another woman who may have been the motivating factor behind the killer’s action. It’s called aggression transference. It doesn’t make sense now with this evidence but there are examples of what I was going to suggest. A man takes his exgirlfriend’s stockings and strangles another woman with them. In his mind, he’s strangling the girlfriend. Something like that. I was going to suggest it could have happened in this case with the belt.”

But Bosch was no longer listening. He turned and looked out the window but wasn’t seeing anything either. In his mind, he was seeing the pieces falling together. The silver and gold, the belt with two of the punch holes worn, two friends as close as sisters. One for both and both for one.

But then one was leaving the life. She’d found a white knight.

And one was staying behind.

“Harry, are you okay?”

He looked over at Hinojos.

“You just did it. I think.”

“Did what?”

He reached for his briefcase and from it withdrew the photo taken at the St. Patrick’s Day dance more than three decades before. He knew it was a long shot but he needed to check. This time he didn’t look at his mother. He looked at Meredith Roman, standing behind the sitting Johnny Fox. And for the first time he saw that she wore the belt with the silver sea shell buckle. She had borrowed it.

It dawned on him then. She had helped Harry pick the belt out for his mother. She had coached him and she chose it not because his mother would like it but because she liked it and knew she would get to use it. Two friends who shared everything.

Bosch shoved the photo back into the briefcase and shut it. He stood up.

“I gotta go.”

Chapter Forty-eight

BOSCH USED THE same ruse he had earlier to get back into Parker Center. Coming out of the elevator on the fourth floor, he practically ran into Hirsch, who was waiting to go down. He grabbed hold of the young print tech’s arm and held him in the hallway as the elevator doors closed.

“You going home?”

“I was trying to.”

“I need one more favor. I’ll buy you lunch, I’ll buy you dinner, I’ll buy you whatever you want if you do it for me. It’s important and it won’t take long.”

Hirsch looked at him. Bosch could see he was beginning to wish he’d never gotten involved.

“What’s that saying, Hirsch? ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ Whaddaya say?”

“I’ve never heard it.”

“Well, I have.”

“I’m having dinner with my girlfriend tonight and I—”

“That’s great. This won’t take that long. You’ll make it to your dinner.”

“All right. What is it you need?”

“Hirsch, you’re my goddamn hero, you know that?”

Bosch doubted he even had a girlfriend. They went back to the lab. It was deserted, since it was almost five on a slow day. Bosch put his briefcase on one of the abandoned desks and opened it. He found the Christmas card and took it out by holding a corner between two fingernails. He held it up for Hirsch to see.

“This came in the mail five years ago. You think you can pull a print off it? A print from the sender? My prints are going to be on there, too, I’m sure.”

Hirsch furrowed his brow and studied the card. His lower lip jutted outward as he contemplated the challenge.

“All I can do is try. Prints on paper are usually pretty stable. The oils last long and sometimes leave ridge patterns in the paper even when they evaporate. Has it been in its envelope?”

“Yeah, for five years, until last week.”

“That helps.”

Hirsch carefully took the card from Bosch and walked over to the work counter, where he opened the card and clipped it to a board.

“I’m going to try the inside. It’s always better. Less chance of you having touched it inside. And the writer always touches the inside. Is it all right if this gets kind of ruined?”

“Do what you have to do.”

Hirsch studied the card with a magnifying glass, then lightly blew over the surface. He reached to a rack of spray bottles over the work table and took down one marked NINHYDRIN. He sprayed a light mist over the surface of the card and in a few minutes it began to turn purple around the edges. Then light shapes began to bloom like flowers on the card. Fingerprints.

“I’ve got to bring this out some,” Hirsch said, more to himself than Bosch.

Hirsch looked up at the rack and his eyes followed