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His seat was midway through the economy cabin, and there was no room in the overhead bins for his carry-on bag. He stuffed it under the seat in front of his window seat, which left him little room for his feet. Cramped and crammed in, he had to turn sideways in his seat to dig the cellphone out of his pocket. It had been almost three years since he had been on a plane, and he realized he hadn’t missed it at all.
His daughter worked a mid-watch shift, so he believed she would be awake but not working yet. As he was about to callher to inform her of his travels, he received an incoming call from an unknown number.
“Bosch.”
“Leave my son alone.”
It was a woman’s voice and Bosch immediately knew who it belonged to. He turned toward the window and talked softly so as to not be overheard.
“Mrs. Walsh? He—”
“You just leave him out of this, you understand? You punched him! You punched my son!”
“Because he needed to be punched. Look, I know he was the one who broke into your house. He either told you or you figured it out later but by then you’d already called the police. So when McShane’s prints came up, you were happy to lay the burglary off on him so the police wouldn’t come looking for your son.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I think I do, Sheila. And I’m in the middle of something right now but we are going to talk very soon. I want the truth about how McShane’s prints got there.”
“Don’t you come near me, and don’t you come near my son. I have a lawyer and he’ll sue your ass till you have nothing left.”
“Listen to me, Sheila—”
She disconnected.
Bosch considered calling her back but decided to leave it. His approach to her son had obviously spooked her and that’s what he had wanted. He would let that percolate for a while and then he’d come knocking on her door, lawyer or no lawyer.
Bosch looked around. The plane hadn’t moved yet and there were no flight attendants in the aisle to tell him to stop using his phone. He quickly called his daughter.
“Hi, Dad.”
“How’s it going, Mads?”
Just then an announcement came blaring out of an overhead speaker as the plane’s first officer addressed the passengers and gave the details of the flight plan and arrival.
“Sorry, hold on,” Bosch said.
The pilot said it was a four-hour flight that would get in at Chicago O’Hare at 8 p.m. Central Time, with the two-hour time change.
“Okay,” Bosch said. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you on a plane?” his daughter asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to Chicago. About to take off.”
“What’s in Chicago?”
“I’m on a case. I sort of got recruited by Renée Ballard for the reboot of the Open-Unsolved Unit.”
“You are kidding me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, I just sort of started this week. I wanted to see how it goes first, then I was going to tell you.”
“Dad, are you sure you should be doing this? I wish you had told me before you agreed to do this.”
“Yes, I’m sure. This is what I do, Mads. You know that.”
“And she already has you going to Chicago on a case.”
