The Closers

that they had a rock-solid DNA lead-a cold hit-to work with, but at the moment he felt that it was for the best.
    “There are a couple things,” he said, speaking for the first time. “First, in looking through the files on the case, we came across this photo.”
    He took the photo of Roland Mackey as an eighteen-year-old out of his pocket and put it down on the coffee table in front of Muriel. She immediately leaned down to look at it.
    “We’re not sure what the connection is,” he continued. “We thought maybe you might recognize this man and tell us if you knew him back then.”
    She continued to look without responding.
    “This is a photo from nineteen eighty-eight,” Bosch said as a means of prompting her.
    “Who is he?” she finally asked.
    “We’re not sure. His name is Roland Mackey. He’s got a small-time record for crimes committed after your daughter’s death. We’re not sure why his photo was in the file. Do you recognize him?”
    “Did you ask Art or Ron about it?”
    Bosch started to ask who Art and Ron were when he realized.
    “Actually, Detective Green retired and passed away a long time ago. Detective Garcia is Commander Garcia now. We talked to him but he wasn’t able to help us with Mackey. How about you? Could he have been one of your daughter’s acquaintances? Do you recognize him?”
    “He could have been. There is something about him that I recognize.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Do you know how you recognize him or from where?”
    “No, I don’t remember. Why don’t you tell me and maybe that will help jog my memory.”
    Bosch made a quick side glance at Rider. This was not totally unexpected, but it always complicated things when the parent of a victim was so eager to help that he or she simply asked what it was the police wanted them to say. Muriel Verloren had waited seventeen years for her daughter’s killer to be brought forward into the light of the justice system. It was very clear that she was going to carefully choose answers that would in no way hinder the possibility of that happening. At this point it might not even matter if it was a false light. The past years had been cruel to her and the memory of her daughter. Someone still needed to pay.
    “We can’t tell you that because we don’t know, Mrs. Verloren,” Bosch said. “Think about it and let us know if you remember him.”
    She nodded sadly, as if she thought it was yet another missed opportunity.
    “Mrs. Verloren, what do you do for a living?” Rider asked.
    It seemed to bring the woman in front of them back from her memories and desires.
    “I sell things,” she said matter-of-factly. “Online.”
    They waited for further explanation and didn’t get any.
    “Really?” Rider asked. “What things do you sell?”
    “Whatever I can find. I go to yard sales. I find things. Books, toys, clothes. People will buy anything. And they’ll pay anything. This morning I sold two napkin rings for fifty dollars. They were very old.”
    “We want to ask your husband about the photo,” Bosch said then. “Do you know where we could find him?”
    She shook her head.
    “Somewhere down there in toyland. I haven’t heard from him in a long, long time.”
    A somber moment of silence passed by. Most of the homeless missions in downtown Los Angeles were clustered at the edge of the Toy District, several blocks of toy manufacturers and wholesalers, even a few retailers. It wasn’t unusual to find homeless people sleeping in the doorways of toy stores.
    What Muriel Verloren was telling them was that her husband was lost in the world of floating human debris. He had descended from restaurateur to the stars to a homeless existence on the streets. But there was a contradiction there. He still had a home here. He just couldn’t stay because of what had happened. Yet his wife would never leave.
    “When were you divorced?” Rider asked.
    “We never did get a divorce. I guess I always thought Robert would wake up and realize that no matter how far you run you can’t get away from what happened to us. I thought he would realize that and come home. It hasn’t happened yet.”
    “Do you think you knew all of your daughter’s friends?” Bosch asked.
    Muriel thought about this one for a long moment.
    “Until the morning she disappeared I did. But then we learned things. She kept secrets. I think that is one of the things that bothers me most. Not that she kept secrets from us, but that she thought she had to. I