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\ osch got to the cubicle early Wednesday morning and before anyone in the squad had arrived. He poured coffee out of the take-out cup he'd brought with him into the mug he kept in his desk drawer. He put on his readers and checked for messages, hoping he had gotten lucky and would find that Charles Washburn had been picked up overnight and was waiting for him in a holding cell at 77th Street Division. But there was """ nothing on the phone or in e-mail about 2 Small. He was still in the wind. There was, however, a return e-mail from Anneke Jespersen's brother. Bosch felt a trill of excitement when he recognized the words in the subject line: The investigation of your sister's murder. —

A week earlier, when Bosch was notified by the

ATF that the bullet casing from the Jespersen_____

murder had been matched to ballistics from two other murders, the case jumped from the submission phase to an active investigation. Part of the Open-Unsolved Unit's case protocol was to alert the victim's family whenever a case went to active status. This was (continued on page 183)

(continued from page 130) a tricky thing, however. The last thing the investigator wanted to do was give fam­ily members false hope or needlessly have them revisit the trauma of losing a loved one. The initial notification was always han­dled with finesse, and that meant approach­ing a selected family member with carefully chosen and vetted information.

In the Jespersen case, Bosch had only one family connection, back in Copenhagen. The victim's brother, Henrik Jespersen, was listed in the original reports as the family contact, and a 1999 entry in the chronologi­cal report noted an e-mail address for him. Bosch sent off an e-mail to that address, having no idea if it would still be good after 13 years. The message was not kicked back, but it also wasn't answered. Two days after sending it he re-sent it, but again it was not replied to. Bosch had then put the contact issue aside as he investigated and prepared to meet Rufus Coleman at San Quentin.

Coincidentally, one of Bosch's reasons for his early arrival at the office was to attempt to get a phone number for Henrik Jesper­sen and place a call to him in Copenhagen, which was nine hours ahead of Los Angeles.

Henrik had beaten Bosch to the punch and answered his e-mail, the reply landing in Harry's e-mail basket at two a.m. LA. time.

Dear Mr. Bosch, I thank you for your e-mail which mistakenly diverted to my junk file. I have retrieved now and wish to answer promtly. Many thanks to you and LAPD for seeking the killer of my sister. Anneke is still very missed in our lifes here in Copenhagen. The BT newspaper where she work has brass plaque in place to commemorate this brave journalist who is a hero. I hope you can catch this bad people who kill. If we can talk to one an­other my job phone is best to call at the hotel where I work every day as direklor. 00-800-11-20-11-40 is the number you will call.

I hope you can find killer. It means very much to me. My sister was a twin of mine. I miss very much.

Henrik

PS: Anneke Jespersen was not on vaction. She was on th story.

Bosch stared at the last line for a good long while. He assumed that Henrik had meant "vacation" instead of "vaction." His postscript seemed to be a direct response to something in Bosch's original e-mail, which was copied at the bottom of the message.

Dear Mr. Jespersen, I am a homicide detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. I have been assigned to continue the investigation of your sister Anneke's murder on May 1, 1992. I do not wish to disturb you or cause you any further grief but it is part of my duty as investigator to inform you that I am actively pursuing new leads in the case. I apologize for not knowing your language. If you are able to communicate in English, please respond to this message or call me at any of the numbers below.

It has been 20 years since your sister came to this country for a vacation and lost her life when she diverted to Los Angeles to cover a city in flames for her newspaper in Copenhagen. It is

my hope and obligation to finally put this case to rest. I mill do my best and look forward to com­municating with you as I go.

It seemed to Bosch that Henrik's reference to vacation and "th story" was not a reference to the riots but to something else. Bosch took it to mean that his sister had come to the United States to pursue a story and had diverted from that to the riots in Los Angeles.

It was all semantics and conjecture until Bosch actually talked to Henrik directly. He looked up at the wall clock and did some calculating. It was shortly after four p.m. in Copenhagen. He had a good chance of catching Henrik at the hotel.

His call was answered right away by a front-desk clerk who told him that he had missed Henrik, who had just gone home for the day. Bosch left his name and num­ber but no message. After hanging up he sent an e-mail to Henrik asking him to call as soon as possible, day or night.

Bosch pulled the case records out of his battered briefcase and started a fresh read-through, this time with everything filtered through a new hypothesis—that Anneke Jespersen was already working a story when she came to the United States.

Soon things started to fall into place. Jes­persen had packed light because she wasn't on vacation. She was working and she brought work clothes. One backpack and that was it. So she could travel quickly and easily. So she could keep moving, chasing the story—whatever the story was.

Tilting the angle brought to light other things he had missed. Jespersen was a pho­tographer and journalist. She shot stories. She wrote stories. But no notebook was found with the body or among the belong­ings from her hotel room. If she was on a story, shouldn't there be notes? Shouldn't there be a notebook in one of the pockets of her vest or in her backpack?

"What else?" Bosch said out loud, then looked around the squad room to make sure he was still alone.

What else was missing? What should she have been carrying? Bosch carried out a mental exercise. He envisioned himself in a hotel room. He was leaving, pulling the door locked behind him. What would he have in his pockets?

He thought about this for a while and then something came to him. He quickly turned pages in the file until he found the coroner's property list. It was a handwritten list of all items found on the body or in the victim's clothing. It listed the clothing items as well as a wallet, loose money and jewelry consisting of a watch and a modest silver neck chain.

"No room key," he said aloud.

This meant one of two things to Bosch. One was that she had left her room key in her rental car and it had been taken when the car was broken into. The other, more likely conclusion was that someone had murdered Jespersen and taken her hotel room key from her pocket.

He double-checked the list and then went to the plastic sleeves containing the Polaroid photos he had taken himself 20 years before. The faded photos showed various angles of the crime scene, the body as it had been

found. Two of the shots were dose-ups of the torso and clearly showed the victim's pants. The top of the left pocket showed the white lining. Bosch had no doubt that the pocket had been pulled out when someone had rifled the victim's pockets and taken her hotel room key while leaving behind jewelry and cash.

The hotel room had then most likely been searched. For what was not clear. But not a single notebook or even a piece of paper had been found among the belongings turned over by the motel staff to the police.

Bosch stood up because he was too tense to keep sitting. He felt he was onto some­thing but he had no idea what and whether it ultimately had anything to do with Anneke Jespersen's murder.

"Hey, Harry."

Bosch turned from his desk and saw his partner arriving at the cubicle.

"Morning."

"You're in early."

"No, the usual time. You're in late."

"Hey, did I miss your birthday or something?"

Bosch looked at Chu for a moment be­fore answering.

"Yeah, yesterday. How'd you know that?"

Chu shrugged.

"Your tie. Looks brand new and I know you'd never have gone for bright colors like that."

Bosch looked down at his tie and smoothed it on his chest.

"My daughter," he said.

"She's got good taste then. Too bad you don't."

Chu laughed and said he was going to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee. It was his routine to report to the squad room each morning and then immediately take a coffee break.

"You want anything, Harry?"

"Yeah, I need you to run a name for me on the box."

"I mean do you want a coffee or something?"

"No, I'm good."

"I'll run the name when I get back."

Bosch waved him off and sat back down at his desk. He decided not to wait. He went on the computer and started with the DMV database. Using two fingers to type, he plugged in the name Alex White and learned there were nearly 400 licensed drivers with the name Alex, Alexander or Alexandra White in California. Only three of them were in Modesto, and they were all men ranging in age from 28 to 54. He cop­ied down the information and ran those three through the NCIC data bank, but none of them carried criminal records.

Bosch checked the clock on the wall of the squad room and saw it was only 8:30. The John Deere franchise where the Alex White call had originated from 10 years earlier didn't open for a half hour. He called directory assis­tance for the 209 area code, but there were no listed numbers for an Alex White.

Chu came back, entering the cubicle and placing his coffee cup on the same spot where Lieutenant OToole had sat the day before.

"Okay, Harry, what's the name?" he asked.

"I already ran it," Bosch said. "But you could run it through TLO and maybe get me phone numbers."

"No problem. Give it to me."

Bosch rolled his chair over to Chu's side and gave him the page where he had writ­ten down the info on the three Alex Whites. TLO was a database the department sub­scribed to that collated information from numerous public and private sources. It was a useful tool and often provided unlisted phone numbers, even cell numbers, that had been provided on loan and employ­ment applications. There was an expertise involved in using the database, knowing just how to frame the request, and that was where Chu's skills far exceeded Bosch's.

"Okay, give me a few minutes here," Chu said.

Bosch moved back to his desk. He noticed the pile of photos stacked on the right side. They were three-inch-by-five-inch shots of Anneke Jespersen's press-pass photo that he

had ordered from the photo unit so he could distribute them where needed. He held one up now and studied her face again, his eyes drawn to hers and their distant stare.

He then slid the photo under the sheet of glass that topped his desk. It joined the others. All women. All victims. Cases and faces he wanted always to be reminded of.

"Bosch, what are you doing here?"

Bosch looked up and saw it was Lieu­tenant O'Toole.

"I work here, Lieutenant," he said.

"You have qualifying today and you can't delay it again."

"Not tiD 10 and they'll be backed up any­way. Don't worry, I'll get it done."

"No more excuses."

O'Toole walked off in the direction of his office. Bosch watched him go, shaking his head.

Chu turned from his desk, holding out the page Bosch had given him.

"That was easy," he said.

Bosch took the paper and checked it. Chu had written phone numbers under all three names. Bosch immediately forgot about O'Toole.

"Thanks, partner."

"So who's the guy?"

"Not sure, but 10 years ago somebody named Alex White called from Modesto to ask about the Jespersen case. I want to find out why."

"There's no summary in the book?"

"No, just an entry in the chrono. Prob­ably lucky somebody even took the time to put that in there."

Bosch went to work on the phone, call­ing the three Alex Whites. He got both lucky and unlucky. He was able to connect with all three of the men, but none of them ac­knowledged being the Alex White who had called about the Jespersen case. All of them seemed thoroughly confused by the call from Los Angeles. The closest Bosch got to a connection was with the last call, which was to the oldest Alex White. With each call he had not only asked about Jespersen but also about what the men did for a living as well as whether they knew the John Deere deal­ership where the call supposedly originated.

The eldest Alex White, an accountant who owned several plots of undeveloped land, said he had purchased a tractor-mower from the Modesto dealership about 10 years earlier but could not provide the exact date without searching through his records at home. He happened to be golf­ing when Bosch called him but promised to get back to Harry with a date of purchase later in the day. Being an accountant, he was sure he still had the records.

Bosch hung up. He had no idea whether he was just spinning his wheels, but the Alex White call was a detail that bothered him. It was now after nine and he called the dealership from where the 2002 call had come.

Blind calling was always a delicate skill. Bosch wanted to proceed cautiously here and not blunder into something or give a potential suspect a heads-up that he was on the case. He decided to run a play instead of being up-front about who he was and where he was calling from.

The call was answered by a receptionist and Bosch simply asked for Alex White. There was a pause at first.

"Do you know which department he's in?"

"I'm sorry, I don't."

"Well, I don't seem to have an Alex White on the employee list. Are you sure you want Cosgrove Tractor?"

"Well, this is the number he gave me. How long have you been in business?"

"Twenty-two years. Please hold."

She didn't wait for his reply. Bosch was placed on hold while she presumably han­dled another call. Soon she was back.

"We don't have an Alex White. Can any­one else help you?"

"Can I speak to the manager?"

"Yes. Who should I say is calling?"

"John Bagnall.

"Hold please."

John Bagnall was the phony name used by all mem­bers of the Open-Unsolved Unit when they were working phone plays.

The call trans­fer went through quickly.

"This is Jerry Jimenez. How can I help you?"

"Yes, sir, this is John Bagnall and I am just checking an employment ap­plication that says Alex White was an employee of Cos-grove Tractor from 2000 to 2004. Is that something I can get confirmed?"

"Not through me. I was here then, but I don't remember any Alex White. Where did he work?"

"That's just the thing. It doesn't say specifically where he worked."

"Well, I don't see how I can help you. Back then I was sales manager. I knew ev-

erybody who worked here—just like now— and there was no Alex White. This isn't that big an operation, you know. We've got sales, service, parts and management. It only adds up to 24 people including myself."

Bosch repeated the phone number Alex White had called from and asked how long the dealership had had it.

"Since forever. Since we opened in 1990. I was here."

"I appreciate your time, sir. Have a good day."

Bosch hung up, more curious than ever about the Alex White call of 2002.

Bosch lost the rest of the morning to his prescheduled semiannual weapon

qualification and policy training. He first sat through an hour of classroom work where he was updated on the latest court rulings pertaining to police work and the LAPD policy changes that resulted. The hour also included reviews of re­cent police shootings with discussion of what went wrong or right in each inci­dent. He then made his way to the range where he had to shoot in order to keep his weapon qualification. The range ser­geant was an old friend who asked about Harry's daughter. It gave Bosch an idea for something to do with Maddie over the weekend.

Bosch was crossing back through the parking lot, heading to his car and think­ing about where he would grab lunch

when Alex White called him back from Modesto with information on his tractor purchase. He told Bosch that he had be­come so intrigued by the out-of-the-blue call that morning that he quit his golf game after just nine holes. He also noted that his score of 59 was another deciding factor in the decision.

According to the accountant's records, he had purchased the tractor-mower at Cosgrove Tractor on April 27, 2002 and picked it up May 1, the 10th anniversary of Anneke Jespersen's murder and the same day someone claiming to be Alex White had called the LAPD from the dealership number to inquire about the case.

"Mr. White, I need to ask you again, on the day you picked up your tractor, did you

call down here from the dealership to ask about a murder case?"

White laughed uneasily before answering.

"This is the craziest thing," he said. "No, I did not call the LAPD. I have never called the LAPD in my life. Someone must have used my name and I can't explain why, Detective. I'm at a loss."

Bosch asked if there were any names on the paperwork he had checked for the date of purchase. White gave Bosch two names. The salesman was listed as Reggie Banks and the sales manager who signed off on the deal was Jerry Jimenez.

"Okay, Mr. White," Bosch said. "You have been very helpful. Thank you very much and I'm sorry if I messed up your golf game today."

"No problem, Detective. My tempo was way off anyway. But I'll tell you what, if you ever solve this mystery of who called down there using my name, let me know, okay?"

"Will do, sir. Have a nice day."

Bosch thought about things as he unlocked his car. The Alex White mystery had now gone from a detail that needed clarifi­cation to something more. It was appar­ent someone had called from the John Deere dealership to inquire about the Jespersen case but had given a false identity, borrowing the name of a cus­tomer who had been in the dealership that very day. For Bosch that changed things about the call in a big way. It was no longer an unexplained blip on his radar. There was now something solid there and it

needed to be explained and understood.

He could not put his finger on what was happening with the case, but things had shifted. Little more than a day earlier he believed the investigation was going no­where and that he would soon be repack­ing the archive boxes and sending Anneke Jespersen back to the depths of the ware­house of unsolved cases and forgotten vic­tims. But now there was a spark. There were mysteries and irons in the fire. There were questions to be answered and Bosch was still in the game.

From the book The Black Box, to be published this month by Little, Broum and Company.