The Crossing

27

Bosch was parked at the curb in front of Nelson Grant & Sons before it opened. He saw lights go on first and then at 10:05 he watched a young Asian man inside the shop come to the front glass door and stoop down to unlock it at the bottom. He then stepped outside with a folding sign that advertised Estate Sales, positioned it on the sidewalk and returned to the shop. Nelson Grant & Sons was open for business. Bosch took the last drink of his coffee and got out of the Cherokee. It was midmorning and traffic was thick on Sunset but the sidewalks and shops of Sunset Plaza were deserted. It was a shopping and eating destination largely favored by European visitors, and things usually didn’t start stirring until lunchtime and later.

There appeared to be no one in the store when Bosch entered, setting off a low chime somewhere in the back. A few seconds later the man he had seen before stepped out from a back room, his mouth full and chewing. He took a position behind the center segment of the U-shaped glass display counter and held up a finger, asking for a moment. He finally swallowed whatever he was eating and smiled and asked Bosch if he could help him.

“I hope so,” Bosch said, stepping to the counter directly across from the man. “Do you sell watches by Audemars Piguet?”

“Audemars Piguet,” the man said, pronouncing it quite differently than Bosch had. “We are not a dealer. But on occasion we sell AP watches through estate sales. We had two last year but they sold. They’re collector’s items and they go quickly when we get them.”

“So they would have been used.”

“We prefer to say estate owned.”

“Got it. Estate owned. You know, now that you mention it, I think I was in here last year and saw one. It was a ladies’ watch? Was that back in December when you had it?”

“Uh, yes, I believe so. That was the last one we had.”

“A Royal Oak, right?”

“Actually, the model was a Royal Oak Offshore. Are you a collector, sir?”

“A collector? In a way, yeah. So I have a friend. Vincent Harrick? You know him? He was the one who bought that AP watch back in December, right?”

The man looked suspicious and confused at the same time.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss our clients, sir. Is there a watch here that we do have that I can show you?”

He gestured with his arm across the glass top of the counter. Bosch looked at him without answering. There was something off. As soon as Bosch mentioned Harrick and the watch bought in December, the man seemed to grow nervous. He had made a furtive glance behind him at the door to the back room.

Bosch decided to push things a bit and to gauge the man’s reactions.

“So who died?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” the man replied, his voice almost shrill.

“To have an estate sale, somebody’s gotta die, right?”

“No, that is not always the case. We have people who decide for whatever reason to sell their jewelry collections. Their watches. These are considered estates.”

He turned slightly and looked back at the door again.

“Is Mr. Grant back there?” Bosch asked.

“Who?”

“Nelson Grant. Is he back there?”

“There is no Nelson Grant. It’s just a name on a sign. My father made it up when he opened the store. People would have trouble pronouncing our name.”

“Is your father back there?”

“No, no one is back there and my father retired long ago. My brother and I run the shop. What exactly is this all about?”

“It’s about a murder. What is your name, sir?”

“I don’t have to give you my name. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, sir, if you are not interested in making a purchase.”

Bosch smiled.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Please go.”

Bosch saw a plastic business card holder on the glass top of the case to his right. He calmly walked over to it and picked off the top card in the stack. There were two names on it. The brothers. He read them out loud.

“Peter and Paul Nguyen. Did I pronounce that right? Like you can’t win ’em all?”

“Yes. Please leave now.”

“I can see why the old man went with Grant. Are you Peter or Paul?”

“Why do you need to know this?”

“Well, because I’m conducting an investigation.”

Bosch pulled his wallet out and produced his LAPD identification card. When he held it up to the man, he kept it clipped between his fingers, with the finger on the front strategically placed over the word RETIRED. He had practiced this move in front of the mirror over the bureau in his bedroom.

“Okay, what about a badge?” the man said. “Don’t you have a badge?”

“I don’t need a badge to ask you a few simple questions — if you are willing to cooperate.”

“Whatever will get this over with the quickest.”

“Good. Okay, so which is it, Peter or Paul?”

“Peter.”

“Okay, Peter, take a look at this.”

Bosch opened the photo archive on his phone. He quickly pulled up the photo of Lexi Parks he had taken from one of the Times stories on the murder. He held it up to Nguyen.

“Do you recognize this woman? Had she been in this store in the early part of this year?”

Nguyen shook his head as if totally lost.

“Do you know how many people have been in this store since the beginning of the year?” he asked. “And I’m not even here every minute of every day. My brother and I have employees. Your question is impossible to answer.”

“She was murdered.”

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the store.”

“She called here four days before she was murdered. Back in February.”

The man seemed to freeze and his mouth formed an O as he remembered something.

“What?” Bosch asked.

“I remember now,” the man said. “The Sheriff’s Department called about that. A detective called and she asked about that woman who was killed and the phone call.”

“Was her name Schmidt? What did you tell her?”

“I can’t remember the caller’s name. I had to check with my brother, who was on duty here the day they were talking about. He said the woman who called asked about how to get her watch fixed and he told her to look up the brand online and make contact with them. We don’t do watch repairs. We strictly just sell.”

Bosch stared at him. He thought he was either lying or had been lied to by his brother. The call to the shop came after Lexi Parks had called the Audemars Piguet repair center in Las Vegas. It seemed unlikely that she would call to ask about how to get her watch repaired. She called for another reason and this guy and his brother were hiding it.

“Where’s your brother?” he asked. “I need to talk to him.”

“He’s on vacation,” the counter man said.

“Till when?”

“Until he comes back. Look, we did nothing wrong here. Paul answered the phone and told her what to do.”

“That’s a lie, Peter, and we both know it. When I figure out why you’re lying I’ll be back. That is, unless you want to save yourself some trouble and tell me the whole story now.”

Nguyen looked at him without answering. Bosch tried another tack.

“And if I have to drag your father into it, I will.”

“My father is dead. When he died, this business was shit. My brother and I, we built this.”

He made a sweeping move with his arm as if to encompass all the display cases and the glittering jewelry they held. Just then another customer stepped in through the glass door and casually moved to the display cases on the right. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat. He started bending down over the glass so he could see the jewelry pieces better.

Bosch glanced at him and then back at Nguyen.

“I have a customer,” Nguyen said. “You must go now.”

Bosch reached into his pocket for a card. It was an old business card from when he was still with the LAPD. He had scratched out the number for the Open-Unsolved Unit and written in his cell number. He had also scribbled the word “retired” in barely legible script on the card in case it fell into the wrong hands and was used against him.

He put it down on the counter in front of Nguyen.

“Think about it,” he said “Have your brother call me before it gets too late.”

Bosch walked back to his car. He had gathered no reliable information inside the jewelry store but felt he had rattled a cage and gathered something possibly more important. Suspicion. He felt he was getting closer to the crossing, the place where Lexi Parks had tripped a wire that resulted in her death.

He sat behind the wheel without turning the ignition and thought about next moves. He picked up his coffee cup but then remembered he had finished it. For the first time he realized how free he was to follow his instincts and cast his net in whatever direction he wanted. With the department he had certainly employed his instincts. But there was always a lieutenant and sometimes a captain to be briefed and an approval needed. There were rules of procedure and rules of evidence. There was a partner and a division of labor. There was a budget and there was the constant, never abating knowledge that every move he made, every word he typed would be reviewed and possibly turned against him.

Bosch didn’t carry those burdens now and for the first time he understood and felt the change. His inner voice told him that that watch with a brand name he could not even pronounce correctly was at the center of the mystery here. Nguyen had acted so shifty in the jewelry store — his own turf and comfort zone — that the watch lead could not be ignored. Bosch considered waiting until his customer left and going back into the store to press Nguyen further, or possibly sitting on the street and watching to see if the other brother showed up. But then he decided to use the freedom he had to follow his instincts without permission or approval.

He started the Cherokee and pulled away from the curb.