The Closers

parents have split up and Muriel Verloren could not say where her husband, Robert Verloren, a former Malibu restaurateur, is now located. She said the disintegration of their marriage was directly attributed to the strain and grief brought on by their daughter’s murder.
    One of the original investigators on the case, Ronald Green, retired early from the department and later committed suicide. Garcia said he believes the unsolved Verloren case played a part in his former partner’s decision to end his life.
    “Ronnie took things to heart, and I think this one always bothered him,” Garcia said.
    And at Hillside Preparatory School, where Rebecca Verloren was a popular student, there is a daily reminder of her life and death. A plaque erected by her classmates remains affixed to the wall in the exclusive school’s main hallway.
    “We don’t ever want to forget someone like Rebecca,” said Principal Gordon Stoddard, who was a teacher when Verloren was a student at the school.
    One of Rebecca’s friends and classmates is now a teacher at Hillside. Bailey Koster Sable spent an evening with Rebecca just two days before she was murdered. The loss has haunted her, and she says she thinks about her friend all the time.
    “I think about it because it feels like it could have happened to anybody,” Sable said after classes yesterday. “So it leads me to always ask the same thing: why her?”
    That is a question the Los Angeles police hope to finally answer soon.

    Bosch looked at the photo on the inside page where the story jumped to. It showed Bailey Sable and Gordon Stoddard standing on either side of the plaque on the wall at Hillside Prep. Emerson Ward was credited with this photo as well. The caption read: “FRIEND AND TEACHER: Bailey Sable went to school with Rebecca Verloren, and Gordon Stoddard taught her science class. Now school principal, Stoddard said, ‘Becky was a good kid. This shouldn’t have happened.’”
    Bosch poured coffee into a mug and then read the story again while sipping his breakfast. He then excitedly grabbed the phone off the counter and called Kizmin Rider’s home number. She answered with a blurry voice.
    “Kiz, the story is perfect. She put in everything we wanted.”
    “Harry? What time is it, Harry?”
    “Almost seven. We’re in business.”
    “Harry, we have to work all night. What are you doing awake? What are you doing calling me at seven o’clock?”
    Bosch realized his mistake.
    “I’m sorry. I’m just excited about it.”
    “Call me back in two hours.”
    She hung up. There had not been a pleasant tone in her voice.
    Undaunted, Bosch pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. It was the sheet of numbers Pratt had passed out during the staff meeting. He called Tim Marcia’s cell number.
    “It’s Bosch,” he said. “You guys in position?”
    “Yeah, we’re here.”
    “Anything shaking?”
    “It’s a sleepy hollow right now. We figure if this guy worked till midnight last night, then he’s going to be sleeping late.”
    “His car is there? The Camaro?”
    “Yes, Harry, it’s here.”
    “Okay. Did you read the story in the paper?”
    “Not yet. But we’ve got two teams sitting on this house for Mackey and Burkhart. We’re about to break off to get coffee and pick up the paper.”
    “It’s good. It’s going to work.”
    “Let’s hope so.”
    After Bosch hung up he realized that until Mackey or Burkhart left the house on Mariano there would be double surveillance on the place. It was a waste of time and money but he didn’t see any way around it. There was no telling when one of the surveillance subjects might take off from the house. They knew very little about Burkhart. They didn’t even know if he had a job.
    He next called Renner in the sound room at ListenTech. He was the oldest detective on the squad and had used seniority to get him and his partner the day shift in the sound room.
    “Anything yet?” Bosch asked him.
    “Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know.”
    Bosch thanked him and hung up. He checked his watch. It wasn’t even seven-thirty and he knew it was going to be a long day waiting for his surveillance shift to begin. He refilled his coffee mug and looked at the paper again. The photo of the dead girl’s bedroom bothered him in a way he could not pinpoint. There was something there but he could not pull it out. He closed his eyes for a five count and then brought them open, hoping the trick would jar