“Well . . . I did. I was there but I don’t know anybody in Los Angeles or anybody that got murdered. This is very strange.”

“Yes, I understand and I know this whole thing may seem confusing. If you would bear with me for a few questions, I think I’ll be able to make things a little clearer.”

He waited again for a response. None came.

“Ms. Jackson? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Go ahead with your questions. I don’t have a lot of time. I need to get going to work soon.”

“Okay, then, I’ll try to move quickly. First of all, is this your home number or a cell?”

“It’s a cell. It’s my only number.”

“Okay, and you said you were in the armed services and served during Desert Storm. What branch of the military was that?”

“U.S. Army.”

“Are you still in the army?”

“No.”

She said it like he had asked a stupid question.

“Where were you based stateside, Ms. Jackson?”

“Benning.”

Bosch had spent time at Fort Benning himself when he was in the military. It had been his last stop before Vietnam. He knew it was a two-hour drive from Atlanta, Anneke Jespersen’s first stop after flying to the United States. Bosch started feeling like he was getting close to something. Some hidden truth was about to come into the open. He tried to keep his voice at a constant measured tone.

“How long were you in the Persian Gulf?”

“About seven months total. First in Saudi for Desert Shield and then we moved into Kuwait for the ground war. Desert Storm. I was never actually in Iraq.”

“During that time did you ever go on leave and spend any time on the cruise ship called the Saudi Princess?”

“Of course,” Jackson said. “Practically everybody did at some point. What’s this have to do with a murder in L.A.? I really don’t understand why you called me, and like I said, I got work today, so—”

“Ms. Jackson, I assure you that this is a very legitimate call and you may be able to help us solve a murder. Can I ask, what do you do for a living now?”

“I work at the Justice Center of Atlanta. It’s in Inman Park.”

“Okay. Are you a lawyer?”

“No. God, no.”

That same tone, as if Bosch had asked a stupid or obvious question about her when he had never even spoken to her before.

“What do you do then at the Justice Center?”

“I work in mediation, and my boss doesn’t like it when I come in late. I should go now.”

Somehow Bosch had gone far afield from the central purpose of the interview. It rankled him whenever a step-by-step interview went off the pathway. He chalked it up to being yanked from sleep and thrown into the conversation.