“I know. I told her I’d cook tomorrow if I don’t have much homework.”
“Good, and maybe I’ll cook Wednesday.”
That made him smile and he guessed she was smiling, too.
“Yeah, ramen noodles. Oh boy, can’t wait.”
“Me neither. I gotta go to sleep now, baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She disconnected and Bosch heard the three beeps as the line went dead. He lay there, unable to get up. The lights were still on but he closed his eyes. In seconds he was asleep.
Bosch dreamed of an endless march through the mud. But the almond trees were gone and replaced by burned-off stumps with jagged black branches reaching out to him like hands. In the distance, there was the sound of an angry dog barking. And no matter how quickly Bosch moved, the dog was getting closer.
28
Bosch was dragged from a deep sleep by his phone buzzing on his chest. His first thought was that it was his daughter, either in trouble or upset about Hannah for some reason. The bedside clock said 4:22 A.M.
He grabbed the phone but didn’t see the photo of Maddie, tongue sticking out at him, which came up on screen when she called. He checked the number on the screen and saw the 404 area code. Atlanta.
“This is Detective Bosch.”
He pulled himself up and looked around for his notebook, remembering again that it was in the car. He realized he was naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist.
“Yes, my name is Charlotte Jackson and you left a message for me yesterday. I didn’t get it until late last night. Is it too early there?”
Bosch’s head cleared. He remembered the call he got at the restaurant from Charlotte Jackson number four. This had to be Charlotte Jackson number three. It was the only outstanding callback. He remembered she lived on Ora Avenue in East Atlanta.
“That’s okay, Ms. Jackson,” he said. “I’m glad you called me back. As my message said, I’m a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. I work in the Open-Unsolved Unit, which is a cold-case squad, if that makes any sense to you.”
“I used to watch
“Okay, well, I’m working on an old homicide case and I’m trying to reach a Charlotte Jackson who served in the military during Desert Storm in nineteen ninety-one.”
There was a silence but Bosch waited for a response.
“Well . . . I did. I was there but I don’t know anybody in Los Angeles or anybody that got murdered. This is very strange.”
“Yes, I understand and I know this whole thing may seem confusing. If you would bear with me for a few questions, I think I’ll be able to make things a little clearer.”
He waited again for a response. None came.
“Ms. Jackson? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Go ahead with your questions. I don’t have a lot of time. I need to get going to work soon.”
“Okay, then, I’ll try to move quickly. First of all, is this your home number or a cell?”
“It’s a cell. It’s my only number.”
“Okay, and you said you were in the armed services and served during Desert Storm. What branch of the military was that?”
“U.S. Army.”
“Are you still in the army?”
“No.”
She said it like he had asked a stupid question.
“Where were you based stateside, Ms. Jackson?”
“Benning.”
Bosch had spent time at Fort Benning himself when he was in the military. It had been his last stop before Vietnam. He knew it was a two-hour drive from Atlanta, Anneke Jespersen’s first stop after flying to the United States. Bosch started feeling like he was getting close to something. Some hidden truth was about to come into the open. He tried to keep his voice at a constant measured tone.
“How long were you in the Persian Gulf?”
“About seven months total. First in Saudi for Desert Shield and then we moved into Kuwait for the ground war. Desert Storm. I was never actually in Iraq.”
“During that time did you ever go on leave and spend any time on the cruise ship called the
“Of course,” Jackson said. “Practically everybody did at some point. What’s this have to do with a murder in L.A.? I really don’t understand why you called me, and like I said, I got work today, so—”
“Ms. Jackson, I assure you that this is a very legitimate call and you may be able to help us solve a murder. Can I ask, what do you do for a living now?”
“I work at the Justice Center of Atlanta. It’s in Inman Park.”
“Okay. Are you a lawyer?”
“No. God, no.”
That same tone, as if Bosch had asked a stupid or obvious question about her when he had never even spoken to her before.
“What do you do then at the Justice Center?”
“I work in mediation, and my boss doesn’t like it when I come in late. I should go now.”
Somehow Bosch had gone far afield from the central purpose of the interview. It rankled him whenever a step-by-step interview went off the pathway. He chalked it up to being yanked from sleep and thrown into the conversation.
“Just a few more questions. It’s very important. Let’s go back to the
“It was in March, right before my unit got sent home. I remember thinking I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known I’d be back in Georgia a month later. But the army didn’t tell me that, so I went on a seventy-two-hour leave.”
Bosch nodded. He was back on the path. He just needed to stay there.
“Do you remember being interviewed by a journalist? A woman named Anneke Jespersen?”
There was only a short pause before Jackson answered.
“The Dutch girl? Yes, I remember her.”
“Anneke was Danish. Are we talking about the same woman? A Caucasian blond, pretty, about thirty?”
“Yes, yes, I only did one interview. Dutch, Danish—I remember that name and I remember her.”
“Okay, where did she interview you, do you remember?”
“I was in a bar. I don’t remember which one, but it was near the pool. That’s where I hung out.”
“Do you remember anything about the interview besides that?”
“The interview? Not really. It was just a few quick questions. She interviewed a bunch of us. And it was loud in there and people were drunk, you know?”
“Right.”
Now was the moment. The only question he really had to ask.
“Did you ever see Anneke again after that day?”
“Well, first I saw her the next night in the same place. Only she wasn’t working. She said she filed her story or sent her pictures in or something and now she had her own leave. She had two more days on the boat and she was off the clock.”
Bosch paused. That wasn’t what he had been expecting to hear. He was thinking about Jespersen’s trip to Atlanta.
“Why are you asking about her?” Jackson asked. “Is she the one that’s dead?”
