The Black Box

the tiki hut. Same bent cigarette behind his ear.
    There was no doubt. Anneke’s photo was taken within minutes of the photo on the 237th Company’s website. She had been there with them.
    The saying is that law enforcement work is ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent adrenaline—screaming high-intensity moments of life-and-death consequence. Bosch didn’t know if there was life-and-death consequence attached to this discovery, but he could feel the intensity of the moment. He quickly opened his desk drawer and pulled out his magnifying glass. He then turned the pages of the murder book until he found the sleeve containing the proof sheets and 8 × 10photos that were developed from the four rolls of film found in Anneke Jespersen’s vest.
    There were only sixteen 8 × 10 photos, and each was marked on the back with the number of the film roll it came from. Bosch guessed that investigators randomly selected and processed four shots from each of the rolls of film. Harry urgently looked through these now, comparing the soldiers in each one to the photo of the four men on the Saudi Princess . He drew a blank until he got to the four shots from roll three. All four of the shots showed several soldiers lining up to climb into a troop transport truck outside the Coliseum. But clearly at center and in focus in each shot was a tall, well-built man who looked like the man identified as Carl Cosgrove in the cruise ship shot.
    Bosch used the magnifying glass to fine-tune the comparison but he could not be sure. The man in the Jespersen shot wore a helmet and was not looking directly at the camera. Bosch knew that he would need to turn the photos, proof sheets, and film negative strips over to the photo unit for comparison using better means than a handheld magnifying glass.
    As Bosch took a final glance at the 237th photo, he noticed the photographer credit running in small letters along the right edge.
    PHOTO BY J.J. DRUMMOND
    Bosch now underlined Drummond’s name on his list and paused as he considered the coincidence he was staring at. Three names he already knew from the investigation—Banks, Dowler, and Drummond—belonged to men who hadbeen on the pool deck of the Saudi Princess on the same day and time as photojournalist Anneke Jespersen. A year later, one of them would find her body in a back alley in riot-torn Los Angeles. Another would lead Bosch to the body, and the third presumably would call to check on the case a decade later.
    Another connection involved Carl Cosgrove. He was on the ship in 1991 and appeared to have been in Los Angeles the year after. His name was on the fax ID on Francis Dowler’s statement and on the John Deere dealership where Reggie Banks worked.
    In every case, there comes a moment when things start tumbling together and the focus becomes white-hot in its intensity. Bosch was there now. He knew what he had to do and where he had to go.
    “David?” he said, his eyes still holding on the image on his computer screen. Four men drunk and happy in the burning sun and away from the fear and randomness of war.
    “Yeah, Harry.”
    “Stop.”
    “Stop what?”
    “Stop what you’re doing.”
    “What do you mean? Why?”
    Bosch turned his screen so his partner could see the photo. He then looked at Chu.
    “These four men,” he said. “Start with them. Run them down. Find them. Find out everything you can about them.”
    “Okay, Harry. What about Sheriff Drummond? Should we contact him about these guys?”
    Bosch thought for a moment before answering.
    “No,” he finally said. “Add him to the list.”
    Chu seemed surprised.
    “You want me to background him? ”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Yeah, and keep it quiet.”
    Bosch got up and left the cubicle. He walked down the middle aisle to the lieutenant’s office. The door was open and he saw O’Toole working at his desk with his head down as he wrote something in an open file. Harry knocked on the doorframe and O’Toole looked up. He hesitated, then signaled Bosch in.
    “Let the record show that you came in here of your own volition,” he said as Bosch stepped in. “No harassment, no coercion.”
    “So noted.”
    “What can I do for you, Detective?”
    “I want to put in for some vacation time. I think I need some time to think about things.”
    O’Toole paused as though considering whether he was walking into a trap.
    “When do you want to go?” he finally asked.
    “I was thinking next week,” Bosch said. “I know