He took his time while eating the crackers and talking things over with Ferras. He wanted both Helton and Haddon to believe that they were waiting while the other spouse was being interviewed. It was a trick of the trade, part of the strategy. Each would have to wonder what the other was saying.

“Okay,” Bosch finally said. “I’m going to go in and take the husband. You can watch in the booth or you can take a run at the wife. Your choice.”

It was a big moment. Bosch was more than twenty-five years ahead of Ferras on the job. He was the mentor and Ferras was the student. So far in their fledgling partnership, Bosch had not let Ferras conduct a formal interview. He was allowing that now and the look on Ferras’s face showed that it was not lost on him.

“You’re going to let me talk to her?”

“Sure, why not? You can handle it.”

“All right if I get in the booth and watch you with him first? That way you can watch me.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t thank me, Ignacio. Thank yourself. You earned it.”

Bosch dumped the empty cracker packages and the can in a trash can near his desk.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Go on the Internet first and check the L.A. Times to see if they’ve had any stories lately about a case like this. You know, with a kid. I’d be curious, and if there are, we might be able to make a play with the story. Use it like a prop.”

“I’m on it.”

“I’ll go set up the video in the booth.”

Ten minutes later Bosch entered interview room 3, where Stephen Helton was waiting for him. Helton looked like he was not quite thirty years old. He was lean and tan and appeared to be the perfect real estate salesman. He didn’t look like he had ever spent even five minutes in a police station before.

Immediately he protested.

“What is taking so long? I’ve just lost my son and you stick me in this room for an hour? Is that procedure?”