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“Is that where you found the pin?” he asked.
“Yes, right in that one,” Juanita said. “There were some clothes on the top and some scripts I think she was working with at the time. But when I lifted them out, I saw the button right away in a shoebox.”
Bosch pulled out his phone and turned on the video camera.
“Mrs. Wilson, can you show me without touching the button?” he asked.
He followed her on camera as she went to the box, spread the cardboard flaps, and then pointed down into it. He moved in to see that there was a shoebox within the larger box. Its top was off and it was filled with small items that Bosch recognized from the crime scene photo of Laura Wilson’s junk drawer. He brought his phone down and then zoomed in on the campaign button that said “JAKE!”
“If I give you my phone, would you please video me as I retrieve the button, Mrs. Wilson?” Bosch asked.
“If you want,” Juanita said. “I’m not all that good with a camera.”
“It’ll be fine. I just want to be able to document chain of custody.”
“Chain of custody?”
“Who had possession of the item and when. That once it was collected, it was maintained in police control.”
“I understand.”
Bosch handed her the phone and she recorded him putting onrubber gloves from his backpack and opening a plastic evidence bag. He then reached into the box and removed the campaign button from the shoebox. He bagged it, sealed it, and put it in the side pocket of his sport coat.
He reached for the phone, spoke the date and time of day, and then turned the recording off. He played the beginning of the video to check that Juanita had gotten what he needed.
“That should do it,” he said. “Thank you.”
“What else can I do?” Juanita asked.
Bosch hesitated. He had both a print kit and swab kit in his backpack. Ballard had given them to him when she walked him out of the Ahmanson Center. Under evidence protocols, he knew he should take Juanita’s fingerprints and a DNA swab so she could be excluded from anything that might be found on the campaign button. But he was hesitant about putting this frail Black woman through that and possibly making her feel victimized by the investigation of her own daughter’s murder. He decided to pass on the protocols.
“You said you didn’t even touch the button, right?” he asked.
“No, I saw it there and didn’t go near it, like you told me,” Juanita said. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all. Everything’s good. Then I think that’s it and I can get out of your hair.”
“What happens now?”
“Well, I go back to Los Angeles and, like I said, I’ll get this into forensics today. If we get lucky, we get a print that is not your daughter’s and run it down, see who handled the button, maybe find out who gave it to her. Either Detective Ballard or I will keep you informed of our progress.”
“Okay. Because I’m not sure how much more I can wait, you know?”
“I know it’s difficult. You have waited a long, long time, and believe me, I know what that’s like.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m on a clock, Detective Bosch. I have cancer. A terminal cancer and I want to know before … the end.”
Bosch realized that she was not an old lady as he had initially thought. She was sick. He guessed that the head wrap probably hid the baldness that was the result of the brutal assault of anticancer treatment. He was immediately embarrassed by his gaffe in saying he would get out of her hair.
“I’m sorry,” Bosch whispered.
“I had given up and was prepared to die,” Juanita said. “Then the woman detective called and it gave me hope. I will hang on, Detective Bosch, until you can give me an answer.”
“I understand. We will move quickly. That’s all I can promise.”
“That’s all I need. Thank you.”
Bosch nodded. Juanita led him back to the front door, where they shook hands and said goodbye. From the front stoop Bosch saw no car waiting for him on the street.
