The Crossing (22 page)

Bosch had checked the spreadsheet before, but this time when he scanned it a name caught in his filters. Four days before her murder Alexandra Parks had called Nelson Grant & Sons Jewelers. The call had been given an NS designation by the investigators.

It seemed obvious that the call was about her broken watch and it had drawn no suspicion from the Sheriff’s investigators. But the watch was on Bosch’s radar because of the empty box on the shelf in her home. He wondered if Parks had been calling to inquire if her watch had been repaired. He scanned the rest of the call list and jumped to the list of numbers called from her office line. He saw no other calls to the jewelry store.

The office line spreadsheet was incomplete. Parks had made hundreds of calls from the line in the months before her death, and the project was daunting. Cornell and Schmidt were probably happy to leave it behind once the DNA match came through, hanging the case on Da’Quan Foster. All they had to do at that point was check the call lists to see if there had been any contact between the victim and suspect. There had not been, and the call list analysis had been discontinued. It was a subtle form of tunnel vision. They now had the bird in hand—Foster—so there was no need to finish going through hundreds of phone calls and numbers that did not have any direct ties to their suspect.

Bosch opened his laptop and looked up Nelson Grant & Sons Jewelers. With Google maps he located its Sunset Boulevard address in the upscale Sunset Plaza shopping district and learned that the store opened at ten o’clock each morning.

He decided to visit the store as soon as it opened, but that wouldn’t be for nearly an hour. He opened the business’s website and determined that the shop dealt in many lines of jewelry and watches as well as handled estate sales. But he could not find any references to Audemars Piguet watches.

He then Googled the watchmaker and found several online dealers. He clicked on one of these and soon was looking at an array of watches manufactured by the Swiss company. He further refined his search to the Royal Oak Offshore model and soon was looking at a watch with a $14,000 price tag.

Bosch whistled. The discrepancy between what Harrick paid a year ago for the same model and the current online retail price was nearly ten thousand dollars.

He went back to the manufacturer’s website and clicked on the list of certified Audemars Piguet dealers. There were only three shops and service centers in the United States and the closest to L.A. was in Las Vegas. Bosch pulled up two numbers for the service center and then went back to the phone logs from the murder book. Scanning the call logs for matches was easy and quick because of the 702 area code for Las Vegas. Bosch found two calls connected to the service center. On Thursday, February 5—the same day Lexi Parks called Nelson Grant & Sons—a call had been placed from her office line to the Audemars Piguet service center. The call lasted almost six minutes. Then there was a return call from the service center to Parks’s office four hours later. That call lasted two minutes.

Bosch assumed that all the calls were regarding her watch and its repair. He pulled his own phone out and was about to call the first number, when he decided to wait. He needed to gather more information before blindly making the call.

On the inside cover of the folder he wrote out a timeline involving the calls Parks had made and received. The first call was to the service center in Vegas. He assumed this was a call in which Parks asked about getting her watch repaired.

But then only fourteen minutes later she called Nelson Grant & Sons, the store where her husband had bought the watch. This call lasted only seventy-seven seconds.

Then four hours later, someone at the service center in Las Vegas called Parks on her office line. That call lasted two minutes and two seconds.

Bosch had no idea what any of this meant and whether it was germane to the murder that would follow four days later. But it was a case anomaly and he would not be able to let it go until he understood it. The watch had not even come up on the radar with the Sheriff’s investigators. They were too far into the tunnel. That left it to Bosch. He decided he would start at the jewelry store where the victim’s husband had bought the watch at what appeared to be a very deep discount. From there he would go to the manufacturer’s service center.

He gathered all the reports back up into a single pile, squared the edges, and weighted the stack down on the table with his laptop. In the kitchen he poured another dose of coffee into his travel mug and grabbed his keys. He was about to go through the kitchen door into the carport when he heard the chime from the front door. He put the coffee down on the counter and went to answer it.

A man and woman stood at the door. Both had stocky builds and wore suits, the man with a tie. They didn’t smile and there was a coldness in their eyes that allowed Bosch to peg them as cops before they identified themselves.

“Mr. Bosch?” the man asked.

“That’s me,” Bosch said. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re investigators with the Sheriff’s Department. This is Detective Schmidt and I’m Cornell. We’d like to talk to you if you have the time.”

“Sure. I’ve got some time.”

There was an awkward pause as Bosch made no move to invite them into the house.

“Do you want to do this right here at the door?” Cornell asked.

“Might as well,” Bosch said. “I’m assuming this will be quick. It’s about me going by the house yesterday, right?”

“Are you working for the defense in the Parks case?”

“I am.”

“Are you a licensed private investigator, sir?”

“I was one about a dozen years ago but the license lapsed. So I am working for a state-licensed private investigator while I apply for my own to be reinstated. I have a letter of engagement from him that explains this and makes it clear—and legal.”

“Can we take a look at that letter, Mr. Bosch?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

Bosch closed the door and left them there. He went and got the letter Haller had provided and came back to the door with it. Schmidt, who hadn’t said anything so far, took it and read it while her partner lectured Bosch.

“That was uncool, what you did yesterday,” Cornell said.

“What was that?” Bosch asked.

“You know what it was. You presented yourself in a false light to gain access to a crime scene.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I went to look at a house that’s for sale. I’ve been thinking about selling this place. I’ve got a kid with four years of college coming up and I could use the equity I’ve got in it.”

“Look, Bosch, I’m not going to fuck around with you. You cross the line again and there will be consequences. I’m giving you a break here. We checked you out and you used to be legit. Used to be. Now not so much.”

“Fuck off, Cornell. I’ve seen your work on this. It’s weak.”

Schmidt handed the letter back to Bosch but Cornell snatched it out of her hand before Bosch reached for it.

“This is what I think of your letter,” he said.

He reached inside his suit jacket and around the back of his pants. He pantomimed wiping his ass with the letter, then held it out to Bosch. He didn’t take it.

“Nice,” Bosch said. “Classy and clever.”

Bosch took a step back so he could close the door on them. Cornell quickly used two hands to crunch the letter in a ball and then threw it at Bosch as he was closing the door. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor.

Bosch stood at the door, listening to the steps as Cornell and Schmidt walked away. He could feel his face burning red with humiliation. If they had checked him out, it meant that everybody in the LAPD would know he had crossed to the dark side. It would not matter to them that Bosch actually believed there was a good chance that the man accused of the crime was innocent. The bottom line would be that Bosch was now a defense investigator.

He leaned his forehead against the door. A week ago he was a retired LAPD detective. He now seemed to have a whole new identity. He heard their car start out at the curb. He waited, head against the door, for it to drive away, and then he left, too.

B
osch was parked at the curb in front of Nelson Grant & Sons before it opened. He saw lights go on first and then at 10:05 he watched a young Asian man inside the shop come to the front glass door and stoop down to unlock it at the bottom. He then stepped outside with a folding sign that advertised Estate Sales, positioned it on the sidewalk and returned to the shop. Nelson Grant & Sons was open for business. Bosch took the last drink of his coffee and got out of the Cherokee. It was midmorning and traffic was thick on Sunset but the sidewalks and shops of Sunset Plaza were deserted. It was a shopping and eating destination largely favored by European visitors, and things usually didn’t start stirring until lunchtime and later.

There appeared to be no one in the store when Bosch entered, setting off a low chime somewhere in the back. A few seconds later the man he had seen before stepped out from a back room, his mouth full and chewing. He took a position behind the center segment of the U-shaped glass display counter and held up a finger, asking for a moment. He finally swallowed whatever he was eating and smiled and asked Bosch if he could help him.

“I hope so,” Bosch said, stepping to the counter directly across from the man. “Do you sell watches by Audemars Piguet?”

“Audemars Piguet,” the man said, pronouncing it quite differently than Bosch had. “We are not a dealer. But on occasion we sell AP watches through estate sales. We had two last year but they sold. They’re collector’s items and they go quickly when we get them.”

“So they would have been used.”

“We prefer to say estate owned.”

“Got it. Estate owned. You know, now that you mention it, I think I was in here last year and saw one. It was a ladies’ watch? Was that back in December when you had it?”

“Uh, yes, I believe so. That was the last one we had.”

“A Royal Oak, right?”

“Actually, the model was a Royal Oak Offshore. Are you a collector, sir?”

“A collector? In a way, yeah. So I have a friend. Vincent Harrick? You know him? He was the one who bought that AP watch back in December, right?”

The man looked suspicious and confused at the same time.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss our clients, sir. Is there a watch here that we do have that I can show you?”

He gestured with his arm across the glass top of the counter. Bosch looked at him without answering. There was something off. As soon as Bosch mentioned Harrick and the watch bought in December, the man seemed to grow nervous. He had made a furtive glance behind him at the door to the back room.

Bosch decided to push things a bit and to gauge the man’s reactions.

“So who died?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” the man replied, his voice almost shrill.

“To have an estate sale, somebody’s gotta die, right?”

“No, that is not always the case. We have people who decide for whatever reason to sell their jewelry collections. Their watches. These are considered estates.”

He turned slightly and looked back at the door again.

“Is Mr. Grant back there?” Bosch asked.

“Who?”

“Nelson Grant. Is he back there?”

“There is no Nelson Grant. It’s just a name on a sign. My father made it up when he opened the store. People would have trouble pronouncing our name.”

“Is your father back there?”

“No, no one is back there and my father retired long ago. My brother and I run the shop. What exactly is this all about?”

“It’s about a murder. What is your name, sir?”

“I don’t have to give you my name. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, sir, if you are not interested in making a purchase.”

Bosch smiled.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Please go.”

Bosch saw a plastic business card holder on the glass top of the case to his right. He calmly walked over to it and picked off the top card in the stack. There were two names on it. The brothers. He read them out loud.

“Peter and Paul Nguyen. Did I pronounce that right? Like you can’t
win
’em all?”

“Yes. Please leave now.”

“I can see why the old man went with Grant. Are you Peter or Paul?”

“Why do you need to know this?”

“Well, because I’m conducting an investigation.”

Bosch pulled his wallet out and produced his LAPD identification card. When he held it up to the man, he kept it clipped between his fingers, with the finger on the front strategically placed over the word
RETIRED
. He had practiced this move in front of the mirror over the bureau in his bedroom.

“Okay, what about a badge?” the man said. “Don’t you have a badge?”

“I don’t need a badge to ask you a few simple questions—if you are willing to cooperate.”

“Whatever will get this over with the quickest.”

“Good. Okay, so which is it, Peter or Paul?”

“Peter.”

“Okay, Peter, take a look at this.”

Bosch opened the photo archive on his phone. He quickly pulled up the photo of Lexi Parks he had taken from one of the
Times
stories on the murder. He held it up to Nguyen.

“Do you recognize this woman? Had she been in this store in the early part of this year?”

Nguyen shook his head as if totally lost.

“Do you know how many people have been in this store since the beginning of the year?” he asked. “And I’m not even here every minute of every day. My brother and I have employees. Your question is impossible to answer.”

“She was murdered.”

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the store.”

“She called here four days before she was murdered. Back in February.”

The man seemed to freeze and his mouth formed an O as he remembered something.

“What?” Bosch asked.

“I remember now,” the man said. “The Sheriff’s Department called about that. A detective called and she asked about that woman who was killed and the phone call.”