Bosch cupped his hands and held them against the window next to the front door of the apartment. He was looking into the kitchen. The counters were spotless. No mess, no coffee maker, not even a toaster. He started to get a bad feeling. He stepped over to the door and knocked once more. He then paced back and forth waiting. Looking down he saw an outline on the pavement of where a welcome mat had once been.
“Damn,” he said.
He reached into his pocket and took out a small leather pouch. He unzipped it and removed two small steel picks he had made from hacksaw blades. Glancing around he saw no one. He was in a shielded alcove of a large apartment complex in Westwood. Most residents were probably still at work. He stepped up to the door and went to work with the picks on the deadbolt. Ninety seconds later he had the door open and he went inside.
He knew the apartment was vacant as soon as he stepped in but he covered every room anyway. All of them were empty. Hoping for an empty prescription bottle he even checked the bathroom medicine cabinet. There was a used razor made of pink plastic on a shelf, nothing else.
He walked back into the living room and took out his cell phone. He had just put Janis Langwiser’s cell phone on the speed dial the day before. She was co-prosecutor on the case and they had worked on Bosch’s testimony throughout the weekend. His call found her still in the trial team’s temporary office in the Van Nuys courthouse.
“Listen, I don’t want to rain on the parade but Annabelle Crowe is gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean gone, baby, gone. I’m standing in what was her apartment. It’s empty.”
“Shit! We really need her, Harry. When did she move out?”
“I don’t know. I just discovered she was gone.”
“Did you talk to the apartment manager?”
“Not yet. But he’s not going to know much more than how long ago she split. If she’s running from the trial she wouldn’t be leaving any forwarding addresses with the management.”
“Well, when did you talk to her last?”
“Thursday. I called her here. But that line is disconnected today. No forwarding number.”
“Shit!”
“I know. You said that.”
“She got the subpoena, right?”
“Yeah, she got it Thursday. That’s why I called. To make sure.”
“Okay, then maybe she’ll be here tomorrow.”
Bosch looked around the empty apartment.
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
He looked at his watch. It was after five. Because he had been so sure about Annabelle Crowe, she had been the last witness he was going to check on. There had been no hint that she was going to split. Now he knew he would be spending the night trying to run her down.
“What can you do?” Langwiser asked.
“I’ve got some information on her I can run down. She’s got to be in town. She’s an actress, where else is she going to go?”
“New York?”
“That’s where real actors go. She’s a face. She’ll stay here.”
“Find her, Harry. We’ll need her by next week.”
“I’ll try.”
There was a moment of silence while they both considered things.
“You think Storey got to her?” Langwiser finally asked.
“I’m wondering. He could’ve gotten to her with what she needs – a job, a part, a paycheck. When I find her I’ll be asking that.”
“Okay, Harry. Good luck. If you get her tonight, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right.”
Bosch closed the phone and put it down on the kitchen counter. From his jacket pocket he took out a thin stack of three-by-five cards. Each card had the name of one of the witnesses he was responsible for vetting and preparing for trial. Home and work addresses as well as phone numbers and pager numbers were noted on the cards. He checked the card assigned to Annabelle Crowe and then punched her pager number into his phone. A recorded message said the pager was no longer in service.
He clapped the phone closed and looked at the card again. The name and number of Annabelle Crowe’s agent were listed at the bottom. He decided that the agent might be the one tie she wouldn’t sever.
He put the phone and cards back into his pockets. This was one inquiry he was going to make in person.