and let them get back to duty. He put his notebook away and looked at his partner.
“Okay, tell me about the scene,” he said.
“We’ve got to charge this guy, Harry,” Ferras said urgently.
“Why? What did you find?”
“It’s not what I found. It’s because it was just a kid, Harry. What kind of father would let this happen? How could he forget?”
Ferras had become a father for the first time six months earlier. Bosch knew this. The experience had made him a professional dad and every Monday he came into the squad with a new batch of photos. To Bosch, the kid looked the same week to week, but not to Ferras. He was in love with being a father, with having a son.
“Ignacio, you’ve got to separate your own feelings about it from the facts and the evidence, okay? You know this. Calm down.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that, how could he forget, you know?”
“Yeah, I know, and we’re going to keep that in mind. So tell me what you found out over there. Who’d you talk to?”
“The office manager.”
“And what did he say?”
“It’s a lady. She said that he came in through the back door shortly after ten. All the sales agents park in the back and use the back door-that’s why nobody saw the kid. The father came in talking on the cell phone. Then he got off and asked if he’d gotten a fax but there was no fax. So he made another call and she heard him ask where the fax was. Then he waited for the fax.”
“How long did he wait?”
“She said not long but the fax was an offer to buy. So he called the client and that started a whole back-and- forth with calls and faxes and he completely forgot about the kid. It was at least two hours, Harry. Two hours!”
Bosch could almost share his partner’s anger, but he had been on the mission a couple decades longer than Ferras and knew how to hold it in when he had to and when to let it go.
“Harry, something else, too.”
“What?”
“The baby had something wrong with him.”
“The manager saw the kid?”
“No, I mean, always. Since birth. She said it was a big tragedy. The kid was handicapped. Blind, deaf, a bunch of things wrong. Fifteen months old and he couldn’t walk or talk and never could even crawl. He just cried a lot.”
Bosch nodded as he tried to plug this information into everything else he knew and had accumulated. Just then another car came speeding into the parking lot. It pulled into the ambulance shoot in front of the ER doors. A woman leaped out and ran into the ER, leaving the car running and the door open.
“That’s probably the mother,” Bosch said. “We better get in there.”
Bosch started trotting toward the ER doors and Ferras followed. They went through the ER waiting room and down a hallway where the father had been placed in a private room to wait.
As Bosch got close he did not hear any screaming or crying or fists on flesh-things that wouldn’t have surprised him. The door was open and when he turned in he saw the parents of the dead boy embracing each other, but not a tear lined any of their cheeks. Bosch’s initial, split-second reaction was that he was seeing relief in their young faces.
They separated when they saw Bosch enter, followed by Ferras.
“Mr. and Mrs. Helton?” he asked.
They nodded in unison. But the man corrected Bosch.
“I’m Stephen Helton and this is my wife, Arlene Haddon.”
“I’m Detective Bosch with the Los Angeles Police Department and this is my partner, Detective Ferras. We are very sorry for the loss of your son. It is our job now to investigate William’s death and to learn exactly what happened to him.”
Helton nodded as his wife stepped close to him and put her face into his chest. Something silent was transmitted.
“Does this have to be done now?” Helton asked. “We’ve just lost our beautiful little-”
“Yes, sir, it has to be done now. This is a homicide investigation.”
“It was an accident,” Helton weakly protested. “It’s all my fault but it was an accident.”
“It’s still a homicide investigation. We would like to speak to each of you privately, without the intrusions that will occur here. Do you mind coming down to the police station to be interviewed?”
“We’ll leave him here?”
“The hospital is making arrangements for your son’s body to be moved to the medical examiner’s office.”
“They’re going to cut him open?” the mother asked in a near-hysterical voice.
“They will examine his body and then determine if an autopsy is necessary,” Bosch said. “It is required by law that any untimely death fall under the jurisdiction of the medical examiner.”
He waited to see if there was further protest. When there wasn’t, he stepped back and gestured for them to leave the room.
“We’ll drive you down to Parker Center and I promise to make this as painless as possible.”
They placed the grieving parents in separate interview rooms in the third-floor offices of Homicide Special. Because it was Sunday the cafeteria was closed and Bosch='0ed and had to make do with the vending machines in the alcove by the elevators. He got a can of Coke and two packages of cheese crackers. He had not eaten breakfast before being called in on the case and was now famished.
He took his time while eating the crackers and talking things over with Ferras. He wanted both Helton and Haddon to believe that they were waiting while the other spouse was being interviewed. It was a trick of the trade, part of the strategy. Each would have to wonder what the other was saying.
“Okay,” Bosch finally said. “I’m going to go in and take the husband. You can watch in the booth or you can take a run at the wife. Your choice.”
It was a big moment. Bosch was more than twenty-five years ahead of Ferras on the job. He was the mentor and Ferras was the student. So far in their fledgling partnership, Bosch had not let Ferras conduct a formal interview. He was allowing that now and the look on Ferras’s face showed that it was not lost on him.
“You’re going to let me talk to her?”
“Sure, why not? You can handle it.”
“All right if I get in the booth and watch you with him first? That way you can watch me.”
“Whatever makes you comfortable.”
“Thanks, Harry.”
“Don’t thank me, Ignacio. Thank yourself. You earned it.”
Bosch dumped the empty cracker packages and the can in a trash can near his desk.
“Do me a favor,” he said. “Go on the Internet first and check the
“I’m on it.”
“I’ll go set up the video in the booth.”
Ten minutes later Bosch entered interview room 3, where Stephen Helton was waiting for him. Helton looked like he was not quite thirty years old. He was lean and tan and appeared to be the perfect real estate salesman. He didn’t look like he had ever spent even five minutes in a police station before.
Immediately he protested.
“What is taking so long? I’ve just lost my son and you stick me in this room for an hour? Is that procedure?”
“It hasn’t been that long, Stephen. But I am sorry you had to wait. We were talking to your wife and that went longer than we thought it would.”
“Why were you talking to her? Willy was with me the whole time.”
“We talked to her for the same reason we’re talking to you. I’m sorry for the delay.”
