The Black Box by Michael Connelly Page B

wanted to study every page in the book to see if any names had come up before.
    Over the next hour, Bosch combed through dozens of pages of the chronology. There was no mention of Charles Washburn or Rufus Coleman or Trumont Story. Most of the tips seemed useless at face value and Bosch understood why they’d been dismissed. Several callers gave other names but those suspects were dismissed upon follow-up investigation. In many instances, anonymous callers fingered innocent people, knowing that the police would investigate them and make their lives difficult until they were cleared, the whole exercise payback for something unrelated to the murder.
    The calls noted in the chronology began to thin by 1993 and the closing of the task force and removal of the billboards. Once the Jespersen case was shifted to 77th Street Divisionhomicide, the notations in the chronology became few and far between. Primarily, only Jespersen’s brother, Henrik, and a number of different reporters checked in on the case’s status from time to time. But one of the very last entries finally caught Bosch’s eye.
    On May 1, 2002, the tenth anniversary of the murder, a call was noted in the chronology from someone named Alex White. The name meant nothing to Bosch but its entry in the chrono was followed by a phone number with a 209 area code. It was listed as a status inquiry. The caller wanted to know if the case had ever been closed.
    There was nothing further noted in the entry as to what White’s interest in the case was. Bosch had no idea who White was but was intrigued by the area code. It wasn’t one of L.A.’s codes and Bosch couldn’t place it.
    Harry opened his laptop, Googled the area code, and soon learned that it was assigned to Stanislaus County in the state’s Central Valley—250 miles from Los Angeles.
    Bosch checked his watch. It was late but not that late. He called the number that followed Alex White’s name in the chrono. The line rang once and then went to a recording of a woman’s pleasant voice.
    “You have reached Cosgrove Tractor, the Central Valley’s number-one John Deere dealership, located at nine-twelve Crows Landing Road in Modesto. We are convenient to the Golden State Highway and are open Monday through Saturday from nine to six. If you would like to leave a message, a member of our sales team will call you back as soon as possible.”
    Bosch hung up before the beep, deciding that he would callback the next day during business hours. He also knew that Cosgrove Tractor might have nothing to do with the call. The number could have been assigned to a different business or individual back in 2002.
    “Are you ready for your cake?”
    Bosch looked up. His daughter had come out of her bedroom. She was wearing a long sleep shirt now, the dress probably hung in her closet.
    “Sure.”
    He closed the murder book and, getting up, put it on the coffee table. As he approached the dining-room table, he attempted to hug his daughter, but she gently ducked away and turned toward the kitchen.
    “Let me get a knife and some forks and plates.”
    From the kitchen she called for him to open his two gifts, starting with the obvious one, but he waited for her return.
    As she cut the cake, he opened the long thin box that he knew contained a tie. She often remarked on how old and colorless his ties were. She once even suggested he got his ideas about ties from the old Dragnet television show, from the black-and-white years.
    He opened the box to find a tie with a tie-dyed pattern of blues and greens and purples.
    “It’s beautiful,” he proclaimed. “I’ll wear it tomorrow.”
    She smiled and he moved on to the second gift. He unwrapped it to find a box containing a stack of six CD cases. It was a collection of recently released live recordings of Art Pepper.
    “‘ Unreleased Art ,’” Bosch read. “‘Volumes one to six.’ How did you find these?”
    “Internet,” Maddie said. “His widow puts them out.”
    “I