After looking up Muriel Verloren’s number in the murder book Bosch called the house. He apologized for intruding and said he had a few follow-up questions. Muriel said she was not bothered by the call.
“What are your questions?”
“I saw the phone on the table next to your daughter’s bed. Was that an extension of the house phone or did she have her own phone number?”
“She had her own number. A private line.”
“So when Daniel Kotchof called her at night she would be the one who answered the phone, right?”
“Yes, in her room. It was the only extension.”
“So the only way you know that Danny was calling was because she told you.”
“No, I heard the phone ring sometimes. He called.”
“What I mean, Mrs. Verloren, is that you never answered those calls and you never talked to Danny Kotchof, right?”
“That’s right. It was her private line.”
“So when that phone rang and she talked to somebody, the only way you would know who it was on the line was if she told you. Is that correct?”
“Uh, yes, I guess that is right. Are you saying it wasn’t Danny who called all of those times?”
“I’m not sure yet. But I talked to Danny in Hawaii and he said he stopped calling your daughter long before she was taken. He had a new girlfriend, you see. In Hawaii.”
This information was treated with a long pause. Finally, Bosch spoke into the void.
“Do you have any idea who it could have been that she was talking to, Mrs. Verloren?”
After another pause Muriel Verloren weakly offered an answer.
“Maybe one of her girlfriends.”
“It’s possible,” Bosch said. “Anybody else you can think of?”
“I don’t like this,” she responded quickly. “It’s like I’m learning things all over again.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Verloren. I will try not to hit you with these sorts of things unless it is necessary. But I am afraid this is necessary. Did you and your husband ever come to any conclusion about the pregnancy?”
“What do you mean? We didn’t know about it until after.”
“I understand that. What I mean is, did you think it came out of a hidden relationship or was it simply a mistake she made one day with, you know, someone she was not really in a relationship with?”
“You mean like a one-night stand? Is that what you are saying about my daughter?”
“No, ma’am, I am not saying anything about your daughter. I am simply asking questions. I do not want to upset you but I want to find the person who killed Rebecca. And I need to know all there is to know.”
“We could never explain it, Detective,” she responded coldly. “She was gone and we decided not to delve into it. We left everything to the police and we just tried to remember the daughter we knew and loved. You said you have a daughter. I hope you understand.”
“I think I do. Thank you for your answers. One last question-and there is no pressure on this-but would you be willing to talk to a newspaper reporter about your daughter and the case?”
“Why would I do that? I didn’t before. I don’t believe in putting it out there for the public.”
“I admire that. But this time I want you to do it because it might help us flush out the bird.”
“You mean it might make the person who did this come out from cover?”
“Exactly.”
“Then I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Verloren. I will let you know.”
16
ABEL PRATT CAME OUT of his office with his suit jacket on. He noticed Bosch sitting at his desk in the alcove, using two fingers to type up a report on his telephone conversation with Muriel Verloren. The finished reports on the phone interviews with Grace Tanaka and Daniel Kotchof were on the desk.
“Where’s Kiz?” Pratt asked.
“She’s working on the warrant at home. She can think better there.”
“I can’t think when I get home. I can only react. I have twin boys.”
“Good luck.”
“Yeah, I need it. I’m going that way now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.”
“Okay.”
But Pratt didn’t walk away. Bosch looked up from the typewriter at him. He thought maybe something was wrong. Maybe it was the typewriter.
“I found this on a desk on the other side,” Bosch said. “It didn’t look like it was being used by anybody.”
“It wasn’t. Most people use their computers now. You are definitely an old-school kind of guy, Harry.”
“I guess. Kiz usually does the reports, but I have some time to kill.”
“Working late?”
“I’ve got to go over to the Nickel.”
“ Fifth Street? What do you want over there?”
“Looking for our victim’s father.”
Pratt shook his head somberly.
“Another one of those. We’ve seen it before.”
Bosch nodded.
“Ripples,” he said.
“Yeah, ripples,” Pratt agreed.
Bosch was thinking about offering to walk out with Pratt, maybe have a conversation and get to know him better, but his cell phone started to chirp. He pulled it off his belt and saw the name Sam Weiss in the caller ID screen.
“I better take this.”
“All right, Harry. Be careful over there.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
He flipped open the phone.
“Detective Bosch,” he said.
“Detective?”
Bosch remembered he had left no information on his message to Weiss.
“Mr. Weiss, my name is Harry Bosch. I am a detective with the LAPD. I’d like to ask you a few questions about an investigation I am conducting.”
“I have all the time you need, Detective. Is this about my gun?”
The question caught Bosch off guard.
“Why would you ask that, sir?”
“Well, because I know it was used in a murder that was never solved. And that’s the only thing I can think of that the LAPD would want to ask me about.”
“Well, yes, sir, it’s about the gun. Can I talk to you about it?”
“If it means you are trying to find who killed that girl, then you can ask me anything you want.”
“Thank you. I guess the first thing I’d like is for you to tell me how and when you knew or were told that the weapon stolen from you was used in a homicide.”
“It was in the papers-the murder was-and I put two and two together. I called the detective assigned to my burglary and asked and got the answer I wish I hadn’t.”
“Why is that, Mr. Weiss?”
“Because I’ve had to live with it.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong, sir.”
“I know that, but it doesn’t make a person feel any better. I bought that gun because I was having trouble with a bunch of punks. I wanted protection. Then the gun I bought ended up being the instrument of death for that young girl. Don’t think I haven’t thought about changing history. I mean, what if I wasn’t so stubborn? What if I just pulled up stakes and moved instead of going and buying that damn thing? You see what I mean?”
“Yes, I see.”
“Now, that said, what else can I tell you, Detective?”
“I have just a few questions. Calling you was sort of a shot in the dark. I thought it might be easier than trying to find my way back through seventeen years of paperwork and department history. I have the initial report on the burglary and the investigator is listed as John McClellan. Do you remember him?”