The Black Box

White. This isn’t that big an operation, you know. We’ve got sales, service, parts, and management. It only adds up to twenty-four people, including myself.”
    Bosch repeated the phone number Alex White had called from and asked how long the dealership had had it.
    “Since forever. Since we opened in nineteen ninety. I was here.”
    “I appreciate your time, sir. Have a good day.”
    Bosch hung up, more curious than ever about the Alex White call of 2002.
    Bosch lost the rest of the morning to his prescheduled semiannual weapon qualification and policy training. He first sat through an hour of classroom work where he was updated on the latest court rulings pertaining to police work and the LAPD policy changes that resulted. The hour also included reviews of recent police shootings with discussion of what went wrong or right in each incident. He then made his way to the range, where he had to shoot in order to keep his weapon qualification. The range sergeant was an old friend who asked about Harry’s daughter. It gave Bosch an idea for something to do with Maddie over the weekend.
    Bosch was crossing back through the parking lot, heading to his car and thinking about where he would grab lunch, when Alex White called him back from Modesto with information on his tractor purchase. He told Bosch that he had become so intrigued by the out-of-the-blue call that morningthat he quit his golf game after just nine holes. He also noted that his score of fifty-nine was also a factor in the decision.
    According to the accountant’s records, White had purchased the tractor-mower at Cosgrove Tractor on April 27, 2002, and picked it up May 1, the tenth anniversary of Anneke Jespersen’s murder and the same day someone claiming to be Alex White had called the LAPD from the dealership number to inquire about the case.
    “Mr. White, I need to ask you again, on the day you picked up your tractor, did you call down here from the dealership to ask about a murder case?”
    White laughed uneasily before answering.
    “This is the craziest thing,” he said. “No, I did not call the LAPD. I have never called the LAPD in my life. Someone must have used my name and I can’t explain why, Detective. I’m at a loss.”
    Bosch asked if there were any names on the paperwork he had checked for the date of purchase. White gave Bosch two names. The salesman was listed as Reggie Banks and the sales manager who signed off on the deal was Jerry Jimenez.
    “Okay, Mr. White,” Bosch said. “You have been very helpful. Thank you very much and I’m sorry if I messed up your golf game today.”
    “No problem, Detective, my tempo was way off anyway. But I’ll tell you what, if you ever solve this mystery of who called down there using my name, let me know, okay?”
    “Will do, sir. Have a nice day.”
    Bosch thought about things as he unlocked his car. The Alex White mystery had now gone from a detail that needed clarification to something more. It was apparent that someonehad called from the John Deere dealership to inquire about the Jespersen case but had given a false identity, borrowing the name of a customer who had been in the dealership that very day. For Bosch that changed things about the call in a big way. It was no longer an unexplained blip on his radar. There was now something solid there, and it needed to be explained and understood.

8
    B osch decided to skip lunch and get back to the squad room. Luckily, Chu had not left for his lunch, and Bosch gave him the names Reginald Banks and Jerry Jimenez so he could run them through the databases. He then noticed the blinking light on his desk phone and checked the message. He had missed a call from Henrik Jespersen. He cursed as he wondered why Henrik hadn’t also tried Bosch’s cell, which he had provided in his emails.
    Bosch checked the wall clock and did the math. It was nine o’clock at night in Denmark. Henrik had left his home number on the message and Harry called it. There was a long silence as the call crossed a continent and an ocean. Bosch started to wonder if the call had gone east or west, but then a man answered after just two rings.
    “This is Detective Bosch in Los Angeles. Is this Henrik Jespersen?”
    “Yes, this is Henrik.”
    “I’m sorry to return your call so late. Can we talk for a few minutes now?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Good. I appreciate your response to my email and have a few follow-up questions, if you don’t mind.”
    “I am happy to