Resurrection Walk

Bosch had seen the photos in the discovery material Haller got after filing the habeas petition, and he knew that at first glance they weren’t helpful to the case for Lucinda Sanz’s innocence. He wasn’t sure how Arslanian’s re-creation would work, but he knew that Haller had full trust in her. And he remembered Haller talking about taking adverse evidence and finding ways to own it, make it work for you rather than against you. The photos of Lucinda at the range had seemed damning. But maybe now, not so much.

“I’m going out to Chino tomorrow to show Lucinda some photos,” Bosch said. “Do you need me to ask her anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Arslanian said. “I think we’re covered. And I’ve got what I need here. We can head back to the city and I’ll get to work on it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bosch said. “I’m just going to tell the owners we’re done.”

Bosch walked up the stoop to the front door and knocked. A woman quickly answered, and Bosch got the idea that she had been watching them through a window.

“Mrs. Perez, we’re all done here,” Bosch said. “Thanks for letting us use the front yard.”

“Is okay,” Perez said. “Uh, you said you work for the lawyer?”

“Yes, we both do.”

“Do you think the woman is innocent?”

“I do. But we have to prove it.”

“Okay, I see.”

“Do you know her?”

“Oh, no, I don’t. I just... I just wondered what would happen.”

“Okay.”

Bosch waited to see if she would say more, but she didn’t.

“Well, thank you,” he said.

He went down the two steps and joined Arslanian in the yard. She had collapsed her tripod and was stowing it in a carrying bag.

“When she bought the house, did she know what happened here?” she asked.

“She’s just renting,” Bosch said. “Her landlord didn’t tell her.”

“Was she freaked out when you told her?”

“Not so much. It’s L.A., you know. There’s probably a history of violence wherever you go.”

“That’s sad.”

“That’s L.A.”

22

On the drive back from the desert, Arslanian didn’t have to be told to sit up front. She took the seat next to Bosch but focused her attention on her notes and a laptop she opened once they were on the smooth surface of the Antelope Valley Freeway. She spoke without taking her eyes off the screen or interrupting the input of data into her computer program.

“Funny that they call it the Antelope Valley,” she said.

“Why is that?” Bosch asked.

“I did my research on the plane. There haven’t been any antelope here in over a century. The species was hunted out by the Indigenous people before it was ever called the Antelope Valley.”

“Didn’t know that.”

“I was thinking I might see antelope roaming free. But then I looked it up.”

Bosch nodded and tried to draw her attention away from the computer screen.

“Do you see that?” he said. “The rock outcropping.”

Arslanian looked up at the jagged formation they were passing to the north of the freeway.

“Wow, beautiful,” she said. “And immense!”

“Vasquez Rocks,” Bosch said. “They call it that because about a hundred and fifty years ago a bandido named Tiburcio Vasquez hid out in there, and the sheriff’s posse never found him.”

Arslanian studied the formation for a long moment before responding.

“Not many places are named after bad guys,” she said.

“How about Trump Tower?” Bosch responded.

“Self-named. And I guess it depends on who you talk to about that.”

“I guess so.”

She lapsed into silence and Bosch wondered if he had offended her. He had just been trying for some kind of reaction. He was intrigued by her and the way she did her work and looked at things. He wanted to know her better but knew her time in L.A. would be short. After the hearing she would return to New York.

When, after a few minutes, they had connected to the Golden State Freeway, she spoke again.

“Mickey told me you two are brothers.”

“Half brothers, actually.”

“Ah. Which was the common parent?”

“Father.”

“But you two didn’t know about each other until you were grown up?”

“Yeah. Our father was a lawyer like Mickey. Mickey’s mother was his wife. My mother was a client.”

“I think I see why you were kept apart. Was it consensual — your mother and father?”

It was a surprising question. Bosch didn’t answer at first because he realized he had never asked himself that. It was now too late to ever know for sure.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it,” Arslanian said. “Sometimes I’m too blunt with people I feel comfortable with.”

“No, it’s not that,” Bosch said. “I just never thought about it that way before. I assumed it was consensual. Started as a business arrangement — payment for services rendered. My mother was gone by the time I figured out who he was. And I met him only once, and very briefly at that. He was dying at the time, and soon afterward he was gone too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing really to be sorry about. I didn’t know the guy.”

“I mean sorry you had to grow up... like that.”

Bosch just nodded. She moved on.

“So, how’d you and Mickey meet? One of those DNA services?”

“No, it was a case. We met on a case and sort of figured it out.”

“Harry, can I ask you something? Something personal?”