He stood there looking at the photo and considered the irony of the week. Elizabeth Clayton couldn’t recover from the loss of a child and wandered the earth as a zombie, not caring what was done to her or what depravity she had willingly sunk to. Esme Tavares left a child in a crib and apparently never looked back.
The reality of the world was dark and horrifying. Bosch sat down behind his makeshift desk to do the paperwork that would document the grim reality of it. But he found that he couldn’t even begin.
He contemplated this for a long moment and then stood back up. There was a bench that ran down the center of the cell perpendicular to his desk. He used it mostly to spread out photos and files so that he could review stubborn cases from a fresh angle, often looking at the crime scene photos placed side by side down the length of the scarred wooden bench. He had been told that the bench had been nicknamed “the diving board” back in the day because it had been the jumping-off point to oblivion for a handful of inmates over time. They would step up on the bench, wrap one leg from their jail pants through the bars guarding the overhead air vent, then wrap the other around their neck.
They’d jump off the end of the bench into the dark pool of emptiness, and their misery would be over.
Bosch stepped up onto the bench now. He reached above his head to grasp one of the overhead bars for support.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Checking the screen, he held the phone up, turning on the bench, moving his arm until he saw one service bar finally appear in the corner. With his thumb, he went to his contact list and scrolled until almost the end and hit the number he was looking for.
Lucia Soto answered right away.
“Harry, what’s up?”
“Did you pull that case I told you about?”
“Daisy Clayton? Yes, first thing this morning.”
“And?”
“You were right, gathering dust. Nobody’s worked it in three, four, years except for the annual due diligence reports, which are word-for-word copies of the year before. You know how it goes: ‘No viable leads at this time’ because they didn’t really look for viable leads.”
“And?”
“And I think they were wrong. I saw some stuff. There are workable angles. It was pretty much written off as a serial. Somebody who moved through Hollywood, did his thing, and moved on. But I’m not so sure about that. I looked at the photos. There was a familiarity with her and the place she was left. He knew the area. I’m going to—”
“Lucia.”
“What, Harry?”
“Cut me in.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I want in. Let’s go get him.”
Acknowledgments
Many people contributed their time, experience, and expertise to the author in the research and writing of this novel. On the research side of things they include Rick Jackson, Tim Marcia, Mitzi Roberts, David Lambkin, Dennis Wojciechowski, Irwin Rosenberg, Anthony Vairo, Lynn Smith, Adam Frisch, Henrik Bastin, and Daniel Daly. On the writing side, there was Asya Muchnick, Bill Massey, Harriet Bourton, Emad Aktar, Pamela Marshall, Terrill Lee Lankford, Jane Davis, Heather Rizzo, John Houghton, and Linda Connelly. Many of those named here had their feet firmly planted in both sides of the equation.
To those listed and those left off inadvertently or by choice to remain anonymous, the author is deeply grateful.