Bosch nodded and smiled.
“Me too. But that was a bad exit last year. Have you been to a game yet?”
“No, not yet.”
Bosch nodded.
“So, like Mr. Haller said, we want to try to help your mother,” he said. “And I know it was an awful day when you lost your father and your mother was taken away, but I was wondering if we could talk about that. Do you remember that day, Eric?”
The boy looked down at his hands clasped between his knees.
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” Bosch said. “Do you remember, did the sheriff’s deputies ever talk to you about what you may have seen or heard that day?”
“There was a lady. She talked to me.”
“Did she have on a uniform? With a badge?”
“No uniform. She had a badge on a chain. She put me in the car in the back seat where they put the bad people.”
“You mean when people are arrested?”
“Yes, but we didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Of course not. I bet she said she was putting you there so you’d be safe.”
Eric shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Did she interview you in the car?”
“She asked me questions about my mom and dad.”
“Do you remember what you told her?”
“Just that they were yelling at each other and my mom said I had to go to my room.”
“Did you see or hear anything else?”
“Not really. They said my mom shot my dad, but I didn’t see that.”
Muriel put her arm around the boy and squeezed him against her body.
“No, mijo, no,” she said. “Your mother is inocente.”
The boy nodded and looked like he was about to cry. I wondered if I should step in and end the interview. It did not appear that Eric would be giving us any information that deviated from what was already known. I was left curious about who had interviewed him, because there was no transcript of an interview in the admittedly incomplete records we had amassed from Silver and the court file from archives. My guess was that Eric had not been viewed as a key witness because of his age — eight at the time — and the fact that he had been in his room and did not witness the shooting.
Bosch continued, moving off the actual killing and in a new direction.
“You spent that weekend with your father, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Eric said.
“Do you remember what you did with him?”
“We stayed at his apartment and Matty made us dinner one night and then—”
“Let me back you up for a second, Eric. Who is Matty?”
“That was my dad’s girlfriend.”
“Okay, got it. So she made dinner. Was that on the Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“And what about Sunday?”
“We went to Chuck E. Cheese.”
“Was that near where your dad lived?”
“I think so. I don’t know.”
“And it was just you and your dad or did Matty go too?”
“Matty came. She watched me when my dad had to leave.”
“How come he had to leave?”
“He got called on the phone and then he said he had a work meeting he had to go to. And I got to stay and play until he came back.”
“Is that why you got back late to your mother’s house?”
“I don’t remember.”
“That’s okay, Eric. You’re doing great. Do you remember anything else about that day besides going to Chuck E. Cheese with your dad and Matty?”
“Not really. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry. You’ve given us a lot of information. One last question. Did Matty go with you and your dad when you were dropped off at home?”
“No, my dad took her back to the apartment first because he thought my mom would be mad if she came.”
“I see. So she just got out at the apartment.”
“They went inside while I stayed in the car. Then he came out and we went. It was dark.”
“When you two were heading back to your home, did your dad say anything else about why he had to go to work?”
“No. I don’t remember.”
“Did you tell the lady who talked to you in the car about his meeting that day?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Okay, Eric. Thanks. Is there anything you want to ask me or Mr. Haller?”
The boy shrugged his shoulders and looked from Bosch to me and then back.
“Will you get my mom out of prison?” he asked.
“We can’t promise anything. But like Mr. Haller said, we’re sure going to try.”
“Do you think she did it?”
There it was. The question the boy lived with every day of his life.
“Tell you what, Eric,” Bosch said, “I will never lie to you. So I’ll say this: I don’t know yet. But there are enough things about the case that don’t work for me, that don’t add up, you know what I mean? So I think there is a chance they made a mistake about her and she didn’t do it. I’m going to investigate it more and then I’ll come back here and tell you what I know. And I won’t lie. Is that okay with you?”
“Okay,” Eric said.
The interview was over. We all stood up, and Muriel told Eric he could go back to his room to play on his computer. After he was gone, I looked at Muriel.
“Do you know who Matty is?” I asked.
“Matilda Landas,” she said. “Roberto’s whore.”
She almost spit the words out. She had a deeper accent than her daughter and the words came out sharp and bitter. I recalled what Lucinda had said about deputy dollies being a cause for the destruction of her marriage.
“Was Roberto involved with her before the marriage broke up?” I asked.
“He denied it,” Muriel said. “But he was a liar.”
“Have you heard from her or seen her since then?” Bosch asked.
“I don’t know where she is,” Muriel said. “I don’t want to know. Puta!”
“Well, I think we’ll leave it at that, then,” I said. “Thank you for your time, Muriel, and for allowing us to talk to Eric. He seems like a bright kid. You must be a good teacher.”
“It’s my job to make him a good man,” she said. “But it is hard. The gangs want him.”
“I understand,” I said.
I considered suggesting that she limit his exposure to Uncle Carlos and Cousin Cesar but decided against it.
“You must get her out so she can take him away from here,” Muriel said.
“We’re going to try.”
“Thank you.”
Muriel’s eyes revealed her hope that her daughter would come home soon. Bosch and I thanked her again and headed to the door.
After Muriel closed the front door behind us, I saw one of the men from the welcoming committee sitting in a blanket-covered chair on the porch. He stood up. He was the talker from before, Lucinda’s little brother, Carlos.
“Lincoln Lawyer,” he said. “I seen you on the billboard. You look like a clown up there in your pinche pendejo car.”
“Probably not my best shot,” I said. “But I guess it’s a matter of opinion.”
He walked up close to me, holding his hands together to better flex his heavily inked biceps. In my peripheral vision I could tell Bosch had tensed. I smiled, hoping to defuse the situation.
“I take it you’re Eric’s uncle Carlos?” I said.
“Don’t fuck this up, Lincoln Lawyer,” he said.
“I don’t intend to.”
“Promise it.”
“I don’t make promises. Too many vari—”
“There will be consequences if you fuck up.”
“Then how ’bout I quit right now and you explain that to your sister.”
“You can’t quit now, Lincoln Lawyer. You are in.”
He stepped aside to let me go down the steps.