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“We’ll play this for Paul, see what he thinks,” Ballard said.

Paul Masser, like Laffont, was one of Ballard’s volunteers on the cold-case unit, where she was the only full-time sworn LAPD officer. Masser was a former prosecutor who would give an opinion on whether they could file a case on Talbot based on what they had recorded.

“But I tell you what, Margaret Atwood sure got it right,” Ballard said.

“About what?” Bosch asked.

“She said men fear that women will laugh at them,” Ballard said, “and women fear that men will kill them.”

“That’s cheery,” Laffont said.

“But true,” Ballard said.

“Let me know what Paul thinks,” Bosch said. “I’m going home.”

Bosch was turning toward the van’s door when a rustling sound came from the speakers.

“Somebody picked up the vase,” Ballard said.

“Did Talbot come back?” Laffont asked.

Nobody answered. They could hear footsteps on the grass and fallen leaves, then footsteps on asphalt, followed by a car door opening.

“Uh, what are we going to do?” Osmond asked. “We can’t lose the bug — my boss will have my ass. That’s a two-hundred-dollar piece of equipment.”

Laffont got up and pushed through a black curtain to the van’s front seats. He moved between them and sat behind the wheel. He turned the key that was already in the ignition.

Talbot’s voice suddenly burst from the van’s speakers.

“Fuck you and your tulips, Bosch,” he said.

“Tom, wait,” Ballard said. “It’s him.”

She held her hand up for silence and Laffont killed the engine. She tapped Osmond on the shoulder.

“Ozzie, we’re still recording?” she asked.

“Still recording,” Osmond said.

They heard a car engine come to life.

“You think you rattle me?” Talbot said. “Think again, motherfucker.”

It was bizarre. It was like he knew Bosch could hear him. Then there was a sound of a cell phone ringing and Talbot put the call on his car’s speaker and answered.

“You heading home?” a woman asked.

“On my way,” Talbot said. “And, hey, I’m bringing you flowers.”

“Aww. But you better not have stolen them off a grave.”

“Nah, I picked them up on the way to visit the bitch.”

“Don’t speak that way of the dead, Greg.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what she was.”

“I know. It’s just that — ”