“Who’s the lieutenant in Hollywood? Is that Pounds?”

“Yep. Pounds. He’s not much of an expansive thinker.”

Rider smiled and nodded.

“Look, I’m sorry I wasted your lunch break,” Bosch said.

“Not at all,” she said. “Besides, I’m not finished yet.”

She held up the five remaining files she needed to look through. He smiled and nodded. He liked her confidence. They dropped into silence and dove back into the files.

In ten minutes Bosch was finished with the files and had found nothing that would bump the case up higher than a hobby. He asked Rider if she wanted a cup of coffee but she said no. He got up to get a cup for himself. The cafeteria was thinning out and getting quiet after the lunch rush. When he got back to their table Rider was standing. Bosch thought she had finished and was about to go. But she was standing because she was excited.

“I think I found something,” she said.

Bosch put his coffee down on the table and looked at what she had. She was holding two headshot photographs. They were of two different women.

“This first one is from a case last year,” Rider said. “Her name was Nancy Crowe. Lived on Kester Avenue in Sherman Oaks. This other one is Marcie Conlon. Died five months ago. Also an overdose. Lived up in Whitley Heights.”

“Okay.”

Bosch looked at the headshots. The women had entirely different looks. Crowe had short dark hair and pale white skin. Conlon was blond and tan. Just by looking at the photos Bosch would have guessed that Crowe was a serious actress and Conlon was not. He knew that he was subscribing to a sweeping generalization so it was not something he would say out loud.

“Look,” Rider said.

She put the photos down on the table side by side.