Jackson laughed. Bosch took the elevator down and walked directly across the plaza to the woman he had spotted from above. Up close he saw that she was in her midthirties, athletically built, with a short no-nonsense cut to her auburn hair. Bosch’s first take was that she was most likely a seasoned federal agent.

“Agent Wingo?”

“You said two minutes.”

“Sorry, I got stopped by my supervisor and he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Aren’t they all.”

Bosch liked that she said it as a statement, not a question. He sat down next to her, his eyes on the file she was holding.

“So, what’s with the secret agent stuff and the meet-up out here? I remember our old place, nobody wanted to visit because it was going to pancake next time we hit a six on the Richter scale. But we’ve got a brand-new place now. It’s guaranteed safe. You could come in and I’d show you around.”

“Rachel Walling asked me for the favor, but she could only vouch for you so far, you know what I mean?”

“No, what did she say about me?”

“She said trouble follows you and I should be careful. But she didn’t use those words exactly.”

Bosch nodded. He guessed that Walling had called him a shit magnet. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You girls stick together.”

“It’s a boys’ club. We have to.”

“So, you did run the gun numbers?”

“I did. And I am not sure I’m going to be much help to you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I think the gun you’ve recovered has been missing for twenty-one years.”

Bosch felt the adrenaline charge immediately start to ebb. He regretted having put so much hope into believing that the gun’s serial number would open up the case’s black box.

“It’s where it’s missing from that makes it interesting,” Wingo added.

Bosch’s thoughts of regret were immediately replaced with curiosity.

“Where did it go missing?”

“In Iraq. Way back during Desert Storm.”

Chapter 19

19

Wingo opened the file and read her own notes before going any farther.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” she said.

“Do I need to take notes or are you eventually going to give me that file?” Bosch asked.

“It’s all yours. Just let me use it to tell the story.”

“Then, go ahead.”

Bosch tried to remember exactly what he had told Rachel Walling about the case. Had he told her that Anneke Jespersen had covered Desert Storm? Had she told Wingo? Even if Wingo had known, it wouldn’t have changed the trace and she couldn’t have known how this one piece of information—that the gun went missing in Iraq—turned things in a new direction for Bosch.