The Black Box (26 page)

Once he finished grumbling about giving up half a Saturday for no pay, Chu dug in on the computer and conducted a third- and fourth-layer search on the men of the 237th Transportation Company of the California National Guard.

While Bosch had ratcheted down his focus on the four men in the photograph on the
Saudi Princess
and on the fifth man, who had taken the photograph, he knew that a thorough investigation required that they check every name they had come up with in regard to the 237th, especially those who had
also been on the cruise ship either at or around the same time as Anneke Jespersen.

If nothing else, Bosch knew the exercise could pay dividends if a prosecution should arise from the case. Defense attorneys were always quick to claim the police had put on blinders and focused only on their clients while the true culprit slipped away. By widening their scope and thoroughly looking at all known members of the 237th in 1991 and 1992, Bosch was undercutting the tunnel-vision defense before it had even been put forth.

While Chu worked his computer, Bosch did the same, printing out everything they had accumulated on the five men in the main focus. All told, there were twenty-six pages of information, more than two-thirds of which were dedicated to Sheriff J.J. Drummond and Carl Cosgrove, the two who were powerful in Central Valley business, politics, and law enforcement.

Bosch next printed out maps of the Central Valley locations he intended to visit in the week ahead. These also allowed him to see the geographical relationships between the places where the five men worked and lived. It was all part of a travel package that was routine to put together before making a case trip.

While Bosch worked, he received an email from Henrik Jespersen. He had finally gotten to his storage room and found the details of his sister’s travel in the last months of her life. The information merely confirmed much of what he had told Bosch about Anneke’s trip to the United States. It also confirmed her short trip to Stuttgart.

According to Henrik’s records, his sister had spent only two nights in Germany in the last week of March 1992, staying at
a hotel called the Schwabian Inn, located outside Patch Barracks at the U.S. Army Garrison. Henrik could offer nothing further about her purpose there, but Bosch was able to confirm through his own Internet search that Patch Barracks was where the army’s Criminal Investigation Division was located. He also determined that the Stuttgart CID office handled all investigations of alleged war crimes pertaining to Desert Storm.

It seemed obvious to Bosch that Anneke Jespersen had made inquiries at Stuttgart about an alleged crime committed during Desert Storm. Whether what she learned there led her to the United States was unclear. Bosch knew from experience that even his status as a law enforcement officer did little to earn cooperation with the army CID. It seemed to him that a foreign journalist would face an even greater challenge in getting information on a crime that was most likely still under investigation at the time she asked about it.

By noon Bosch had his travel package put together and was ready to go. More so than Chu, it seemed, he was anxious to leave. For Harry, it had nothing to do with overtime pay. He simply had plans for the remainder of the day. He knew his daughter would be waking soon, and the plan was to hit Henry’s Tacos in North Hollywood. It would be lunch for him and breakfast for her. After that, they had preordered tickets for a 3-D movie that Maddie had been waiting to see. This would be followed in the evening with both of them going to dinner with Hannah at a restaurant on Melrose called Craig’s.

“I’m good to go,” Bosch told Chu.

“Then, so am I,” his partner responded.

“Got anything there worth talking about?”

He was referring to Chu’s data sweep on the other names from the 237th. Chu shook his head.

“Nothing to get excited about.”

“Did you get to that search I left a message about last night?”

“Which one?”

“The soldiers interviewed in Jespersen’s story about
Saudi Princess
.”

Chu snapped his fingers.

“I totally forgot. I got the message late last night and just forgot about it today. I’ll get on it now.”

He turned back to his computer.

“Nah, go home,” Bosch said. “You can hit that tomorrow from home, or back here on Monday. That’s a long shot anyway.”

Chu laughed.

“What?” Bosch asked.

“Nothing, Harry. It’s just that with you, everything’s a long shot.”

Bosch nodded.

“Maybe so. But when one of them pays off . . .”

Now Chu nodded. He had seen enough of Bosch’s long shots pay off.

“I’ll see you, Harry. Be careful up there.”

Bosch had confided in Chu and told him the plan for his “vacation.”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

On Sunday, Bosch got up early, made coffee, and took it and his phone out to the back deck so he could take in the
morning. It was cold and damp outside, but Bosch loved Sunday mornings because they were the most peaceful time of the week in the Cahuenga Pass. Low freeway noise, no echo of hammers from various construction projects in the mountain cleft, no coyotes barking.

He checked his watch. He had a call to make but planned to wait until eight. He put the phone on the side table and leaned back on the chaise longue, feeling the morning dew work into the back of his shirt. That was okay with him. It felt good.

Usually he woke up hungry. But not today. The night before at Craig’s, he had eaten half a basket of garlic bread before putting down a Green Goddess salad and the New York strip that followed. This was then topped off with half of his daughter’s bread pudding for desert. The food and conversation had been the best Bosch had had in a long time and he considered the evening a great success. Maddie and Hannah did as well, though they didn’t care what the food tasted like once they spied the actor Ryan Phillippe eating in a back booth with a group of friends.

Now Bosch slowly sipped his coffee and knew it would be his only breakfast. At eight, he slid the door closed and made a call to his friend Bill Holodnak to make sure their plan for the morning—which they had previously set up—was still in play. He spoke in a low voice so he would not be overheard or wake his daughter prematurely. He had learned from experience that hell hath no fury like a teenage girl awakened too early on a day off from school.

“We’re good to go, Harry,” Holodnak said. “I zeroed the lasers yesterday, and no one’s been in there since. I have one question, though. Do you want to go with the blowback
option? If so, we’ll put her in armor but she still might want to wear old clothes.”

Holodnak was the LAPD training officer who ran the Force Options Simulator at the academy in Elysian Park.

“I think we’ll skip the blowback this time, Bill.”

“Less cleanup for me. When will you be there?”

“As soon as I can get her up.”

“Been there, done that, with my own. But you gotta give me a time so I’m there.”

“How about ten?”

“That’ll work.”

“Good. See—”

“Hey, Harry, what have you got in the changer these days?”

“Some old Art Pepper live stuff. My kid found it for my birthday. Why, you got something?”

Holodnak was a jazz aficionado like no other Bosch knew. And his tips were usually gold.

“Danny Grissett.”

Bosch recognized the name but had to try to place it. This was the game he and Holodnak often played.

“Piano,” he finally said. “He plays in Tom Harrell’s group, doesn’t he? He’s a local, too.”

Bosch felt proud of himself.

“Right and wrong. He’s from here, but he’s been New York–based for a while now. Saw him with Harrell at the Standard when I was last back there visiting Lili.”

Holodnak’s daughter was a writer living in New York. He went there often and made many jazz discoveries in the clubs he haunted at night when his daughter kicked him out of her apartment so she could write.

“Grissett’s been putting out his own stuff,” he continued. “I recommend a disc called
Form
. It’s not his latest, but it’s worth a listen. Neo-bop stuff. He’s got a great tenor on there you’d like. Seamus Blake. Check the solo on ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance.’ It’s tight.”

“All right, I’ll check it out,” Bosch said. “And I’ll see you at ten.”

“Wait a minute. Not so fast there, buddy boy,” Holodnak threw right back at him. “Your turn. Give me something.”

That was the rule. Bosch had to give after receiving. He had to give back something that hopefully wasn’t already on Holodnak’s jazz radar. He thought hard. He had disappeared into the Pepper discs Maddie had given him, but before receiving the birthday bounty, he had been attempting to expand his jazz horizons a bit and also to get his daughter interested by going young.

“Grace Kelly,” he said. “Not the princess.”

Holodnak laughed at the ease of the challenge.

“Not the princess, the kid. Young alto sensation. She’s teamed with Woods and Konitz on records. I think the Konitz is better. Next?”

The challenge seemed hopeless to Bosch.

“Okay, one more. How about . . . Gary Smulyan?”

“
Hidden Treasures,”
Holodnak answered quickly, naming the very disc Bosch was thinking of. “Smulyan on the bari and then just bass and drums in rhythm. Good stuff, Harry. But I got you.”

“Well, someday I’ll get you.”

“Not on my watch. See you at ten.”

Bosch disconnected and checked the clock on the phone.
He could let his daughter sleep for another hour, wake her with the smell of a fresh pot of coffee, and cut down on the chances of her being grumpy about being wakened at what she would consider such an early hour on a Sunday. He knew that, grumpy or not, she’d eventually come around and like the plan he had for the day.

He went back inside to write down the name Danny Grissett.

The Force Options Simulator was a training device housed at the academy that consisted of a wall-size screen on which varying interactive shoot/don’t shoot scenarios were projected. The images were not computer generated. Real actors were filmed in multiple high-definition sequences that would play out according to the actions taken by the officer in the training session. The officer was given a handgun that fired a laser instead of bullets and was electronically wedded to the action on the screen. If the laser hit one of the players on the screen—good or bad—that person went down. Each scenario played out until the officer took action or decided that no action was the correct response.

There was a blowback option, which involved a paintball gun located above the screen and that fired at the trainee at the same moment a figure in the simulation fired.

On the ride to the academy, Bosch explained what they were doing, and his daughter grew excited. She had become a top shooter in her age group in local competitions, but those were tests of marksmanship against paper targets. She had read about shoot/don’t shoot situations in a book by Malcolm Gladwell, but this would be the first time she faced
the split-second life-and-death decisions with a gun in her hand.

The front lot at the academy was almost empty. There were no classes or scheduled activities on a Sunday morning. Besides that, the citywide hiring freeze made the cadet classes lean and the activity level low, as the department could hire only to replace retiring officers.

They entered the gym and crossed the basketball court to where the FO Simulator had been set up in an old storage room. Holodnak, an affable man with a gray-white mane, was there waiting for them. Bosch introduced his daughter as Madeline, and the trainer handed them both handguns, each equipped with a laser and linked by an electronic tether to the simulator’s computer.

After explaining the procedures, Holodnak took his place behind a computer in the back of the room. He dimmed the lights and started the first scenario. It began with a view through the windshield of a patrol car that was pulling to a stop behind a car that had pulled onto the road’s shoulder. An electronic voice from overhead announced the situation.

“You and your partner have made a traffic stop of a vehicle that was driving erratically.”

Almost immediately two young men got out of both sides of the car in front of them. They both started yelling and cursing at the officers who had stopped them.

“Man, why you fucking with me?” said the driver.

“What’d we do, man?” said the passenger. “This ain’t fair!”

It escalated from there. Bosch called out commands for the men to turn and place their hands on the roof of their car.
But the two men ignored him. Bosch registered tattoos, hang-low pants, and baseball hats worn backwards. He told them to calm down. But they didn’t, and then Bosch’s daughter chimed in.

“Calm down! Place your hands on the car. Do not—”

Simultaneously the two men went to their waistbands. Bosch drew his weapon too, and as soon as he saw the driver’s weapon hand coming up, he opened fire. He heard fire come from his daughter on his right as well.

Both men on the screen went down.

The lights came up.

“So,” said Holodnak from behind them. “What did we see?”

“They had guns,” Maddie said.

“Are you sure?” Holodnak asked.

“My guy did. I saw it.”

“Harry, what about you? What did you see?”

“I saw a gun,” Bosch said.

He looked over at his daughter and nodded.

“Okay,” Holodnak said. “Let’s back it up.”

He then ran the scenario over in slow motion. Sure enough, both men had reached for guns and were raising them to fire when Bosch and his daughter had fired first. Hits on the screen were marked with red
Xs
and the misses were black. Maddie had hit the passenger with three shots in the torso, no misses. Bosch had hit the driver twice in the chest and missed high with the third shot because his target was already falling backward to the ground.

Holodnak said they had both done well.

“Remember, we are always at a disadvantage,” he said. “It
takes a second and a half to recognize the weapon, another second and a half to assess and fire. Three seconds. That’s the advantage a shooter has on us. That is what we must work to overcome. Three seconds is too long. People die in three seconds.”