Angle of Investigation

composite roof,” Braxton said. “No big thing cutting through. A half hour maybe.”
    “It would make noise,” Edgar said. “Anybody know when the porno palace closes?”
    “I remember I checked one of the other times this place was hit,” Braxton said. “He closes at four, reopens at eight. Four-hour window.”
    “The roof the entry point in the other three hits?” Bosch asked.
    Braxton shook his head.
    “He hit the back door the first two times and then the roof. This is the second time through the roof.”
    “You think it was Monty all three times before?”
    “Wouldn’t doubt it. That’s what these guys do. Hit the same places over and over. After the second time the back door was used, Mr. Servan took precautions there. Added more steel reinforcement. So the guy went up onto the rook ionto thf.”
    “Why this place so many times?” Edgar asked.
    “A lot of immigrants come here. Russians, Koreans, from all over. They pawn the stuff they brought with them from the homeland. Jade. Gold. Coins. Small, expensive stuff. Burglars love that shit, man. That case where you found that glove? It’s all in there. That’s what the guy came in for. I don’t know why he ended up behind the jewelry case.”
    “What’s been the take on the prior three?” Bosch asked.
    “It’s probably averaged out to forty to fifty grand a hit,” Braxton said. “That’s on the high side for a pawnshop. That’s why this guy kept getting hit.”
    A patrolman stepped back into the rear room and told the detectives that the medical examiner’s people had arrived.
    The three detectives continued to huddle for a moment to discuss initial impressions and Bosch’s theory on what had happened to the burglar and to set a case strategy. It was decided that Edgar would stay on scene and assist the ME and SID teams as necessary. Bosch and Braxton would handle Servan and next-of-kin notification.
    As soon as the medical examiner’s investigator rolled a set of prints off the burglar’s exposed hand, Bosch and Braxton headed back to Hollywood Division along with Nikolai Servan.
    Bosch scanned the prints into the computer and sent them downtown to the print lab at Parker Center. He then conducted a formal and taped interview with Servan. Though the pawnbroker added nothing new to what he had told them in his shop, it was important for Bosch to lock down his story on tape.
    By the time he was done with the interview he had a message waiting from a print technician named Tom Rusch. The prints were matched by computer to a thirty-nine-year-old ex-convict named Montgomery George Kelman. Kelman was on parole for a burglary conviction.
    It took Bosch three calls to locate Kelman’s parole agent and to get the dead man’s current address and employer. He was told Kelman worked a morning dishwashing shift at a restaurant on Hillview. The parole agent had already received a call that morning from the restaurant owner, who reported that Kelman had not shown up for work or called in sick—as parole regulations dictated. The agent seemed pleased to learn he didn’t have to bother filing all the paperwork needed to show Kelman violated parole.
    “Merry Christmas!” he said to Bosch before hanging up.
    After checking with Edgar by phone and learning the techs were still working the body and scene, Bosch told his partner that the victim had been IDed as Kelman and that he and Braxton were headed to the address the parole agent had provided for Kelman. He said they were going to leave Nikolai Servan behind in an interview room at the division.
    Monty Kelman’s address was an apartment on Los Feliz near Griffith Park. Bosch’s knock was answered by a young woman in shorts andresn short a long-sleeve turtleneck shirt. She was thin to the point of being gaunt. An obvious junkie. She abruptly collapsed into the fetal position on the couch when they gave her the bad news about Monty. While Braxton attempted to console her and gather information from her at the same time, Bosch took a quick look around the one-bedroom apartment. As he expected, there was no obvious sign that the premises belonged to a burglar. This apartment was the front—the place where the parole agent visited and Kelman kept the semblance of a law-abiding life. Bosch knew that any active burglar with a parole tail would keep a separate and secret place—a safe house—for his tools and swag.
    In the bedroom was a small desk in which Kelman kept his checkbook and