“Are you sure?”
“He told me that to my face.”
Bosch nodded.
“Mrs. Aliso, I’m sorry for the loss of your husband. I’m also sorry for the intrusion and the personal questions. I’m afraid, though, that there will be more as the investigation progresses.”
“I understand.”
“There is one other thing I’d like to cover.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Did your husband have a home office?”
“Yes.”
“Could we take a quick look at it?”
She stood up and they followed her down the second hallway to the office. They both stepped into the room and Bosch looked around. It was a small room with a desk and two file cabinets. There was a TV on a cart in front of a wall of shelves. Half were filled with books and the rest stacked with scripts, the titles written with Magic Markers on the edges of the pages. There was a golf bag leaning in the corner.
Bosch walked over and studied the desk. It was spotless. He came around and saw that the desk contained two file drawers. He opened these and found one empty and one containing several files. He quickly looked through the file tabs and saw that they apparently were files containing personal finance records and tax documents. He closed the drawers, deciding that a search of the office could probably keep.
“It’s late,” he said. “This is not the time. I want you to understand, though, that investigations like this often shoot off into many directions. But we have to follow up on everything. We’re going to need to come in here tomorrow and go through your husband’s things. We’ll probably take a lot with us. We’ll have a warrant so everything will be perfectly legal.”
“Yes. Of course. But can’t I just give you permission to take what you need?”
“You could, but it would be better this way. I’m talking about check books, savings account records, credit card statements, insurance, everything. We’ll probably need the records on your household account, too.”
“I understand. What time?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call first. Or someone will. Do you know, did your husband leave a will?”
“Yes. Both of us made wills. They’re with our attorney.”
“How long ago was that?”
“The will? Oh, a long time. Years.”
“In the morning, I’d like you to call the attorney and tell him we’ll need a copy of it. Are you up to doing that?”
“Of course.”
“What about insurance?”
“Yes, we have policies. The attorney, Neil Denton in Century City, will have them also.”
“Okay, we’ll worry about that tomorrow. I need to seal this room now.”
They stepped back into the hallway and Bosch closed the door. From his briefcase he took a sticker that said
CRIME SCENE
DO NOT ENTER PREMISES
CALL LAPD 213 485-4321
Bosch pressed the sticker across the door jamb. If anyone entered the room now, they would have to cut the sticker or peel it off. Bosch would know.
“Detective?” Veronica Aliso said quietly from behind him.
Bosch turned around.
“I am the suspect, aren’t I?”
Bosch put the two papers he had peeled off the back of the sticker in his pocket.
“I suppose everyone and no one is a suspect at this point. We’re looking at everything. But, yes, Mrs. Aliso, we’re going to be looking at you.”
“I guess I shouldn’t have been so candid before, then.”
Rider said, “If you’ve got nothing to hide, the truth shouldn’t hurt you.”
Bosch knew from long experience never to say such a thing. He knew the words were false before they were out of her mouth. Judging by the small, thin smile on Veronica Aliso’s face, she knew it as well.
“Are you new at this, Detective Rider?” she asked while looking at Bosch with that smile.
“No, ma’am, I’ve been a detective for six years.”
“Oh. And I guess I don’t have to ask Detective Bosch.”
“Mrs. Aliso?” Bosch asked.
“Veronica.”
“There is one last thing you could clear up for us tonight. We do not know yet exactly when your husband was killed. But it would help us concentrate on other matters if we could quickly eliminate routine avenues of-”
“You want to know if I have an alibi, is that it?”
“We just want to know where you were the last few days and nights. It’s a routine question, nothing else.”
“Well, I hate to bore you with my life’s details, because I’m afraid that’s what they are, boring. But other than a trip to the mall and supermarket Saturday afternoon, I haven’t left the house since I had dinner with my husband Wednesday night.”
“You’ve been here alone?”
“Yes…but I think you can verify this with Captain Nash at the gate. They keep records of who comes in as well as out of Hidden Highlands. Even the residents. Also, on Friday our pool man was here in the afternoon. I gave him his check. I can get you his name and number.”
“That won’t be necessary right now. Thank you. And again, I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anything we can do for you right now?”
She seemed to be withdrawing into herself. He was not sure she had heard his question.
“I’m fine,” she finally said.
He picked up his briefcase and headed down the hallway with Rider. It ran behind the living room and took them directly to the front door. All the way along the hallway there were no photographs on the wall. It didn’t seem right to him, but he guessed nothing had been right in this house for a while. Bosch studied dead people’s rooms the way scholars studied dead people’s paintings at the Getty. He looked for the hidden meanings, the secrets of lives and deaths.
At the door Rider went out first. Bosch then stepped out and looked back down the hall. Veronica Aliso was framed at the other end in the light. He hesitated for a beat. He nodded and walked out.
They drove in silence, digesting the conversation, until they got to the gatehouse and Nash came out.
“How’d it go?”
“It went.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he? Mr. Aliso.”
“Yeah.”
Nash whistled quietly.
“Captain Nash, you keep records here of when cars come in and out?” Rider asked.
“Yes. But this is private property. You’d need a-”
“Search warrant,” Bosch said. “Yes, we know. But before we go to all that trouble, tell me something. Say I come back with a warrant, are your gate records going to tell me when exactly Mrs. Aliso came in and out of here the last few days?”
“Nope. It’ll only tell you when her car did.”
“Gotcha.”
Bosch dropped off Rider at her car and they drove separately down out of the hills to the Hollywood Division station on Wilcox. On the way Bosch thought about Veronica Aliso and the fury she seemed to hold in her eyes for
