They started with Tampa Towing, which ran a half-page ad in the yellow pages that carried two 24-hour phone numbers. Next, a call to directory assistance established that Mackey had no hardwired phone listing private or otherwise in his name. It meant he either had no phone at his home or he was living in a place where the phone was registered to someone else. That could be dealt with later once they established Mackey’s residence.
Last and most difficult was Mackey’s cell phone number. Directory assistance did not carry cell listings. To check every cellular service provider for a listing could take days if not weeks because most required a court-ordered search warrant before revealing a customer’s private number. Instead, law enforcement investigators routinely planned ruses in order to get the numbers they needed. This often entailed leaving innocuous messages at workplaces so that the cell phone number could be captured upon callback. The most popular of these was the standard call-back-for-your-prize message, promising a television or DVD player to the first one hundred people who returned the call. However, this involved setting up a non-police line and could also result in long waiting periods with no guarantee of success if the target had masked his or her cell number. Rider and Bosch did not feel they had the luxury of time. They had put Mackey’s name out into the public. They had to move quickly toward their goal.
“Don’t worry,” Bosch told Rider. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Then I’ll just sit back and watch the master.”
Since he knew Mackey was on duty at the service station Bosch simply called the station and said he needed a tow. He was told to hold on and then a voice he believed belonged to Roland Mackey came onto the line.
“You need a tow?”
“Either a tow or a jump. I can’t get it started.”
“Where?”
“The Albertson’s parking lot on Topanga near Devonshire.”
“We’re all the way over on Tampa. You can get somebody closer.”
“I know but I live by you guys. Right off Roscoe and behind the hospital.”
“Okay, then. What are you driving?”
Bosch thought of the car they had seen Mackey in earlier. He decided to use it to pull Mackey off the fence.
“’Seventy-two Camaro.”
“Restored?”
“I’m working on it.”
“It should be about fifteen minutes before I’m there.”
“Okay, great. What’s your name?”
“Ro.”
“Ro? Like row a boat?”
“Like in Roland, man. I’m on my way.”
He hung up. Bosch and Rider waited five minutes, during which Bosch told her the rest of the plan and what part she would play in it. Her goal was to get two things: Mackey’s cell number and his service provider so that a search warrant authorizing the wiretap could be delivered to the proper company.
Following Bosch’s instructions, Rider called the Chevron station and started making a service appointment, going into great detail in describing the screeching her car’s brakes made. While she was in the middle of it, Bosch called the station on the second line listed in the phone book. As expected Rider was put on hold. Bosch’s call was answered and he said, “Do you have a number I can reach Ro on? He’s coming here to give me a jump and I got it started already.”
Mackey’s harried co-worker said, “Try him on his cell.”
He gave Bosch the number and Bosch flashed the thumbs-up across the desk to Rider. She finished her call without breaking the act and hung up.
“One down, one to go,” Bosch said.
“You got the easy one,” Rider said.
With Mackey’s number in hand, Rider took over while Bosch listened on an extension. Putting a disinterested bureaucratic glaze over her voice she called the number and when Mackey answered-presumably while looking for a stalled ’72 Camaro in a shopping center parking lot-she announced that she was his AT amp;T Wireless provider and that she had some exciting news for savings over his current long-distance minutes plan.
“Bullshit,” Mackey said, interrupting her in the middle of her spiel.
“Excuse me, sir?” Rider replied.
“I said bullshit. This is some sort of scam to make me switch.”
“I don’t understand, sir. I have you listed as an AT amp;T Wireless customer. Is that not the case?”
“Yeah, that’s not the fucking case. I’m with Sprint and I like it and I don’t even have or want long-distance service. So fuck off. Can you hear me now?”
He hung up and Rider started laughing.
“This is an angry guy we’re dealing with,” she said.
“Well, he just drove all the way across Chatsworth for nothing,” Bosch said. “I’d be angry too.”
“He’s with Sprint,” she said. “I’m ready to rock and roll on the paper. But maybe you should call him, so he won’t be suspicious about you not calling when the guy in the shop tells him he gave out his number.”
Bosch nodded and called Mackey’s number. Thankfully it went to a message; Mackey was probably on the phone angrily telling the guy in the shop he could not find the car he was supposed to tow. Bosch left a message saying he was sorry but he was able to get his car started and was trying to get it home. He closed his phone and looked at Rider.
They talked some more about scheduling and decided that she would work exclusively on the warrant that night and the next day and then babysit it through the approval stages. She said she wanted Bosch with her when it got to the final approval. Having both members of the team in the judge’s chambers would help cement the deal. Until then, Bosch would continue to work the field, tracking the remaining names on their list of people to be interviewed and putting the newspaper story in motion. Timing was going to be the issue. They didn’t want a story about the case in the newspaper until they had taps in place on the phones Mackey used. Finessing all of this would be the key maneuver.
“I’m going home, Harry,” Rider said. “I can get this started on my laptop.”
“Have a good one.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ve got a few things I want to get done tonight. Maybe go down to the Toy District, I think.”
“By yourself?”
“They’re only homeless people.”
“Yeah, and eighty percent of them are homeless because they’ve got faulty wiring, faulty plumbing, the whole bit. You be careful. Maybe you ought to call Central Division and see if they’ll send a car with you. Maybe they can spare the U-boat tonight.”
The U-boat was a single-officer car primarily used as a gopher for the watch commander. But Bosch didn’t think he needed a chaperone. He told Rider he would be all right and that she could go as soon as she showed him how to use the AutoTrack computer.
“Well, Harry, first you have to have a computer. I did it right from my laptop.”
He came around to her side and watched as she went to the AutoTrack website, entered password information and arrived at a template for a name search.
“Who do you want to start with?” she asked.
“How about Robert Verloren?”
She typed in the name and set parameters for the search.
“How fast does this work?” Bosch asked.
“Fast.”
In a few minutes she had located an address trail for Rebecca Verloren’s father. But it stopped short at the house in Chatsworth. Robert Verloren had not updated his driver’s license, bought property, registered to vote, applied for a credit card or had a utilities account in over ten years. He was a blank. He had disappeared-at least from the electronic grid.
“He must still be on the street,” Rider said.
“If he’s even still alive.”
Rider put the names Tara Wood and Daniel Kotchof through the AutoTrack moves and came up with multiple name hits for both of them. But by using their approximate ages and focusing on Hawaii and California they narrowed the searches to two address trails they believed belonged to the correct Tara Wood and Daniel Kotchof. Wood may not have gone to her high school reunion but it wasn’t because she had moved far away. She had only moved from the Valley over the hills to Santa Monica. Meanwhile, it appeared that Daniel Kotchof had returned from Hawaii many years earlier, lived in Venice for a few years and then returned to Maui, where his current address was located.