Resurrection Walk

“Because they’re circling,” Haller said. “Vultures always circle.”

“I’ve got one more thing, if you’re interested. On the case.”

“Go ahead.”

“The autopsy. Roberto Sanz was hit twice in the back. Now look at this.”

Bosch pulled out his phone and opened the photo of the body diagram from the autopsy. He handed the phone to Haller.

“What am I looking at?” Haller said.

“That’s the diagram that shows the impacts,” Bosch said. “Two shots in the upper back, perfectly placed. Small grouping, only five point seven inches apart.”

“Okay. And?”

“And that was some good shooting. Moving target, dark out, but she hits him in the back, then when he’s down, she pops him again. Two entry wounds, less than six inches apart.”

“And she didn’t even own a gun.”

“Right, no gun.”

“Did he teach her to shoot? When they were together?”

“Yeah, the PSR says there were photos in evidence of them at a range when they were still married. The photos weren’t in the file. Silver may have them.”

Bosch could tell Haller was intrigued. He continued to stare at the image on the phone. He had his trial face on and was most likely running through what he could do in court with what Bosch was telling him.

“Kind of looks more like a hit than a crime of passion,” Haller said, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, and one last thing,” Bosch said. “When this went down, all the news stories talked about how Roberto Sanz was a hero, got the medal of valor after a gang shooting and all of that. Now slide to the next photo.”

Haller swiped his finger across the screen. Bosch leaned over and saw a photo of his daughter, Maddie, with a black eye.

“Wrong way,” Bosch said.

“What the hell is this?” Haller exclaimed.

“She’s working undercover. The other night she took down a purse snatcher on Melrose and because she’s a woman, the guy thought he could throw a punch and get away. He was wrong.”

“That’s kind of cool. Except for the black eye.”

“Yeah. I told her to send me a selfie before she covered it with makeup. I wanted to see how bad it was. Swipe the other way.”

Haller did so and the image of Roberto Sanz’s tattoo came up on the screen. He hesitantly read the words out loud.

“‘Que Viene... el Cuco.’ What’s this?”

“You know what it means?”

“Not really.”

“You’re half Mexican.”

“I grew up in Beverly Hills.”

“It says se habla español on your billboards and bus benches all over town.”

“Hablo español, but it doesn’t mean I’m fluent in tattoo or every colloquial phrase out there. Are you going to tell me what or who El Cuco is?”

“It’s Mexican folklore. El Cuco is the bogeyman — the monster that lives under the bed or hides in the closet. He comes out to grab children who are bad. There’s a whole song about it. The bogeyman’s coming, he’s going to eat you, and so on. I remember the older kids singing it when I was in juvie hall. I guess you probably didn’t hear it in Beverly Hills.”

“With good reason. So adults sing that to their kids?”

“I guess it keeps them in line.”

“No doubt. So he had this tattoo? Sanz?”

“On his hip below the beltline, where most people wouldn’t see it unless they were in the locker room at the substation. Sanz was in a clique. A sheriff’s gang.”

Haller went silent again as he thought about this, his lawyer face firmly back in place. Bosch imagined that he had gone off to a courtroom in his mind and was seeing himself holding up the photo in front of a jury. Roberto Sanz’s obvious affiliation with the Cucos — the Bogeymen — changed things about the case.

Bosch finally interrupted his reverie.

“So, what do you think?”

“It raises a lot of possibilities, that’s what I think. We need to go out to Chino.”

“We?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow. I want to talk to her. I’ll clear the schedule. Today, you get your bony ass over to UCLA.”

“Okay. What about Silver?”

“I’ll deal with him. We’ll need his files.”

Bosch nodded. They were finished. For now. Both men stood up. Haller leaned in close to Bosch.

“You know, this could get...” Haller said.

His voice trailed off.

“I know,” Bosch said.

“We need to be careful,” Haller said. “No footprints till we’re ready.”

Haller bent down to grab his briefcase. Bosch looked up at the top of City Hall.

The vultures were still circling.

Part Two The Needle

8

The commune consisted of a long row of side-by-side attorney offices on the right and an open space with work pods on the left for support staff. Only I didn’t see any support staff.

Each of the individual offices had a small frame mounted to the right of the door where an attorney could slot in or slide out his or her business card. It was a commune for legal transients, lawyers who came and went on the whims of cases and clients.