The Black Box by Michael Connelly Page A

reached over and unzipped the smaller front compartment of the backpack. His daughter’s wallet was sitting right at the top. He knew it would be there because she didn’t carry a purse. He quickly opened the wallet—it had a peace sign embroidered on the outside—and checked its contents. She had a credit card he had given her for emergency use and her newly acquired driver’s license. He checked the DOB on it and it was legit. There were a couple receipts and gift cards from Starbucks and iTunes as well as a punch card for recording purchases of smoothies at a place in the mall. Buy ten, get the next one free.
    “Dad, what are you doing?”
    Bosch looked up. His daughter stood there. In each hand she was holding a wrapped gift for him. She had kept the marble motif going. The paper was black and white swirls.
    “I, uh, wanted to see if you had enough money, and you don’t have any.”
    “I spent my money on dinner. This is about the beer, isn’t it?”
    “Baby, I don’t want you to get in trouble. When you apply to the academy, you can’t have any—”
    “I don’t have a fake ID, okay? I got Hannah to get me the beer. Happy now?”
    She dropped the presents on the table, whirled around, anddisappeared down the hall. Bosch heard her bedroom door close hard.
    He waited a moment and then got up. He went down the hall and knocked gently on her door.
    “Hey, Maddie, come on, I’m sorry. Let’s have cake and forget about this.”
    There was no reply. He tried the knob but the door was locked.
    “Come on, Maddie, open up. I’m sorry.”
    “Go eat your cake.”
    “I don’t want to eat the cake without you. Look, I’m sorry. I’m your father. I have to watch out for you and protect you and I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to get yourself in some kind of a jam.”
    Nothing.
    “Look, ever since you got your license, your freedom has expanded. I used to love taking you to the mall—now you drive yourself. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t making any kind of mistake that could hurt you down the line. I’m sorry I went about it the wrong way. I apologize. Okay?”
    “I’m putting on my earphones now. I’m not going to hear anything else you say. Good night.”
    Bosch restrained himself from shouldering the door open. He leaned his forehead against it instead and listened. He could hear the tinny sound of music coming from her earphones.
    He walked back into the living room and sat on the couch. He took out his phone and texted an apology to his daughter using the LAPD alphabet. He knew she could decipher it.
    Sam
    Ocean
    Robert
    Robert
    Young
    Frank
    Robert
    Ocean
    Mary
    Young
    Ocean
    Union
    Robert
    David
    Union
    Mary
    Boy
    Adam
    Sam
    Sam
    David
    Adam
    David
    He waited for her return, but when there was no response, he took up the murder book and went to work, hoping immersion in the Snow White case would take him away from the parenting mistake he had just made.
    The thickest report in the murder book was the investigators’ chronology, because it was a line-by-line accounting ofevery move made by detectives as well as every phone call and inquiry from the public about the case. The Riot Crimes Task Force had put up three billboards on the Crenshaw Boulevard corridor as a means of stirring public response to the unsolved Jespersen murder. The boards promised a $25,000 reward for information leading to an arrest and conviction in the killing. The boards and the prospect of a reward brought in hundreds of phone calls ranging from legitimate to completely bogus tips to complaints from citizens about the police department’s effort to solve the murder of a white woman when so many blacks and Latinos were the victims of unsolved murders during the riots. RCTF detectives dutifully noted each call in the chronology and cited any follow-up that was conducted. Bosch had moved quickly through these pages on his first survey of the murder book, but now he had names attached to the case and he