Because of a massive construction project to build Metro train access to the LAX terminal loop, two of the six parking structures were closed and Bosch had to drive out of the loop, park at a garage on Century Boulevard, and take a shuttle bus back to the American Airlines terminal. He then faced a long security line, and by the time he got to his gate, boarding was well underway, and Bosch was the very last passenger allowed on.
He had hoped for some downtime in the terminal to make some calls and reserve a hotel room for that night, as well as check on the lineups of performers in the Chicago jazz clubs.
His seat was midway through the economy cabin, and there was no room in the overhead bins for his carry-on bag. He stuffed it under the seat in front of his window seat, which left him little room for his feet. Cramped and crammed in, he had to turn sideways in his seat to dig the cellphone out of his pocket. It had been almost three years since he had been on a plane, and he realized he hadn’t missed it at all.
His daughter worked a mid-watch shift, so he believed she would be awake but not working yet. As he was about to call her to inform her of his travels, he received an incoming call from an unknown number.
“Bosch.”
“Leave my son alone.”
It was a woman’s voice and Bosch immediately knew who it belonged to. He turned toward the window and talked softly so as to not be overheard.
“Mrs. Walsh? He—”
“You just leave him out of this, you understand? You punched him! You punched my son!”
“Because he needed to be punched. Look, I know he was the one who broke into your house. He either told you or you figured it out later but by then you’d already called the police. So when McShane’s prints came up, you were happy to lay the burglary off on him so the police wouldn’t come looking for your son.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I think I do, Sheila. And I’m in the middle of something right now but we are going to talk very soon. I want the truth about how McShane’s prints got there.”
“Don’t you come near me, and don’t you come near my son. I have a lawyer and he’ll sue your ass till you have nothing left.”
“Listen to me, Sheila—”
She disconnected.
Bosch considered calling her back but decided to leave it. His approach to her son had obviously spooked her and that’s what he had wanted. He would let that percolate for a while and then he’d come knocking on her door, lawyer or no lawyer.
Bosch looked around. The plane hadn’t moved yet and there were no flight attendants in the aisle to tell him to stop using his phone. He quickly called his daughter.
“Hi, Dad.”
“How’s it going, Mads?”
Just then an announcement came blaring out of an overhead speaker as the plane’s first officer addressed the passengers and gave the details of the flight plan and arrival.
“Sorry, hold on,” Bosch said.
The pilot said it was a four-hour flight that would get in at Chicago O’Hare at 8 p.m. Central Time, with the two-hour time change.
“Okay,” Bosch said. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you on a plane?” his daughter asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to Chicago. About to take off.”
“What’s in Chicago?”
“I’m on a case. I sort of got recruited by Renée Ballard for the reboot of the Open-Unsolved Unit.”
“You are kidding me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, I just sort of started this week. I wanted to see how it goes first, then I was going to tell you.”
“Dad, are you sure you should be doing this? I wish you had told me before you agreed to do this.”
“Yes, I’m sure. This is what I do, Mads. You know that.”
“And she already has you going to Chicago on a case.”
“It’s really just an errand. I’m picking up a piece of evidence. I’ll just be gone a night but wanted to check in with you, see how things were going.”
“Is Renée with you?”
“No, going by myself. I’m just making a pickup and then coming back. Nothing dangerous. Not even bringing a gun.”
“You still shouldn’t do this stuff by yourself. Why can’t the Chicago police just send it to you?”
“That’s a long story but, really, it’s not a big deal, Maddie. I’ll be in and out. I wouldn’t even stay over if I could have scheduled it earlier. So never mind me. What’s going on with you? How is SPU?”
She had recently been assigned to the Special Problems Unit at Hollywood Division. The unit followed a law enforcement strategy of attacking hot spots of crime by flooding the problem area with increased patrols and other tactics targeting the specific crime trend. It was a favored assignment among young officers because it wasn’t always uniform duty. It also involved plainclothes surveillance as well as decoy operations. Bosch knew his daughter was particularly proud of getting the assignment less than a year after graduating from the police academy.
“It’s all good,” Maddie said. “I’ve been decoying all week on Melrose. They’re having a problem with drive-by purse snatchers. But so far nothing.”
Bosch pictured his daughter walking the sidewalks of the hip shopping area with a purse loosely slung over her curbside shoulder, waiting for the robbers to drive up, grab it, and go.
“Cool. Just you, or are there other decoys?”
“Just me and a couple follow teams.”
Bosch was glad to hear she was the solo decoy. He didn’t want the follow teams concentrating on anybody else.
The plane jerked as it started to pull back from the gate.
“I think I gotta go, we’re rolling.”
“Okay, Dad. Stay safe and let me know when you’re back.”
“You, too. Shoot me a text when you get the bad guys, okay?”
“Will do.”
They disconnected.
Bosch quickly made one more call, punching in the phone number Ballard had given him for retired detective Dale Dubose in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. He knew the call would probably go unanswered, so he wasn’t worried about starting a conversation as the plane was taking off. Most departing planes at LAX taxied for a good fifteen minutes before getting the all clear to take off.
As expected, the call went to voice mail. Bosch cupped a hand over his mouth and the phone so he would not be overheard while he left a message.
“Dale Dubose, it’s Harry Bosch with the cold case unit at LAPD. I need you to call me back about the Laura Wilson case or you’re going to find me at your front door. I’ll give you a day and then I’m coming up there. And I’ll be pretty pissed off if I have to fly all the way up for a conversation that can be handled over the phone.”
Bosch repeated his cell number twice and then disconnected. He hoped the tone of his voice on the message would convey to Dubose that ignoring the call was not an option.
He then turned his phone off and put it back in his pocket.
Fifteen minutes later, the plane was in the air and Bosch was looking down through the window at the cold, dark Pacific as the plane banked after takeoff and started to turn east.