The Black Box

wood decking surrounding the ship’s swimming pool. They were shirtless, holding up bottles of beer and shooting peace signs at the camera. Their wet bathing suits were cutoff camouflage pants. They looked very drunk and very sunburned. The names listed were Carl Cosgrove, Frank Dowler, Chris Henderson, and Reggie Banks.

Bosch now had another connection. Reggie Banks was the salesman who sold Alex White his tractor mower ten years before. He wrote the new names down on his list and underlined Banks’s name three times.

Bosch expanded the photo on his screen and studied it again. Three of the men—all except Cosgrove—had matching tattoos on their right shoulders. Bosch could tell it was the Keep on Truckin’ man in camouflage—the unit’s logo. Bosch then noticed that behind them and to the right was an overturned trash can that had spilled bottles and cans across the deck. As Bosch stared at the photo, he realized he had seen it before. Same scene, different angle.

Harry quickly opened up a new window on his screen and went to the Anneke Jespersen memorial site. He then opened the file containing her photos from Desert Storm. He quickly went through them until he got to the portfolio she had taken on the cruise ship. The third shot in the set of six was taken on the pool deck. It showed a ship’s houseman righting an upended trash can.

By flipping from one window to the other, and from photo to photo, Bosch was able to match the combination of bottles, cans, and brands strewn on the deck. The configuration of the spilled containers was exactly the same. It meant without a doubt that Anneke Jespersen had been on the cruise ship at the same time as members of the 237th Company. To confirm this Bosch compared other markers in the photos. In both he noted the same lifeguard on a poolside perch, wearing the same floppy hat and zinc-coated nose in each photo. A woman in a bikini lounging on the edge of the pool, her right hand dipped into the water. And finally, the bartender behind the counter of the tiki hut. Same bent cigarette behind his ear.

There was no doubt. Anneke’s photo was taken within minutes of the photo on the 237th Company’s website. She had been there with them.

The saying is that law enforcement work is ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent adrenaline— screaming high-intensity moments of life-and-death consequence. Bosch didn’t know if there was life-and-death consequence attached to this discovery, but he could feel the intensity of the moment. He quickly opened his desk drawer and pulled out his magnifying glass. He then turned the pages of the murder book until he found the sleeve containing the proof sheets and 8 ? 10 photos that were developed from the four rolls of film found in Anneke Jespersen’s vest.

There were only sixteen 8 ? 10 photos, and each was marked on the back with the number of the film roll it came from. Bosch guessed that investigators randomly selected and processed four shots from each of the rolls of film. Harry urgently looked through these now, comparing the soldiers in each one to the photo of the four men on the Saudi Princess. He drew a blank until he got to the four shots from roll three. All four of the shots showed several soldiers lining up to climb into a troop transport truck outside the Coliseum. But clearly at center and in focus in each shot was a tall, well-built man who looked like the man identified as Carl Cosgrove in the cruise ship shot.

Bosch used the magnifying glass to fine-tune the comparison but he could not be sure. The man in the Jespersen shot wore a helmet and was not looking directly at the camera. Bosch knew that he would need to turn the photos, proof sheets, and film negative strips over to the photo unit for comparison using better means than a handheld magnifying glass.

As Bosch took a final glance at the 237th photo, he noticed the photographer credit running in small letters along the right edge.

PHOTO BY J.J. DRUMMOND

Bosch now underlined Drummond’s name on his list and paused as he considered the coincidence he was staring at. Three names he already knew from the investigation—Banks, Dowler, and Drummond—belonged to men who had been on the pool deck of the Saudi Princess on the same day and time as photojournalist Anneke Jespersen. A year later, one of them would find her body in a back alley in riot-torn Los Angeles. Another would lead Bosch to the body, and the third presumably would call to check on the case a decade later.

Another connection involved Carl Cosgrove. He was on the ship in 1991 and appeared to have been in Los Angeles the year after. His name was on the fax ID on Francis Dowler’s statement and on the John Deere dealership where Reggie Banks worked.

In every case, there comes a moment when things start tumbling together and the focus becomes white-hot in its intensity. Bosch was there now. He knew what he had to do and where he had to go.

“David?” he said, his eyes still holding on the image on his computer screen. Four men drunk and happy in the burning sun and away from the fear and randomness of war.

“Yeah, Harry.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop what you’re doing.”

“What do you mean? Why?”

Bosch turned his screen so his partner could see the photo. He then looked at Chu.

“These four men,” he said. “Start with them. Run them down. Find them. Find out everything you can about them.”

“Okay, Harry. What about Sheriff Drummond? Should we contact him about these guys?”

Bosch thought for a moment before answering.

“No,” he finally said. “Add him to the list.”

Chu seemed surprised.

“You want me to background him?”

Bosch nodded.

“Yeah, and keep it quiet.”

Bosch got up and left the cubicle. He walked down the middle aisle to the lieutenant’s office. The door was open and he saw O’Toole working at his desk with his head down as he wrote something in an open file. Harry knocked on the doorframe and O’Toole looked up. He hesitated, then signaled Bosch in.

“Let the record show that you came in here of your own volition,” he said as Bosch stepped in. “No harassment, no coercion.”

“So noted.”

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I want to put in for some vacation time. I think I need some time to think about things.”

O’Toole paused as though considering whether he was walking into a trap.

“When do you want to go?” he finally asked.

“I was thinking next week,” Bosch said. “I know it’s Friday and this is short notice, but my partner can cover anything we have open and he’s already working on a pickup trip with Trish Allmand.”

“What about the Snow White case? Weren’t you telling me not two days ago that nothing was going to hold you up on it?”

Bosch nodded contritely.

“Yeah, well, it’s sort of cooled down at the moment. I’m waiting on developments.”

O’Toole nodded like he knew all along that Bosch would hit a wall on the case.

“You know this isn’t going to change the internal investigation,” he said.

“I know,” Bosch said. “I just need to get away, think about priorities for a little bit.”

Bosch saw O’Toole trying to hold back a self-congratulatory smile. He couldn’t wait to call the tenth floor and report that Bosch was not going to be a problem, that the prodigal detective had finally seen the light and returned to the fold.

“So, you’re taking the week, then?” he asked.

“Yeah, just a week,” Bosch replied. “I’ve got about two months banked.”

“I normally want a little more notice, but I’ll allow the exception this time. You’re good to go, Detective. I’ll mark it down.”

“Thanks, L-T.”