The Black Box

sir.”
    Bonn translated, beginning a halting thirty-minute conversation that provided Bosch with little in the way of information that helped make Anneke Jespersen’s journey to Los Angeles any clearer. Jannik did provide details about the photojournalist’s character and skills, her determination to follow stories, no matter the risk and opposition. But when Bosch tried to key in on the war crimes she was investigating, Jannik could provide no knowledge of what the crimes were, whocommitted them, or where the story came from. He reminded Bosch that Anneke was a freelancer, and therefore she would always be on guard against revealing her story to a newspaper editor. She had been burned too often by editors who listened to her story pitches, said no thanks, and then assigned their own salaried reporters and photographers to the story.
    Bosch grew increasingly frustrated with the slow-paced translation process as well as with what he was hearing when Jannik’s answers were turned into English. He ran out of questions and realized he had written nothing in his notebook. As he tried to think about what else to ask, the two other men continued talking in their native language.
    “What is he saying?” Bosch finally asked. “What are you two talking about?”
    “He is frustrated, Detective Bosch,” Bonn said. “He liked Anneke very much and would like to be of great help to you. But he does not have the information you need. He is frustrated because he knows you are frustrated also.”
    “Well, tell him not to take it personally.”
    Bonn translated and Jannik started giving a long answer in return.
    “Let’s work backwards,” Bosch said, cutting them off. “I know a lot of reporters over here. They’re not war correspondents but I’m sure reporters work the same way. Usually one story leads to another. Or, if they find somebody they trust, then they keep going back to the well. That means that they go back to that same person for other stories. So, see if he remembers the last few stories he worked on with Anneke. I know she was in Kuwait the year before but ask him . . . just see if he remembers what stories she worked on.”
    Bonn and Jannik then started a long back-and-forth. Bosch could hear one of them typing and guessed it was Bonn. While he waited for the translation into English, he got a call-waiting beep on his phone. He checked the ID and saw the call was coming from the Firearms Analysis Unit. Pistol Pete. Bosch wanted to take the call immediately but decided to finish the interview with Jannik first.
    “Okay, I have it,” Bonn said. “I looked it up in our digital archives. In the year previous to her death, as you say, Anneke was reporting and sending photos from Kuwait during Desert Storm. Several stories and photos we bought at the BT .”
    “Okay. Anything about war crimes or atrocities, things like that?”
    “Uh . . . no, I see nothing that is like that. She wrote stories about the people’s side of it. The people in Kuwait City. She had three photo essays . . .”
    “What do you mean, ‘the people’s side’?”
    “Life under fire. About the families who lost members. Stories like that.”
    Bosch thought for a moment. Families who lost members . . . He knew that war crimes were so often atrocities committed against the innocents caught in the middle.
    “I’ll tell you what,” he finally said. “Can you send me the links to the stories you’re looking at there?”
    “Yes, I will do that. You will have to translate them.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “How far back do you want me to go from her last story?”
    “How about a year?”
    “A year. Okay. That will be many stories.”
    “That’s okay. Does Mr. Jannik have anything else? Can he remember anything else?”
    He waited for the final question to be translated. He wanted to go. He wanted to get back to Pistol Pete.
    “Mr. Jannik will think more about this,” Bonn said. “He makes a promise to check the website to see if he remembers more.”
    “What website?”
    “For Anneke.”
    “What do you mean? There’s a website?”
    “Yes, of course. It was made by her brother. He made this as a memorial for Anneke and he has many of her photographs and stories on there, you see.”
    Bosch was silent a moment because he was embarrassed. He could blame it on Anneke’s brother for not telling him about the website but that would be passing the buck. He should have been savvy enough to ask.
    “What is the web address?”