and numbers of people in the LAPD who can verify and vouch for me.”
“Can you show me your identification?”
“Of course.”
Bosch pulled his wallet and removed his LAPD ID. There was no need to try to cover up the retired demarcation this time.
“What watch are you speaking about?” the man asked as he handed back the ID card.
“You’re Mr. Gerard?” Bosch asked.
“Yes, Bertrand Gerard. I am the manager of sales and service here. Who was murdered?”
“A woman named Alexandra Parks. Back in February. Did you hear about that over here?”
The man shook his head like he was not sure what he had heard. It did not appear to Bosch that Parks’s name was known to him.
“It’s a pretty big case back in L.A.,” Bosch said. “But she may have used her husband’s last name in her dealings regarding the watch. That name is Harrick.”
Now Bosch got a reaction. Not an alert of any kind, but a recognition for sure.
“You know her?” Bosch asked.
“Yes, I know this name,” Gerard answered. “But I didn’t know what happened. Her phone number was disconnected and the original owner didn’t want the watch back. So... we still have it here.”
Bosch paused. Gerard had just revealed something Bosch didn’t already know or understand. He wanted to keep the man talking but didn’t want to make a misstep that could spoil cooperation.
“The original owner,” he said tentatively. “Why didn’t she want the watch back?”
“Technically, it was not a she,” Gerard said. “The buyer was a man, though he did purchase it for his wife. Who asked you to look into this matter?”