I have waited twenty years for this phone call . . . and all this time I thought it would go away. I knew I would always be sad for my sister. But I thought the other would go away. What is the other, Henrik? Though he knew the answer. Anger . . . I am still angry, Detective Bosch. Bosch nodded. He looked down at his desk, at the photos of all the victims under the glass top. Cases and faces. His eyes moved from the photo of Anneke Jespersen to some of the others. The ones he had not yet spoken for. So am I, Henrik, he said. So am I.- The Burning Room by Michael Connelly