Angle of Investigation

Christmas Even

    The Three Kings Pawnshop on Hollywood Boulevard had been victimized by a burglar three times in two years. The criminal methods of each break-in were similar and so it was suspected by the Los Angeles Police Department that the same thief was responsible each time. But the thief was careful never to leave a fingerprint or any other clue to his identity. No arrests were ever made and none of the stolen property was ever recovered. Nikolai Servan, the Russian immigrant who owned the store, was left to wonder about the justice system of his adopted country.
    On the day before Christmas of this year Servan unlocked the rear door of the pawnshop, entered and discovered that his business had been victimized a fourth time. He also discovered that the burglar was still inside. It was this discovery that ultimately brought Detective Harry Bosch and his partner, Jerry Edgar, to the Three Kings Pawnshop.
    Shortly after 10 A.M. they arrived in a slickback Bosch had checked out of the motor pool at the Hollywood Division. They knew a burglary detective named Eugene Braxton was already waiting inside the shop with Nikolai Servan. Along with the body.
    “Look at that, Harry, looks like a big old Christmas present,” Edgar remarked as Bosch killed the engine. “Just waitin’ for us to open it.”
    Edgar was right. The exterior walls of the small, single-story pawnshop were painted a garish red. The yellow crime scene tape that had been strung across the front by the patrol officers looked like a bow. Bosch didn’t bother to comment on his partner’s observation. He got out and closed the car door.
    Bosch stood for a moment on the sidewalk and studied the front of the pawnshop. It was between a porno emporium and a shop that offered private mailboxes. A steel security gate had been folded open—presumably by Servan that morning after he called the police. Bosch looked up at the sign on the front wall above the plateglass windows. He saw that the triangular formation of three balls—the international pawnshop emblem—had been modified to include a king’s crown on each ball.
    “Cute,” Edgar said, looking up at the sign, too.
    “Very,” Bosch said. “Let’s get this done.”
    “Don’t worry about me, Har. I’m not going to hold things up. It’s Christmas Eve. I wanna wrap this thing up and get home early for a change.”
    Bosch stepped in and moved through the front of the shop, past the bicycles and golfe="ize clubs and antiques and musical instruments, and reached the counter where Braxton and Servan waited.
    Braxton, who had investigated the previous three burglaries at Three Kings, had gotten there first because Servan had his business card taped to the side of the telephone. When the shop owner came to work that morning and found the dead burglar behind the jewelry case, he didn’t dial 911. He dialed Braxton.
    “Merry Christmas, Brax,” Bosch said. “What have we got?”
    “Deck the halls, Harry,” Braxton said. “We’ve got one less burglar in the world. And that makes Christmas a good one for me already.”
    Bosch nodded and looked at Servan, who was seated on a tall stool on the other side of the counter. He was about fifty with black hair thinning on the top. He had a lot of muscle that was going soft. He had no visible tattoos.
    “This is Nikolai Servan,” Braxton said. “This is his store.”
    Bosch reached a hand across the counter to shake Servan’s hand. The Russian came off the stool and shook hands firmly.
    “Mr. Servan, I’m Detective Bosch. This is Detective Edgar.”
    “Nick. Call me Nick, please.”
    His accent was heavy. Bosch guessed he’d been in the country only a few years. Edgar reached across the counter and shook his hand as well.
    Bosch moved around Braxton and over to the area behind the glass jewelry counter. Sprawled on the floor in this close space was the body. He was a white man dressed head to toe in black. All except for the right hand. It was not wearing a glove, while the left hand was. Bosch crouched like a baseball catcher next to the body and studied it without touching anything. A knit ski mask had been pulled down over the face. There were openings for the eyes and mouth. Bosch noted that the eyes were open and the lips were pulled back despite the teeth being closed together tightly. He spoke without looking up.
    “What’s the ETA on ME and SID?”
    “On the way,” Braxton said. “That’s all I can tell you. Not much traffic today,