Bosch checked his phone. It was still recording and going on ninety-one minutes. He had one more area of questioning for Banks.

“Tell me about Alex White.”

Banks shook his head in confusion.

“Who’s Alex White?”

“He was one of your customers. Ten years ago you sold him a tractor mower at the dealership.”

“Okay. What’s that—”

“The day he took delivery, you called down to the LAPD and used his name to check on the Jespersen case.”

Bosch saw recognition finally come to Banks’s eyes.

“Oh, yeah, right, that was me.”

“Why? Why’d you call?”

“Because I was wondering what happened with the case. I was reading a paper somebody left in the break room, and there was a story about how it had been ten years since the riots. So I called down and asked about it and I got switched around a few times and then finally some guy talked to me. Only he said I had to give him my name or he couldn’t tell me anything. So, I don’t know, I saw the name on a piece of paper or something and just said I was Alex White. I mean, he didn’t have my number or nothing, so I knew it wouldn’t add up to anything.”

Bosch nodded, realizing that if Banks hadn’t made the call, then he might not have connected things to Modesto and the case would still be cold.

“Actually, your number was recorded,” he told Banks. “It’s the reason I’m here.”

Banks nodded glumly.

“But there’s something I don’t understand,” Bosch said. “Why did you call? You guys were in the clear. Why risk raising suspicion?”

Banks shrugged and shook his head.

“I don’t know. It was sort of spur-of-the-moment. The newspaper made me start thinking about that girl and what happened. I was wondering if, you know, they were still looking for anybody.”

Bosch checked his watch. It was ten o’clock. It was late but Bosch didn’t want to wait until the morning to drive Banks to Los Angeles. He wanted to keep his momentum.

He ended the recording and saved it. Being a man who never trusted modern technology, Bosch then did a rare thing. He used the phone’s email feature to send the audio file to his partner as a just-in-case measure. Just in case his phone failed or the file was corrupted or he dropped the phone in the toilet. He just wanted to be sure he safeguarded Banks’s story.

He waited until he heard the whisking sound from the phone that indicated the email had been sent and then stood up.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re done for now.”

“Are you going to take me back to my car?”

“No, Banks, you’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Now?”

“Now. Stand up.”

But Banks didn’t move.