Page 127 of Resurrection Walk

Sanger was driving a Rivian pickup truck. There were so few of these on the road that it was an easy follow, allowing Bosch to fall far back and not be noticed. But as he went down the Ventura Boulevard exit he realized he was going to end up only two cars behind her at the traffic light. If Sanger checked her mirrors, she might recognize the Navigator and the two people in it.

It was a two-lane turn. The Rivian was in the inside lane with another pickup truck behind it. Bosch stopped behind the second pickup and lowered his sun visor. The bed of the truck in front of him had a pipe rack and other air-conditioning maintenance equipment that worked well as a blind.

A homeless man stood on the shoulder with a sign asking for help in any form. When nothing came from the Rivian, he started walking down the shoulder, holding up his hand-lettered cardboard sign.

The light stayed red.

From his vantage point, Bosch could see the side of the truck in front of him as well as Sanger’s truck. He saw the driver’s-side window of the Rivian go down. He saw cigarette smoke escape as Sanger extended her hand and arm out the window and threw something onto the shoulder by the homeless man’s backpack and plastic milk crate.

“She just threw something out the window,” he said. “I think it was a cigarette butt. That’ll work, right?”

“Yes!” Arslanian said. “Definitely. Do you see it?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s get it.”

“We’ll probably lose her if we stop.”

“It’s okay. The cigarette is all we need. We go straight to the lab with it.”

The light turned green and the Rivian took off, went left across the overpass, and down to Ventura. Bosch checked his rearview and saw that he now had two cars behind him. He hit the emergency blinkers and pulled the Navigator onto the shoulder as far as he could, but there wasn’t enough room for him to get completely out of the traffic lane and still have space to open his door and get out.

A chorus of horns followed this move. Undaunted, Bosch put the vehicle in park, got out, and found the homeless man standing in the thin channel between the Navigator and the concrete retaining wall that lined the exit ramp.

“Hey, what the fuck?” the man said. “You almost hit me.”

“Sorry about that,” Bosch said.

He closed the car door and walked to the spot by the milk crate, pulling out his phone as he approached. He crouched at the spot, his knees sending stress signals to his brain. He surveyed the area and saw the cigarette butt on the loose gravel. He opened his camera app and took a photo of the cigarette butt in situ — as it had been found — just in case the evidence collection was challenged in any way. He put the phone away and pulled a ziplock bag out of his coat pocket. Using the bag as a glove, he picked up the discarded butt and sealed it inside.

He got up, turned, and headed back to the Navigator. The homeless man was still standing there, a puzzled look on his face.

“Hey, man, that cigarette is mine,” he said. “This is my spot. I own it.”

“It’s just a butt,” Bosch said. “She smoked it down to the filter.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s mine. You want to buy it?”

“How much?”

“Ten dollars.”

“For a cigarette butt?”

“Ten dollars, man. That’s the price.”

Bosch reached into his pocket and pulled out his money. He had a twenty and a ten. He held the ten out to the man.

“Do you mind stepping back so I can get back in the car?” Bosch said.

“Sure thing, boss.”

He grabbed the ten and backed away.

Bosch got in the Navigator and closed the door. He handed the ziplock to Arslanian as he checked the rearview to see if it was clear to enter the traffic lane. She examined the contents of the bag without opening it.

“This is going to be perfect,” she said. “We got lucky.”

---