“It’ll work.”
After closing the phone Bosch got up and walked around the desks so he could look at Rider’s computer screen. He told her what Robinson had just reported.
“Anything on Amanda Sobek?” he asked.
“Yeah, this is it. She lives in the West Valley. Farralone Avenue in Chatsworth. But there is not a lot here. No credit cards or mortgage. I think it means it’s all in her husband’s name. She might be a housewife. I’m running the address to see if I can pull him up.”
Bosch opened the yearbook to Rebecca Verloren’s class. He started flipping through the pages looking for the name Sobek or Amanda.
“Here he is,” Rider said. “Mark Sobek. Everything’s basically in his name and it looks like a lot. Four cars, two houses, lots of credit cards.”
“There was nobody named Sobek in her class,” Bosch said. “But there were two girls named Amanda. Amanda Reynolds and Amanda Riordan. Think she is one of them?”
Rider shook her head.
“I don’t think so. The age is off. This says Amanda Sobek is forty-one. That would make her eight years older than Rebecca. Something doesn’t fit. Think we should just call her?”
Bosch closed the yearbook with a bang. Rider jumped in her seat.
“No,” he said. “Let’s just go.”
“Where? To see her?”
“Yeah. Time to get off your ass and knock on doors.”
He looked down at Rider and could tell she wasn’t amused.
“I don’t mean your ass specifically. It’s a figure of speech. Let’s just go.”
She started getting up.
“You are awfully flippant for somebody who might not have a job at the end of the day.”
“It’s the only way to be, Kiz. Darkness waits. But it comes no matter what you do.”
He led the way out of the office.
37
THE FARRALONE AVENUE address AutoTrack led Bosch and Rider to belonged to a Mediterranean-style mansion that had to have been on the upper side of 6,000 square feet. It had a separate garage with four dark- stained wooden doors and windows from a guest suite above. The detectives had to view all of this through a wrought iron gate while waiting for someone to answer the intercom. Finally a voice came from the small square box on a pole next to Bosch’s open window.
“Yes, who is it?”
It was a woman. She sounded young.
“Amanda Sobek?” Bosch asked in reply.
“No, this is her assistant. Who are you two?”
Bosch looked again at the box and saw the camera lens. They were being watched as well as listened to. He pulled out his badge and held it a foot from the lens.
“Police,” he said. “We need to talk to Amanda or Mark Sobek.”
“About what?”
“About police business. Open the gate, please, ma’am.”
They waited and Bosch was just about to punch the call button again when the gate slowly started to automatically open. They drove in and parked in a turnaround circle in front of the two-story portico.
“Looks like the kind of place it might be worth killing a tow truck driver to protect,” Bosch said quietly as he cut the engine.
The door was opened before they got there by a woman in her twenties. She was wearing a skirt and a white blouse. The assistant.
“And you are?” Bosch asked.
“ Melody Lane. I work for Mrs. Sobek.”
“Is she here?” Rider asked.
“Yes, she’s getting dressed and will be right down. You can wait in the living room.”
They were led into an entrance hallway, where there was a table with several family photos on display. It looked like a husband, wife and two teenaged daughters. They followed Melody into a sumptuous living room with large windows looking out on Santa Susana State Park and Oat Mountain beyond.
Bosch checked his watch. It was almost noon. Melody noticed.
“She wasn’t sleeping. She worked out earlier and was taking a shower. She should be down -”
She didn’t need to finish. An attractive woman in white slacks and blouse left open over a pink chiffon shirt came hurrying into the room.
“What is it? Is something wrong? Are my girls all right?”
“Are you Amanda Sobek?” Bosch asked.
“Of course I am. What is wrong? Why are you here?”
Bosch pointed to the grouping of couch and chairs in the center of the room.
“Why don’t we sit down here, Mrs. Sobek.”
“Just tell me if something is wrong.”
The panic on her face looked real to Bosch. He started to think they may have made a wrong turn somewhere.
“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “This is not about your daughters. Your daughters are fine.”
“Is it Mark?”
“No, Mrs. Sobek. As far as we know he is fine, too. Let’s sit down over here.”
She finally relented and walked quickly to the big chair to the right of the couch. Bosch moved around a glass coffee table and sat on the couch. Rider took one of the remaining chairs. Bosch identified himself and Rider and showed his badge again. He noticed that the glass on the table was spotless.
“We are conducting an investigation that I can’t tell you about. I need to ask you some questions about your cell phone.”
“My cell phone? You scared me to death over my cell phone?”
“It’s actually a very serious investigation, Mrs. Sobek. Do you have your cell phone with you?”
“It’s in my purse. Do you need to see it?”
“No, not yet. Can you tell me when you used it yesterday?”
Sobek shook her head like it was an inane question.
“I don’t know. In the morning I called Melody from the gym. I can’t remember when else. I went to the store and called my daughters to see if they were on their way home after school. I can’t remember anything else. I was home almost all day except for the gym. When I’m home I don’t use my cell. I use the regular phone.”
Bosch’s misgivings were multiplying. Somewhere they had made a wrong move.
“Could someone else have used the phone?” Rider asked.
“My daughters have their own. So does Melody. I don’t understand this.”
Bosch pulled the page from the pen register out of his coat pocket. Out loud he read the number of the phone that had called Tampa Towing.
“Is that your number?” he asked.
“No, it’s my daughter’s. It’s Kaitlyn’s.”
Bosch leaned forward. This changed things further.
“Your daughter’s? Where was she yesterday?”
“I already told you. She was in school. And she didn’t use her phone until after, because it’s not allowed at school.”
“What school does she go to?” Rider asked.
“ Hillside Prep. It’s over in Porter Ranch.”
