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“Harry, please. It’s not funny. I don’t know what I’m going to do about her. I think I’m going to ask Lilia to take over the hereditary part of this.”
“But you said Hatteras was the best on your team.”
“She is, but I can’t have her disobeying direct orders. The psychic bullshit I can actually deal with. But when I tell her not to handle property and evidence and she does exactly that, then I have to do something.”
“I guess so.”
Ballard stood up, ready to go.
“Okay,” Bosch said. “I’m going to call Juanita Wilson. Do you have her contacts?”
“I have her number,” Ballard said. “I’ll text it to you.”
They left the interview room and returned to the pod. Hatteras, Masser, Aghzafi, and Laffont were all at their stations. Bosch guessed they were working multiple days because they knew how important this case was to the longevity of the unit. He sat down at his station and made the call to Chicago as soon as Ballard sent him the number for Juanita Wilson. The call was answered right away.
“Mrs. Wilson?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Harry Bosch. I’m with the Los Angeles Police Department cold case squad. You spoke with my colleague Renée Ballard yesterday.”
“Yes. Have you made an arrest?”
“Not yet, Mrs. Wilson, but we’re working very hard on the case. I wondered if I could ask you a few more questions.”
“Yes, of course. I’m just so thankful that there is still an investigation. I thought you people had given up.”
“No, ma’am, we aren’t giving up. I know this must be very difficult for you to be thinking of those horrible times, but do you remember, after your daughter’s death, what happened to all her property and belongings that were here in Los Angeles?”
There was a long silence before Juanita Wilson responded.
“Well, let me see,” she said. “My husband and I went to Los Angeles to bring her home. And when we were there, we were allowed to go into her apartment after the police were all through. We packed all of her things in boxes and shipped them back here. And some of the furniture we put out in front of her building like a little garage sale and we sold it.”
Bosch tried to control his anticipation. But Juanita’s first answer gave him hope.
“How many boxes did you send back to Chicago? Do you remember?”
“Oh, there were quite a few. That’s why we sent them. There was too much to take on a plane.”
“And what happened to the boxes once they were in Chicago?”
“You know, for a long time I couldn’t bear to open them and look through her things. So they were in the closet in her bedroom for the longest time. And then I started taking a look from time to time, you know, just to get a sense of her.”
“Do you still have the boxes?”
“Of course, I couldn’t throw those things away. They were my daughter’s.”
“I understand that. Mrs. Wilson, the crime scene photographertook what we call ‘environmental photographs’ of your daughter’s apartment. These were photos that were not actually of the crime scene but of the rest of the apartment. Like what was on Laura’s refrigerator and in the drawers of her bureau, things like that. And we have one photo that shows a campaign button for a man who was running for city council out here at that time. We think it might be important to the case.”
“How would it be important?”
“Well, I can’t really talk about it at the moment, but I’m wondering if you would be willing to look through the boxes you have and see if you find it. It is probably a long shot, but it would help us if you could. If you give me an email address, I could send you the photo that was taken back then. Is this something you think you can do?”
“I could, yes.”
“When would that be?”
“As soon as I hang up this phone. If you think it will help the investigation, I’m going to do it right now.”
