Page 35 of Resurrection Walk

“The evidence log,” Bosch said. “Tracks chain of custody.”

He scanned it for a few moments before continuing.

“It says the GSR-swab disks were collected by a deputy named Keith Mitchell.”

“We need to follow up on that.”

“It might mean nothing. But I will.”

“So how do you want to play talking to the boy?”

“I don’t know yet. Let me finish the file first, then we can talk about it. Why don’t you call Cindi’s mother and tell her we’re on the way?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

12

THE HOUSE WHERELucinda Sanz grew up was on Mott Street in Boyle Heights. It was a neighborhood ravaged by gang graffiti and neglect. Many of the homes had white picket fences around the front lawns, a sign of allegiance and protection from the generationally entrenched street gang that ruled the neighborhood. Sanz’s mother was named Muriel Lopez. Her home had the fence and a couple of gangbangers to go with it. Two men in chinos and wifebeaters that showed off their tattoo sleeves were hanging on the front porch as we pulled up to the curb.

“Oh, boy,” I said. “Looks like we have a welcome committee.”

Bosch glanced up from the report he was reading and looked at the two men, who were staring back at us.

“We have the right address?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said. “This is the place.”

“Just so you know, I’m not armed.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”

We got out and I pushed through the gate in the picket fence ahead of Bosch.

“Fellas, we’re here to see Ms. Lopez,” I said. “She around?”

Both men were in their early thirties. One was tall, the other squat.

“You the lawyer?” the tall one asked.

“That’s right,” I said.

“And what about him?” he said. “Looks like po-po to me. Old-ass po-po.”

“He’s my investigator,” I said. “That’s why he’s with me.”

Before things could get any tenser, the front door opened and a woman with silver-gray hair looked out and spoke in Spanish too fast for me to follow. It was as though I were looking at Lucinda in twenty years. Muriel had the same complexion and dark eyes, the same set of the jaw. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing the same widow’s peak as her daughter had.

The two men didn’t respond to her but I could see them back down a few notches on the testosterone scale.

“Mr. Haller,” the woman said. “I am Muriel. Please come in.”

We stepped up onto the porch and moved toward the door. The two men parted and stood on either side of the house’s entrance. It was the tall one who spoke again.

“You going to get Lucinda out?” he asked.

“We’re sure going to try,” I said.

“How much she have to pay you?”

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