“Exactly. So if the resistance was low and Servan had somehow rigged a one-ten line going directly into that lock, then the initial jolt could have contracted the muscles and left our burglar unable to let go of the pick. The juice goes through him, hits the heart and the heart goes into V-fib.”
“Ventricular fibrillation is a natural cause, Harry.”
“Not when you use one-ten to get it.”
“Then we’re talking more than just homicide. This is lying in wait.”
“The DA can decide all of that. We just have to bring in the facts.”
“By the way, how’d you know to take off his sock and look for the exit burn?”
“The burns on his fingers. I saw them and just took a shot.”
“Well, I’d say you hit the bull’s-eye, partner.”
“Got lucky. So now you have to get into that case and find out how he wired it. Did SID leave?”
“They’re still packing up.”
“Tell them to take the case as evidence.”
“The whole case? It’s ten feet long.”
“Tell them to take it with them. You go with it. The case is the key. And tell them to be careful with it.”
“They’re going to have to get a Special Services truck out here.”
“Whatever. Call them now. Get it done.”
Bosch closed the phone and got up from his desk. He went down the hallway past the watch office to the locker rooms. He bought two packages of peanut butter crackers from the vending machine. He opened one and ate all the squares while he was walking back to the detective bureau. He put the other package in his coat pocket for later. He stopped once on the way back to get a drink from the water fountain.
Braxton was waiting for him at the homicide table with a sheet of paper in his hand.
“You got lucky,” he told Bosch as he approached. “The guy pawned that saxophone two years ago but they still had the slip.”
He gave the sheet of paper to Bosch. It was a photocopy of the pawn slip. It contained the name, address and phone numbers of the customer. The man who had pawned Quentin McKinzie’s saxophone was named Donald Teed. He lived in the Valley. Nikolai Servan had given him $200 for the instrument.