Page 30 of Resurrection Walk

East L.A. I knew that the White Fence gang was deeply entrenched in Boyle Heights and membership recruitment started as young as twelve years old. I turned and gave Bosch a slight nod. We both understood that Lucinda Sanz wanted to get out of prison to save her son from going down that path.

“You grew up in Boyle Heights?” I asked. “How did you end up in Palmdale?”

“Quartz Hill,” Sanz said. “When my husband got out of jail division, they put him there at Antelope Valley. So we moved.”

“Was he from Boyle Heights too?” Bosch asked.

“Yes,” Sanz said. “We grew up together.”

“Was he White Fence?” Bosch asked.

“No,” Sanz said. “But his brother and his father… yes.”

“What about when he started at the sheriff’s department?” Bosch asked. “Did he join any of the deputy gangs?”

Sanz was silent for a long moment. I wished Bosch had eased into that question with a little more finesse.

“He had friends,” she said. “He told me they had cliques, you know.”

“Did Roberto join a clique?” Bosch asked.

“Not when we were married,” Sanz said. “I don’t know what happened after. But he changed.”

“How long before his death did you divorce?” I asked.

“It was three years,” Sanz said.

“What happened?” I asked. “To the marriage, I mean.”

I read the look on Sanz’s face. She wondered what this had to do with whether or not she was innocent. I wished I had used a little more finesse myself.

“Cindi, we need to know as much as we can about your relationship with the victim,” I said. “I know that it’s painful to recount all of this, but we need to hear it from you.”

She nodded.

“We just… he had girlfriends,” Sanz said. “Deputy dollies. When he started doing that, he changed. We changed, and I said, ‘That’s it.’ I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We can drop it for now. But we may need to come back to it. Do you know the names of any of these women?”

“No, I didn’t want to know them,” Sanz said.

“How did you know about them?” I asked.

“I just knew,” Sanz said. “He was different.”

“Was it a source of argument after the divorce?”

“After? No. I didn’t care what he did after we divorced.”

“So the argument that night was about him being late with Eric.”

“He was always late. On purpose.”

I nodded and looked at Bosch.

“Harry, you have more questions?” I asked.

“I have a few,” Bosch said. “Who were some of his friends in the department and at the substation?”

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