"Yes."
Bailey Sable's neck flushed. She was embarrassed by the question. She shook her head.
"I don't know. That was as shocking really as Becky being, you know, killed. It made us all think we didn't really know our friend. It was really sad because I realized she hadn't trusted me enough to tell me these things. You know, I still think about that when I remember things back then."
"Did she have any boyfriends that you did know about?" Bosch asked.
"Not then. I mean, at the time. She had a boyfriend freshman year but he had moved away to Hawaii with his family. That was like the summer before. Then the whole school year I thought she was alone. You know, she didn't go to any of the dances or the games with anybody. But I was wrong, I guess."
"Because of the pregnancy," Rider said.
"Well, yeah. That's sort of obvious, isn't it?"
"Who was the father?" Bosch asked, hoping the direct question might elicit a response with something to pursue.
But Sable shrugged.
"I have no idea, and don't think I've ever stopped wondering."
Bosch nodded. He had gotten nothing.
"The breakup with the boy who moved to Hawaii-how was that with her?" he asked.
"Well, I thought it broke her heart. She took it really hard. It was like Romeo and Juliet."
"How so?"
"They were broken up by the parents."
"You mean they didn't want them going together?"
"No, his dad took a job or something in Hawaii. They had to move and it broke them up."
Bosch nodded again. He didn't know if any of the information they were getting was useful but he knew it was important to cast as wide a net as possible.
"Do you know where Tara Wood is these days?" he asked.
Sable shook her head.
"We had a ten-year reunion and she didn't come. I lost touch with her. I still talk to Grace Tanaka from time to time. But she lives up in the Bay Area so I don't see her too much."
"Can you give us her number?"
"Sure, I have it here."
She reached down and opened a desk drawer and pulled out her purse. While she was getting out an address book Bosch took the photo of Mackey off the desk and put it back into his pocket. When Sable read off a phone number Rider wrote it down in a small notebook.
"Five ten," Rider said. "What is that, Oakland?"
"She lives in Hayward. She wants to live in San Francisco but it costs too much for what she makes."
"What does she do?"
"She's a metal sculptor."
"Her last name is still Tanaka?"
"Yes. She never married. She . . ."
"What?"
"She turned out to be gay."
"Turned out?"
"Well, what I mean is, we never knew. She never told us. She moved up there and once about eight years ago I went up to visit and then I knew."
"It was obvious?"
"Obvious."
"Did she come to the ten-year high school reunion?"
"Yes, she was there. We had fun, but it was sort of sad, too, because people talked about Becky and how it was never solved. I think that's probably why Tara didn't come. She didn't want to be reminded of what happened to Becky."
"Well, maybe we'll change that by the twentieth reunion," Bosch said, immediately regretting the flippant remark. "Sorry, that wasn't a nice thing to say."
"Well, I hope you do change it. I think about her all the time. Always wondering who did it and why they have never been found. I look at her picture every day on the plaque when I come into school. It's weird. I helped raise the money for that plaque when I was class president."
"They?" Bosch asked.
"What?"
"You said they have never been found. Why did you say they?"
"I don't know. He, she, whatever."
Bosch nodded.
"Mrs. Sable, thanks for your time," he said. "Would you do us a favor and not talk about this with anyone? We don't want people being prepared for us, you know what I mean?"
"Like with me?"
"Exactly. And if you think of anything else, anything at all you want to talk about, my partner will give you a card with our numbers on it."
"Okay."
She seemed to be in a far-off reverie. The detectives said good-bye and left her there with the stack of papers to grade. Bosch thought she was probably remembering a time when four girls were the best of friends and the future sparkled in front of them like an ocean.
Before leaving the school they stopped by the office to see if the school had any current contact information for former student Tara Wood. Gordon Stoddard had Mrs. Atkins check but the answer was no. Bosch asked if they could borrow the 1988 yearbook to make copies of some of the photos and Stoddard gave his approval.
"I'm on my way out," he said. "I'll walk with you."
They small-talked on the way back to the library and Stoddard gave them the yearbook, which had already been returned to the shelves. On the way out to the parking lot Stoddard stopped with them once more in front of the memorial plaque. Bosch ran his fingers over the raised letters of Becky Verloren's name. He noticed that the edges had been worn smooth over the years by many students doing the same thing.
11
RIDER WORKED THE FILE and the phone while Bosch drove toward Panorama City, which was just on the east side of the 405 and across the Devonshire Division line.
Panorama City was a district carved off the north side of Van Nuys many years before when residents there decided they needed to distance themselves from negative connotations ascribed to Van Nuys. Nothing about the place was changed but the name and a few street signs. Still, Panorama City sounded clean and beautiful and crime free, and the residents felt better about themselves. But many years had passed and resident groups had petitioned to rename their neighborhoods again and to distance themselves, if not physically then image-wise, from negative connotations associated with Panorama City. Bosch guessed it was one of the ways Los Angeles kept reinventing itself. Like a writer or actor who keeps changing his name to leave past failings behind and start fresh, even with the same pen or face.
As expected, Roland Mackey was no longer at the auto towing company he had worked for while on his most recent stint of probation. But also as expected, the ex-con was not particularly smart when it came to covering his trail. The probation file contained his entire work history through a life that had largely been spent on probation or parole. He drove a tow truck for two other concerns during past periods of state monitoring. Posing as an acquaintance, Rider called each of them and easily located his current employer: Tampa Towing. She then called the tow service and asked if Mackey was working today. After a moment she closed the phone and looked at Bosch.
"Tampa Towing. He comes on at four."
Bosch checked his watch. Mackey reported for work in ten minutes.
"Let's go by and get a look at him. We'll check his address after. Tampa and what?"
"Tampa and Roscoe. Must be across from the hospital."
"The hospital is Roscoe and Reseda. I wonder why they didn't call it Roscoe Towing."
"Funny. Then what do we do after we get a look at him?"
"Well, we go up to him and ask him if he killed Becky Verloren seventeen years ago and then he says yes and we take him downtown."
"Come on, Bosch."
"I don't know. What do you want to do next?"
"We check his address like you said, and then I think we're ready for the parents. I'm thinking that we need to talk to them about this guy before we set up on him and make a play-especially in the newspaper. I say we go by the house and see the mother. We're already up here. Might as well."
"You mean if she's still there," he said. "Did you run an AutoTrack on her, too?"
"Didn't have to. She'll be there. You heard how Garcia was talking. Her baby's ghost is in that house. I doubt she'll ever leave it."
Bosch guessed that she was right about that but
didn't respond. He drove east on Devonshire Boulevard to Tampa Avenue and then dropped down to Roscoe Boulevard. They got to the intersection a few minutes before four. Tampa Towing was actually a Chevron service station with two mechanics' bays. Bosch parked in the lot of a small strip shopping plaza across the street and killed the engine.
Bosch wasn't surprised when four o'clock came and went without any sign of Roland Mackey. He didn't strike Bosch as somebody who would be excited to come to work to tow cars.
At four-fifteen Rider said, "What do you think? You think my call could have -"
"There he is."
A thirty-year-old Camaro with gray primer on all four fenders pulled into the service station and parked near the air pump. Bosch had caught only a glimpse of the driver but it was enough for him to know. He reached over to the glove compartment and took out a pair of field glasses he had bought through an airline catalog he had read while on a flight to Las Vegas.
He slouched down in his seat and watched through the glasses. Mackey got out of the Camaro and walked toward the service station's open garage. He was wearing a uniform of dark blue pants and a lighter blue shirt. There was an oval-shaped patch over the left breast pocket that said Ro. He had work gloves sticking out of one of his back pockets.
There was an old Ford Taurus up on a hydraulic lift in the garage and a man working beneath it with an air wrench. When Mackey entered, the man with the wrench nonchalantly reached out and gave him a high five. Mackey stopped while the man told him something.
"I think he's telling him about the phone call," Bosch said. "Mackey doesn't look too concerned about it. He just pulled a cell out of his pocket. He's calling the person he probably thinks called him."
Reading Mackey's lips, Bosch said, "Hey, did you call me?"
Mackey quickly ended the conversation.
"I guess not," Bosch said.
Mackey put his phone back into his pocket.
"He tried one person," Rider said. "Must not have much of a social life."
"The name on the patch on his shirt is Ro," Bosch said. "If his buddy told him that the caller asked for Roland, then he may have narrowed it down to the one person who calls him that. Maybe it was dear old dad, the welder."
"So what's he doing?"
"Can't see him. He went into the back."
"Maybe we should get out of here before he starts looking around."
"Come on. One call and you think he's going to think somebody's onto him after seventeen years?"
"No, not for Becky. I'm worried about whatever else he's into now. We might be stumbling right into the middle of something and not even know it."
Bosch put down the binoculars. She was right about that. He started the car.
"Okay, we got our look," he said. "Let's get out of here. Let's go see Muriel Verloren."
"What about Panorama City?"
"PC can wait. We both know he doesn't live at that address anymore. Checking it is just a formality."
He started backing out of the space.
"Do you think we should call Muriel first?" Rider asked.
"No. Let's just go knock on the door."
"We're good at that."
12
IN TEN MINUTES they were in front of the Verloren house. The neighborhood where Becky Verloren had lived still seemed pleasant and safe. Red Mesa Way was wide, with sidewalks on both sides and no shortage of shade trees. Most of the homes were ranch houses that sprawled across the extra-large lots. In the sixties, the larger properties were what drew people to settle the northwest corner of the city. Forty years later the trees were mature and the neighborhood had a cohesive feel to it.
The Verlorens' house was one of the few that had a second floor. It was still the classic ranch-style home but the roof popped up over the double-slot garage. Bosch knew from the murder book that Becky's bedroom had been upstairs over the garage and in the back.
The garage door was closed. There was no apparent sign that anyone was home. They parked in the driveway and went to the front door. When Bosch pushed a doorbell button he could hear a chime echo inside, a single tone that seemed very distant and lonely to him.
The door was answered by a woman who wore a shapeless blue pullover dress that helped hide her own shapeless body. She wore flat sandals. Her hair was dyed a color red that had too much orange in it. It looked like a home job that didn't go as planned, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. As soon as she opened the door a gray cat shot out of the opening and into the front yard.
"Smoke, don't get hit!" she yelled first. Then she said, "Can I help you?"
"Mrs. Verloren?" Rider asked.
"Yes, what is it?"
"We're with the police. We'd like to talk to you about your daughter."
As soon as Rider said the word "police" and before she got to "daughter," Muriel Verloren brought both hands up to her mouth and reacted as though it was the moment she had learned her daughter was dead.
"Oh my God! Oh my God! Tell me you caught him. Tell me you caught the bastard who took my baby away from me."
Rider reached a comforting hand to the woman's shoulder.
"It's not quite that simple, ma'am," Rider said. "Can we come in and talk?"
She stepped back and let them in. She seemed to be whispering something and Bosch thought it might be a prayer. Once they were in she closed the door after yelling a warning one more time into the front yard to the escaped cat.
The home smelled as though the cat had not escaped often enough. The living room to which they were led was neatly kept but with furniture that was old and worn. There was the distinct odor of cat urine in the place. Bosch suddenly wished they had invited Muriel Verloren down to Parker Center for the interview, but knew that would have been a mistake. They needed to see this place.
They sat side by side on the couch and Muriel rushed to one of the chairs across the glass-topped coffee table from them. Bosch noticed paw prints on the glass.
"What is it?" she asked desperately. "Is there news?"
"Well, I guess the news is that we are looking into the case again," Rider said. "I am Detective Rider and this is Detective Bosch. We work for the Open-Unsolved Unit out of Parker Center."
By agreement while driving to the house Bosch and Rider decided to be cautious with the information they gave members of the Verloren family. Until they knew the family situation it would be better to take rather than to give.
"Is there anything new?" Muriel asked urgently.
"Well, we are just starting out," Rider replied. "We're covering a lot of the old ground right now. Trying to get up to speed. We just wanted to come by and tell you we were working the case again."
She seemed a bit crestfallen. She had apparently thought that for the police to show up after so many years there would have to be something new. Bosch felt a twinge of guilt over withholding the fact that they had a rock-solid DNA lead-a cold hit-to work with, but at the moment he felt that it was for the best.
"There are a couple things," he said, speaking for the first time. "First, in looking through the files on the case, we came across this photo."
He took the photo of Roland Mackey as an eighteen-year-old out of his pocket and put it down on the coffee table in front of Muriel. She immediately leaned down to look at it.
"We're not sure what the connection is," he continued. "We thought maybe you might recognize this man and tell us if you knew him back then."
She continued to look without responding.
"This is a photo from nineteen eighty-eight," Bosch said as a means of prompting her.
"Who is he?" she finally asked.
"We're not sure. His name is Roland Mackey. He's got a small-time record for crimes committed after your daughter's death. We're not sure why his photo was in the file. Do you recognize him?"
"Did you ask Art or Ron about it?"
Bosch started to ask who Art and Ron were when he realized.
"Actually, Detective Green retired and passed a
way a long time ago. Detective Garcia is Commander Garcia now. We talked to him but he wasn't able to help us with Mackey. How about you? Could he have been one of your daughter's acquaintances? Do you recognize him?"
"He could have been. There is something about him that I recognize."
Bosch nodded.
"Do you know how you recognize him or from where?"
The Closers (2005) Page 10
