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Authors: Michael Connelly
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recognition flare in Gunn’s eyes.
“You’re saying he had time to get rid of the gun because nobody knows how long it was between when she was capped with the silencer and when he went into the street and started waking up the neighborhood.”
Bosch nodded.
“That’s the other thing. Him going into the street and yelling for help—like he wanted the neighbors to see him. I don’t know, if that was my wife in that car with her brains all over the place… I don’t think I’d end up in the middle of the street with no blood on me. I don’t see that at all.”
His phone buzzed and he started digging it out of his pocket.
“See if Dussein’s done with the purse,” he said. “I’ve got a guy at Parker Center waiting to go to work. I’ll get him on the search warrant for the house.”
“You got it.”
Bosch opened his phone. It was Ignacio Ferras.
“Harry, I’ve looked at all the tapes from the casino’s entrance area and the parking lot. It looks to me like she had a follower.”
Bosch felt a sudden pause. A follower would completely contradict the theory he had just spun with Gunn.
“Are you sure, Ignacio?”
“Well, nothing’s for sure but I have her on tape leaving the casino with a security escort. The guy walked her out to her car. He then stood in the lot until she pulled out. Everything was copacetic. But then in thirty-second intervals two more cars pulled out and headed in the same direction she did. Toward the freeway entrance down the block.”
“Two cars…”
“Yeah, two.”
“Okay, but aren’t cars pulling in and out of there at a regular clip? Even in the middle of the night? And probably most of the cars that leave go to the freeway, right?”
“Yeah, they do. At all hours—the casino’s open twenty-four hours. But after I saw these two cars follow her out, I went back through the tapes to trace the drivers. I found one of them came out a couple minutes before the victim. He got in his car and took a little time before pulling out. I think he was smoking. That allowed the victim to leave first.”
“Okay, and what about the second car?”
“That’s the thing, Harry. I couldn’t find anybody walking out of the casino that connects with that car. Not at first. So I had to go all the way back an hour to find the guy. He left an hour before the victim and he sat out there in his car waiting for her.”
Bosch started to pace in the street as all of this registered.
“Did you also look at the tapes from inside the casino with this guy?” he asked.
“I did. And the guy wasn’t playing, Harry. He was just watching. He was walking around, acting like he was a player but he never actually played. He was watching the tables and in the last hour he was watching her play. The victim. He zeroed in on her, then he left and waited for her in the parking lot.”
Bosch nodded slowly. He was seeing the case turning completely in a new direction. Kimber Gunn walked up to him then but he held up a finger so he could finish the call.
“Ignacio, did you get plates off the cars that left after Tracey Blitzstein?”
“Yeah, we got the plates on the tape. The first car was registered to a Douglas Pennington of Beverly Hills. The second car’s registered to a Charles Turnbull of Hollywood.”
Beverly Hills and Hollywood were on the west side, same as Venice. If Pennington and Turnbull were heading home from the casino in Commerce, they would have gone in the same direction as Tracey Blitzstein. That was explainable—at least as far as Pennington went. But Turnbull’s activity in the casino and then his waiting in the parking lot for an hour wasn’t—yet.
“And you put them through the box?” Bosch asked his partner.
“Yeah, both clean. I mean, Turnbull’s got a lot of parking and moving violations but that’s it.”
Bosch looked into Gunn’s eyes while he tried to think about what to do. Her eyebrows were raised. He could tell she sensed a change in the winds of
“You’re saying he had time to get rid of the gun because nobody knows how long it was between when she was capped with the silencer and when he went into the street and started waking up the neighborhood.”
Bosch nodded.
“That’s the other thing. Him going into the street and yelling for help—like he wanted the neighbors to see him. I don’t know, if that was my wife in that car with her brains all over the place… I don’t think I’d end up in the middle of the street with no blood on me. I don’t see that at all.”
His phone buzzed and he started digging it out of his pocket.
“See if Dussein’s done with the purse,” he said. “I’ve got a guy at Parker Center waiting to go to work. I’ll get him on the search warrant for the house.”
“You got it.”
Bosch opened his phone. It was Ignacio Ferras.
“Harry, I’ve looked at all the tapes from the casino’s entrance area and the parking lot. It looks to me like she had a follower.”
Bosch felt a sudden pause. A follower would completely contradict the theory he had just spun with Gunn.
“Are you sure, Ignacio?”
“Well, nothing’s for sure but I have her on tape leaving the casino with a security escort. The guy walked her out to her car. He then stood in the lot until she pulled out. Everything was copacetic. But then in thirty-second intervals two more cars pulled out and headed in the same direction she did. Toward the freeway entrance down the block.”
“Two cars…”
“Yeah, two.”
“Okay, but aren’t cars pulling in and out of there at a regular clip? Even in the middle of the night? And probably most of the cars that leave go to the freeway, right?”
“Yeah, they do. At all hours—the casino’s open twenty-four hours. But after I saw these two cars follow her out, I went back through the tapes to trace the drivers. I found one of them came out a couple minutes before the victim. He got in his car and took a little time before pulling out. I think he was smoking. That allowed the victim to leave first.”
“Okay, and what about the second car?”
“That’s the thing, Harry. I couldn’t find anybody walking out of the casino that connects with that car. Not at first. So I had to go all the way back an hour to find the guy. He left an hour before the victim and he sat out there in his car waiting for her.”
Bosch started to pace in the street as all of this registered.
“Did you also look at the tapes from inside the casino with this guy?” he asked.
“I did. And the guy wasn’t playing, Harry. He was just watching. He was walking around, acting like he was a player but he never actually played. He was watching the tables and in the last hour he was watching her play. The victim. He zeroed in on her, then he left and waited for her in the parking lot.”
Bosch nodded slowly. He was seeing the case turning completely in a new direction. Kimber Gunn walked up to him then but he held up a finger so he could finish the call.
“Ignacio, did you get plates off the cars that left after Tracey Blitzstein?”
“Yeah, we got the plates on the tape. The first car was registered to a Douglas Pennington of Beverly Hills. The second car’s registered to a Charles Turnbull of Hollywood.”
Beverly Hills and Hollywood were on the west side, same as Venice. If Pennington and Turnbull were heading home from the casino in Commerce, they would have gone in the same direction as Tracey Blitzstein. That was explainable—at least as far as Pennington went. But Turnbull’s activity in the casino and then his waiting in the parking lot for an hour wasn’t—yet.
“And you put them through the box?” Bosch asked his partner.
“Yeah, both clean. I mean, Turnbull’s got a lot of parking and moving violations but that’s it.”
Bosch looked into Gunn’s eyes while he tried to think about what to do. Her eyebrows were raised. He could tell she sensed a change in the winds of
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