Angle of Investigation_ Three Harry Bosch Stories - Michael Connelly [6]
Bosch reached over and lifted the saxophone off the desk.
“So then how can I find out who pawned this?”
Braxton seemed mildly taken aback.
“What’s it got to do with all of this?”
“Nothing, as far as I know. But I want to find out who pawned it.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard. The guys in the detail keep everything separated by store.wited by s In shoeboxes. They could just look through the box for Three Kings. Depending on how far back they go, it might be in there.”
“What would work better, if you call them or I call them?”
“They’re not going to like it either way, but let me take a crack at it.”
“Thanks, man.”
Bosch looked at his watch. It was almost noon.
“And tell them we’d like to hear back on it today.”
“I’ll tell them but I doubt they’ll make any promises. It’s Christmas Eve, Harry. People are trying to get home early.”
“Just tell them it’s important.”
“To you or the case?”
Bosch didn’t answer and eventually Braxton went back to his desk to make the call. Bosch looked through the three burglary reports again. When he finished he got up and went down the back hallway to the interview rooms. Instead of going into 3, where Servan was, he went into 4 and looked through the mirrored glass at the pawnbroker. He was sitting at the table with his arms folded and his eyes closed. He was either sleeping or meditating. Maybe both.
He left the room and went back to the homicide table. He sat down and picked up the saxophone again. He liked handling it, the feel and weight of it in his grasp. Knowing that the instrument could produce a sound that echoed all the sadness and hope of humanity gave him pause. Again, he remembered the day on the ship. Sugar Ray bobbing and weaving through “The Sweet Spot” and a few other tunes. Bosch fell in love with the sound that day. It felt like it had come from somewhere deep within himself. He was not the same after that day.
He came out of the memory and walked over to a shelf that ran above the row of file cabinets. He took down one of the forensics manuals and turned to the index. He found what he wanted and went to the page. He was sitting down, reading the manual, when his cell phone chirped and he dug it out of his pocket. It was Edgar.
“Harry, they’re about to clear here. You want me to come in?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, what are we doing?”
“There was nothing with the body, right? No tools, no picks?”
“That’s right. I already told you.”
“I just read through the reports from the three priors. That display case was hit each time. It was picked. Servan said it was always locked.”
“Well, we got no lock picks here, Harry. I guess whoever moved the body took the picks.”
“It was Servan.”
Edgar was quiet and then said, “Why don’t you run it down for me, Harry.”
Bosch thought for a moment before speaking.
“He’d been hit three times in two years. Every time the high-end case was picked. It’s hard to work a set of picks with gloves on. Servan probably knew that the one time this guy took off his gloves was to work the picks. Steel picks going into a steel lock.”
“If he put a hundred ten volts into that lock, it could’ve shut this guy’s heart down.”
“Not necessarily. I’ve been sitting here reading one of the manuals. One-ten can stop your heart, but it all depends on the amps. There’s a formula. It has to do with resistance to the charge. You know, like dry skin versus moist skin, things like that.”
“This guy just took his glove off. He probably had sweaty hands.”
“Exactly. So if the resistance was low and Servan had somehow rigged a one-ten line going directly into that lock, then the initial jolt could have contracted the muscles and left our burglar unable to let go of the pick. The juice goes through him, hits the heart and the heart goes into V-fib.”
“Ventricular fibrillation is a natural cause, Harry.”
“Not when you use one-ten to get it.”
“Then we’re talking more than just homicide. This is lying in wait.”
“The DA can decide all of that. We just have to bring in the