Echo Park

she got there. In Chinatown he pulled to the curb outside the restaurant and opened up his phone again. Before he had turned the Gesto murder book over to Olivas he had written down names and numbers he might need. He now called Bakersfield and the home of Marie Gesto’s parents. The call would not be a complete shock to them. His habit had always been to call them every time he pulled the file to take another look at the case. He thought it was some measure of comfort for them to know he had not given up.
    The missing woman’s mother answered the phone.
    “Irene, it’s Harry Bosch.”
    “Oh!”
    There was always that initial note of hope and excitement when one of them answered.
    “Nothing yet, Irene,” he responded quickly. “I just have a question for you and Dan, if you don’t mind.”
    “Of course, of course. It’s just good to hear from you.”
    “It’s nice to hear your voice, too.”
    It had been more than ten years since he had actually seen Irene and Dan Gesto. After two years they had stopped coming to L.A. in hopes of finding their daughter, had given up her apartment and gone home. After that, Bosch always called.
    “What is your question, Harry?”
    “It’s a name, actually. Do you remember Marie ever mentioning someone named Ray Waits? Maybe Raynard Waits? Raynard is an unusual name. You might remember it.”
    He heard her breath catch and he immediately knew he had made a mistake. The recent arrest and court hearings involving Waits had made it into the media in Bakersfield. He should have known that Irene would have a keen eye on such things in L.A. She would know what Waits was accused of. She would know they were calling him the Echo Park Bagman.
    “Irene?”
    He guessed that her imagination had taken terrible flight.
    “Irene, it’s not what you think. I’m just running some checks on this guy. It sounds like you’ve heard of him from the news.”
    “Of course. Those poor young girls. Ending up like that. I . . .”
    He knew what she was thinking, maybe not what she was feeling.
    “Can you think back before you saw him on the news. The name. Do you remember if your daughter ever mentioned it?”
    “No, I don’t remember it, thank God.”
    “Is your husband there? Can you check with him?”
    “He’s not here. He’s still at work.”
    Dan Gesto had given everything of himself to the search for his missing daughter. After two years, when he had nothing left spiritually, physically or financially, he went home to Bakersfield and went back to work at a John Deere franchise. Selling farmers their tractors and tools kept him alive now.
    “Can you ask him when he comes home and then call me back if he remembers the name?”
    “I will, Harry.”
    “One other thing, Irene. Marie’s apartment had that tall window in the living room. You remember that?”
    “Of course. That first year we came down for Christmas instead of her coming up. We wanted her to feel like it was a two-way road. Dan put up the tree in that window and you could see its lights from up and down the block.”
    “Yes. Do you know if she ever hired a window washer to keep that window clean?”
    There was a long silence while Bosch waited. It was a hole in the investigation, an angle he should have followed thirteen years before but hadn’t even thought of.
    “I don’t remember, Harry. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s okay, Irene. It’s okay. Do you remember when you and Dan went back to Bakersfield and you took everything from the apartment?”
    “Yes.”
    She said it in a strangled voice. He knew that she was crying now and that the couple had felt that in some way they were abandoning their daughter as well as their hope when they had gone home after two years of searching and waiting.
    “Did you keep it all? All the records and bills and all of the stuff we gave you when we were finished with it?”
    He knew that if there had been a receipt for a window washer, it would have been a lead that was checked out. But he had to ask her anyway to confirm the negative, to make sure it hadn’t slipped through the cracks.
    “Yes, we have it. It’s in her room. We have a room with her things in it. In case she . . .”
    Ever came home. Bosch knew their hope would not be fully extinguished until Marie was found, one way or the other.
    “I understand,” he said. “I need you to look through that box, Irene. If you can. I want you to look for a receipt from a window washer. Go through her checkbooks and see if