“I’ll go get the photographer back,” he said.

Bosch stared at Lizbeth Grayson on the television screen. She was tearful, beautiful and in character.

“I’ve tried with him every way I know how,” she said. “There’s no use anymore. I give up.”

“Stop it right there,” Bosch said.

Gloria Palovich paused the video. Bosch looked at her. She had been Lizbeth Grayson’s acting coach.

“When was this recorded?” he asked.

“Last week. It was for yesterday’s reading. That’s why I was concerned. She worked for almost two weeks to prepare for that audition. She got fresh headshots. She was putting everything into it. When she didn’t show up… I just knew something was wrong.”

“Did she take notes during your sessions?”

“All the time. She was a wonderful student.”

“What sort of notes?”

“Mostly on accent and delivery. How to best use dialogue to convey the inner emotions.”

Bosch nodded. He realized that Lizbeth Grayson’s suicide note was anything but a farewell. It was the opposite. It was part of a young woman’s efforts to thrive and succeed.

He looked around the acting studio. He felt uneasy, like he had missed something in the conversation. Then he remembered. The headshots he had seen in the bureau drawer in Lizbeth Grayson’s apartment were not new. He had studied the dead woman on the bed and none of the photos in the drawer showed her with the same hairstyle. They were old.

Bosch looked at the acting coach.

“You said she got new photos. Are you sure?”

Palovich nodded emphatically and pointed over Bosch’s head.

“Absolutely. She felt so good about this job that she held nothing back. She was going after it on every level.”

Bosch turned and looked at the bulletin board that ran the length of the wall behind him. It was covered with a blizzard of headshots. All of Palovich’s students, he assumed. He found the shot of Lizbeth Grayson and it was indeed a recent shot. Her blond hair curved under her chin and the easy smile.