mind.”
“I am happy to talk now. Please, go ahead.”
“Thank you. I, uh, first want to say as I said in my email that the investigation of your sister’s death is high priority. I am actively working on it. Though it was twenty years ago, I’m sure your sister’s death is something that hurts till this day. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Detective. She was very beautiful and very excited about things. I miss her very much.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Over the years, Bosch had talked to many people who had lost loved ones to violence. There were too many to count but it never got any easier and his empathy never withered.
“What is it that you wanted to ask me?” Jespersen asked.
“Well, first I wanted to ask you about the postscript you put on your email to me. You said that Anneke was not on vacation and I wanted to clarify that if I could.”
“Yes, she was not.”
“Well, I know she was not on vacation when she was in L.A. to cover the riots for her newspaper, but are you saying that she was never on vacation when she came to the United States?”
“She was working the whole time. She had a story.”
Bosch pulled a pad of paper over in front of him so he could take notes.
“Do you know what the story was?”
“No, she did not tell me.”
“Then, how is it that you know she came over here to work?”
“She told me she was going for a story. She did not tell mewhat it was because she was a journalist and she kept these things to herself.”
“Would her boss or her editor have known what the story was?”
“I think not. She was freelance, you see. She sold photos and stories to the BT . Sometimes she was assigned to a story but not always. She did her stories and then she would tell them what she had, you see.”
There were references to Anneke’s editor in the reports and news stories, so Bosch knew he had a starting point. But he asked Henrik anyway.
“Do you happen to know the name of her editor from back then?”
“Yes, it was Jannik Frej. He spoke at her memorial service. Very kind man.”
Bosch asked him to spell both names and if he happened to have a contact number for Frej.
“No, I never had a number. I am sorry.”
“That’s okay. I can get it. Now, can you tell me when you last spoke to your sister?”
“Yes, that was the day before she left for America. I saw her.”
“And she didn’t say anything about the story she was on?”
“I did not ask and she did not offer.”
“But you knew she was coming over here, right? You were there to say good-bye.”
“Yes, and to give her the hotel information.”
“What information was that?”
“I work now thirty years in the hotel business. At the time I made Anneke’s hotel bookings for her when she did her travel.”
“Not the newspaper?”
“No, she was freelance and she could get better through me. I always arranged her travel. Even with the wars. We did not have Internet back then, you see. It was more difficult to find the places to stay. She needed me to do it.”
“I see. Do you happen to remember where she stayed in the United States? She was here for several days before the riots. Where was she besides New York and San Francisco?”
“I would have to see if I know.”
“Excuse me?”
“I will have to go to my storage room for records. I kept many things from that time . . . because of what happened. I will look. I can remember that she did not go to New York.”
“She only landed there?”
“Yes, and flew on connection to Atlanta.”
“What was in Atlanta?”
“This I don’t know.”
“Okay. When do you think you will be able to go to your storage room, Henrik?”
Bosch wanted to push him but not that hard.
“I am not sure. It is far from here. I will have to take time from work.”
“I understand, Henrik. But it could be very helpful. Will you email me or call me back as soon as you look?”
“Yes, of course.”
Bosch stared at his pad as he tried to think of
“I am happy to talk now. Please, go ahead.”
“Thank you. I, uh, first want to say as I said in my email that the investigation of your sister’s death is high priority. I am actively working on it. Though it was twenty years ago, I’m sure your sister’s death is something that hurts till this day. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Detective. She was very beautiful and very excited about things. I miss her very much.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Over the years, Bosch had talked to many people who had lost loved ones to violence. There were too many to count but it never got any easier and his empathy never withered.
“What is it that you wanted to ask me?” Jespersen asked.
“Well, first I wanted to ask you about the postscript you put on your email to me. You said that Anneke was not on vacation and I wanted to clarify that if I could.”
“Yes, she was not.”
“Well, I know she was not on vacation when she was in L.A. to cover the riots for her newspaper, but are you saying that she was never on vacation when she came to the United States?”
“She was working the whole time. She had a story.”
Bosch pulled a pad of paper over in front of him so he could take notes.
“Do you know what the story was?”
“No, she did not tell me.”
“Then, how is it that you know she came over here to work?”
“She told me she was going for a story. She did not tell mewhat it was because she was a journalist and she kept these things to herself.”
“Would her boss or her editor have known what the story was?”
“I think not. She was freelance, you see. She sold photos and stories to the BT . Sometimes she was assigned to a story but not always. She did her stories and then she would tell them what she had, you see.”
There were references to Anneke’s editor in the reports and news stories, so Bosch knew he had a starting point. But he asked Henrik anyway.
“Do you happen to know the name of her editor from back then?”
“Yes, it was Jannik Frej. He spoke at her memorial service. Very kind man.”
Bosch asked him to spell both names and if he happened to have a contact number for Frej.
“No, I never had a number. I am sorry.”
“That’s okay. I can get it. Now, can you tell me when you last spoke to your sister?”
“Yes, that was the day before she left for America. I saw her.”
“And she didn’t say anything about the story she was on?”
“I did not ask and she did not offer.”
“But you knew she was coming over here, right? You were there to say good-bye.”
“Yes, and to give her the hotel information.”
“What information was that?”
“I work now thirty years in the hotel business. At the time I made Anneke’s hotel bookings for her when she did her travel.”
“Not the newspaper?”
“No, she was freelance and she could get better through me. I always arranged her travel. Even with the wars. We did not have Internet back then, you see. It was more difficult to find the places to stay. She needed me to do it.”
“I see. Do you happen to remember where she stayed in the United States? She was here for several days before the riots. Where was she besides New York and San Francisco?”
“I would have to see if I know.”
“Excuse me?”
“I will have to go to my storage room for records. I kept many things from that time . . . because of what happened. I will look. I can remember that she did not go to New York.”
“She only landed there?”
“Yes, and flew on connection to Atlanta.”
“What was in Atlanta?”
“This I don’t know.”
“Okay. When do you think you will be able to go to your storage room, Henrik?”
Bosch wanted to push him but not that hard.
“I am not sure. It is far from here. I will have to take time from work.”
“I understand, Henrik. But it could be very helpful. Will you email me or call me back as soon as you look?”
“Yes, of course.”
Bosch stared at his pad as he tried to think of
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