The Burning Room

It was after 2 a.m. by the time Bosch came in the front door of his home. The lights were on but all was quiet. His daughter’s bedroom door was closed. She had gone to sleep long ago. He had spoken to her from the car during the drive up from Calexico.

Bosch was keyed up despite the long day, most of it spent in the car. He went out onto the back deck and stood against the railing, taking in the city and thinking about the strides made on the Bonnie Brae case. In the morning he would bring Captain Crowder up to date and then they would need to decide whether to go to Mexico in an attempt to find Ana Acevedo, aka Sister Esther Gonzalez, in the cartel-controlled mountains of Guerrero, or be content to await her return to American soil. Either way had its risks and Bosch would leave it to the captain to make the call.

He made a note to himself to attempt to find out in the morning if Ana Acevedo had legally changed her name to Sister Esther Gonzalez, and if so, why the transaction had not come up during Soto’s efforts to locate her. He assumed she traveled to Mexico on a valid passport. There should have been a record somewhere of the change.

His thoughts of Soto’s efforts seemed to conjure her. Bosch’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. Her name was on the screen.

“Lucy?”

“Harry, were you asleep?”

“No, not yet. Where are you?”

Bosch had dropped her off at her car inside the garage beneath the PAB.

“At the squad. I’d left my keys up here.”

He wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.

“And?”

“And I just checked on things before I was going to go home. I pulled up the story on the Merced case in La Opinión to see how it came out, you know?”

“Okay.”

“Everything was fine with the story. It got good play and I wasn’t misquoted. It said we recovered the murder weapon. So then I scrolled down to the comments. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Not really—I don’t really read newspapers, online or not. But go ahead.”

“Well, online, readers can make comments about any story on the website. So there were some comments, including one I am sure is from our anonymous caller. The woman. She won’t give up and I’m thinking we need to talk to her.”

“What did she say?”

“It was in Spanish but it basically says the police are liars. They know who did this because they’ve been told but it’s a big cover-up to protect the mayor and the real man in charge behind him.”

Bosch thought about it for a few moments.

“We still think she’s talking about Zeyas, right?”

“Right.”

“Who would be the man in charge? Broussard?”

“I guess.”

“And she didn’t put her name on there, right?”

“No, you can type in any name or words you want. She typed in ‘Lo sé.’ I know.”

“Is that sort of thing traceable?”

“Probably with a court order. I doubt the paper will help us without it. I was just going to keep trying to call her, get her to answer. Then we set up a meet.”

“No, let’s not keep calling her. We spook her and she throws away the cell. She wants to be anonymous for a reason.”

“Then what?”

“We ping her.”

“Okay.”

“Go home now, Lucy. Get some sleep. We’ll set it up in the morning. I know a judge who will sign the order.”

“Okay, Harry.”

“And good work. It’s getting hard to keep up with you.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

Bosch clicked off the call. He wasn’t so sure he had said it as a compliment.