The Closers

short at the house in Chatsworth. Robert Verloren had not updated his driver’s license, bought property, registered to vote, applied for a credit card or had a utilities account in over ten years. He was a blank. He had disappeared-at least from the electronic grid.
    “He must still be on the street,” Rider said.
    “If he’s even still alive.”
    Rider put the names Tara Wood and Daniel Kotchof through the AutoTrack moves and came up with multiple name hits for both of them. But by using their approximate ages and focusing on Hawaii and California they narrowed the searches to two address trails they believed belonged to the correct Tara Wood and Daniel Kotchof. Wood may not have gone to her high school reunion but it wasn’t because she had moved far away. She had only moved from the Valley over the hills to Santa Monica. Meanwhile, it appeared that Daniel Kotchof had returned from Hawaii many years earlier, lived in Venice for a few years and then returned to Maui, where his current address was located.
    The last name Bosch gave Rider to run through the computer was Sam Weiss, the burglary victim whose gun was used to murder Rebecca Verloren. Though there were hundreds of hits on the name, it was easy to find the right Sam Weiss. He had never left the home where the burglary had taken place. He even had the same phone number. He had stood his ground.
    Rider printed everything out for Bosch and also gave him the number for Grace Tanaka, which they had gotten earlier from Bailey Sable. She then gathered what she would need to work on the search warrant at home.
    “If you need me give me a page,” she said as she put her computer into a padded case.
    After she was gone Bosch checked the clock over Pratt’s door and saw it was just past six. He decided he would spend an hour or so chasing names before heading down to the Toy District to look for Robert Verloren. He knew he was just procrastinating over a search through the human throwaway zone that would be certain to leave him depressed. So he checked the clock again and promised himself he would spend no more than an hour working the phone.
    He decided to go with the locals first but quickly struck out. Calls to both Tara Wood and Sam Weiss went unanswered and connected him with automated message systems. He left a message for Wood identifying himself, giving his cell phone number and mentioning that the call was in regard to Becky Verloren. He hoped that mentioning her friend’s name would be enough to intrigue and draw a response from her. With Weiss he only left his name and number, not wanting to forewarn him that the call was about what might be a source of guilt for the man who had indirectly provided the weapon that killed a sixteen-year-old girl.
    Next he called Grace Tanaka’s number in Hayward and she answered after six rings. From the start she seemed put out by the call, as if it had interrupted something important, but her gruff manner and voice softened as soon as Bosch said he was calling about Rebecca Verloren.
    “Oh my God, is something happening?” she asked.
    “The department has taken an avid interest in reinvestigating the case,” Bosch said. “A name has come up. This is an individual who may have been involved in the case in nineteen eighty-eight and we are trying to figure out if he fit in with Becky or her friends in any way.”
    “What’s his name?” she asked quickly.
    “Roland Mackey. He was a couple years older than Becky. Didn’t go to Hillside but he lived right there in Chatsworth. Does the name mean anything to you?”
    “Not really. I don’t remember it. How was he connected? Was he the father?”
    “The father?”
    “The police said she was pregnant. I mean, that she had been pregnant.”
    “No, we don’t know if he was connected that way or not. So you don’t recognize the name?”
    “No.”
    “He goes by Ro for short.”
    “Still don’t.”
    “And you’re saying you didn’t know about the pregnancy, is that right?”
    “I didn’t. None of us did. I mean, her friends.”
    Bosch nodded even though he knew she couldn’t see this. He didn’t say anything, hoping that she might get uncomfortable with the silence and say something that might be of value.
    “Um, do you have a picture of this man?” she finally asked.
    It wasn’t what Bosch was looking for.
    “Yes,” he said. “I’ll have to figure out a way to get it up there for you to look at, see if it jogs anything loose.”
    “Can you