The Reversal (22 page)

Maggie leaned back in her chair.

“There’s no guarantee that anything will come out of those other cases. We have to put everything we have into this one, Haller. I could go back up there and hold Sarah’s hand a little bit. Tell her more about what to expect. Get her ready. She already understood it wasn’t going to be pretty.”

“To put it mildly.”

“I think she’s strong enough. I think in some weird way she might need it. You know, get it all out there, expiate her sins. It’s about redemption with her, Michael. You know about that.”

We held each other’s eyes for a long moment.

“Anyway, I think she’ll be more than strong and the jury will see it,” she said. “She’s a survivor and everybody likes a survivor.”

I nodded.

“You have a way of convincing people, Mags. It’s a gift. We both know you should be lead on this, not me.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

“All right, go up there and get her prepped for this. Next week, maybe. By then we should have a witness schedule and you can tell her when we’ll be bringing her down.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Meantime, how’s your weekend looking? We have to put together an answer to this.”

I pointed at the defense motion on the desk.

“Well, Harry finally got me a ride-along with the SIS tomorrow night. He’s going, too—I think his daughter has a sleepover. Other than that, I’m around.”

“Why are you going to spend all that time watching Jessup? The police have that covered.”

“Like I said before, I want to see Jessup out there when he doesn’t think anyone is watching. I would suggest that you come, too, but you’ve got Hayley.”

“I wouldn’t waste the time. But when you see Bosch, can you give him a copy of this motion? We’re going to need him to run down some of these witnesses and statements. Not all of them were in Royce’s discovery package.”

“Yeah, he played it smart. He keeps them off his witness list until they show up here. If the judge shoots down the motion, saying Gleason’s credibility is a jury question, he’ll come back with an amended witness list, saying, okay, I need to put these people in front of the jury in regard to credibility.”

“And she’ll allow it or she’ll be contradicting her own ruling. Clever Clive. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Anyway, I’ll get a copy to Harry, but I think he’s still chasing those old cases.”

“Doesn’t matter. The trial is the priority. We need complete backgrounds on these people. You want to deal with him or do you want me to?”

In our divvying up of pretrial duties I had given Maggie the responsibility of prepping for defense witnesses. All except Jessup. If he testified, he was still mine.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said.

She furrowed her brow. It was a habit I’d seen before.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just thinking about how to attack this. I think we throw in a motion
in limine,
seeking to limit Royce on the impeachable stuff. We argue that the events of her life in between are not relevant to credibility if her identification of Jessup now matches her identification back then.”

I shook my head.

“I would argue that you’re infringing on my client’s sixth amendment right to cross-examine his accuser. The judge might limit some of this stuff if it’s repetitive, but don’t count on her disallowing it.”

She pursed her lips as she recognized that I was right.

“It’s still worth a try,” I said. “Everything is worth a try. In fact, I want to drown Royce in paper. Let’s hit him back with a phonebook to wade through.”

She looked at me and smiled.

“What?”

“I like it when you get all angry and righteous.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She looked away before it went a step further.

“Where do you want to set up shop this weekend?” she asked. “Remember, you have Hayley. She’s not going to like it if we work the entire weekend.”

I had to think about that for a moment. Hayley loved museums. To the point that I was tired of going to the same museums over and over. She also loved movies. I would need to check and see if a new movie was out.

“Bring her to my house in the morning and be prepared to work on our response. We can maybe trade off. I’ll take her to a movie or something in the afternoon and then you go on and do your thing with the SIS. We’ll make it work.”

“Okay, that’s a deal.”

“Or…”

“Or what?”

“You could bring her over tonight and we could have a little dinner celebrating our kid making second honors. And we might even get a little work on this done.”

“And I stay over, is that what you mean?”

“Sure, if you want.”

“You wish, Haller.”

“I do.”

“By the way, it was first honors. You better have it right when you see her tonight.”

I smiled.

“Tonight? You mean that?”

“I think so.”

“Then don’t worry. I’ll have everything right.”

Twenty-two

Saturday, March 20, 8:00
P.M
.

B
ecause Bosch had mentioned that a prosecutor wanted to join the SIS surveillance, Lieutenant Wright arranged his schedule to work Saturday night and be the driver of the car the visitors were assigned to. The pickup point was in Venice at a public parking lot six blocks off the beach. Bosch met McPherson there and then he put a radio call in to Wright, saying they were ready and waiting. Fifteen minutes later a white SUV entered the lot and drove up to them. Bosch gave McPherson the front seat and he climbed into the back. He wasn’t being chivalrous. The long bench seat would allow him to stretch out during the long night of surveillance.

“Steve Wright,” the lieutenant said, offering McPherson his hand.

“Maggie McPherson. Thanks for letting me come along.”

“No sweat. We always like it when the District Attorney’s Office takes an interest. Let’s hope tonight is worth your while.”

“Where’s Jessup now?”

“When I left he was at the Brig on Abbot Kinney. He likes crowded places, which works in our favor. I have a couple guys inside and a few more on the street. We’re kind of used to his rhythm now. He hits a place, waits to be recognized and for people to start buying him drinks, then he moves on—quickly if he isn’t recognized.”

“I guess I’m more interested in his late-night travels than his drinking habits.”

“It’s good that he’s out drinking,” Bosch said from the backseat. “There’s a causal relationship. The nights he takes in alcohol are usually the nights he goes up to Mulholland.”

Wright nodded in agreement and headed the SUV out of the lot. He was a perfect surveillance man because he didn’t look like a cop. In his late fifties with glasses, a thinning hairline and always two or three pens in his shirt pocket, he looked more like an accountant. But he had been with the SIS for more than two decades and had been in on several of the squad’s kills. Every five years or so the
Times
did a story on the SIS, usually analyzing its kill record. In the last exposé Bosch remembered reading, the paper had labeled Wright “SIS’s unlikely chief gunslinger.” While the reporters and editors behind the story probably viewed that as an editorial putdown, Wright wore it like a badge of honor. He had the sobriquet printed below his name on his business card. In quotes, of course.

Wright drove down Abbot Kinney Boulevard and past the Brig, which was located in a two-story building on the east side of the street. He went two blocks down and made a U-turn. He came back up the street and pulled to the curb in front of a fire hydrant a half block from the bar.

The lighted sign outside the Brig depicted a boxer in a ring, his red gloves up and ready. It was an image that seemed at odds with the name of the bar, but Bosch knew the story behind it. As a much younger man he had lived in the neighborhood. He knew the sign with the boxer was put up by a former owner who had bought out the original owners. The new man was a retired fighter and had decorated the interior with a boxing motif. He also put the sign up out front. There was still a mural on the side of the building that depicted the fighter and his wife, but they were long gone now.

“This is Five,” Wright said. “What’s our status?”

He was talking to the microphone clipped to the sun visor over his head. Bosch knew there was a foot button on the floor that engaged it. The return speaker was under the dash. The radio setup in the cars allowed the surveillance cops to keep their hands free while driving and, more important, helped them maintain their cover. Talking into a handheld rover was a dead giveaway. The SIS was too good for that.

“Three,” a voice said over the radio. “Retro is still in the location along with One and Two.”

“Roger that,” Wright said.

“Retro?” McPherson said.

“Our name for him,” Wright said. “Our freqs are pretty far down the bandwidth and on the FCC registry they’re listed as DWP channels, but you never know who might be listening. We don’t use the names of people or locations on the air.”

“Got it.”

It wasn’t even nine yet. Bosch wasn’t expecting Jessup to leave anytime soon, especially if people were buying him drinks. As they settled in, Wright seemed to like McPherson and liked informing her about procedures and the art of high-level surveillance. She might have been bored with it but she never let on.

“See, once we establish a subject’s rhythms and routines we can react much better. Take this place, for example. The Brig is one of three or four places Retro hits sort of regularly. We’ve assigned different guys to different bars so they can go in while he’s in the location and be like regulars. The two guys I’ve got right now in the Brig are the same two guys that always go in there. And two other guys would go into Townhouse when he’s there and two others have James Beach. It goes like that. If Retro notices them he’ll think it’s because he’s seen them in there before and they’re regulars in the place. Now if he saw the same guy at two different places, he’d start getting suspicious.”

“I understand, Lieutenant. Sounds like the smart way to do it.”

“Call me Steve.”

“Okay, Steve. Can your people inside communicate?”

“Yes, but they’re deaf.”

“Deaf?”

“We’ve all got body mikes. You know, like the Secret Service? But we don’t put in the earpieces when we’re in play inside a place like a bar. Too obvious. So they call in their positions when possible but they don’t hear anything coming back unless they pull the receiver up from under their collar and put it in. Unfortunately, it’s not like TV where they just put the bean in their ear and there’s no wire.”

“I see. And do your men actually drink while in a bar on a surveillance?”

“A guy in a place like that ordering a Coke or a glass of water is going to stand out as suspicious. So they order booze. But then they nurse it. Luckily, Retro likes to go to crowded places. Makes it easier to maintain cover.”

While the small talk continued in the front seat, Bosch pulled his phone and started what some would consider a conversation of small talk himself. He texted his daughter. Though he knew there were several sets of eyes on the Brig and even inside on Jessup, he looked up and checked the door of the bar every few seconds.

Howzit going? Having fun?

Madeline was staying overnight at her friend Aurora Smith’s house. It was only a few blocks from home but Bosch would not be nearby if she needed him. It was several minutes before she grudgingly answered the text. But they had a deal. She must answer his calls and texts, or her freedom—what she called her leash—would be shortened.

Everything’s fine. You don’t have to check on me.

Yes I do. I’m your father. Don’t stay up too late.

K.

And that was it. A child’s shorthand in a shorthand relationship. Bosch knew he needed help. There was so much he didn’t know. At times they seemed fine and everything appeared to be perfect. Other times he was sure she was going to sneak out the door and run away. Living with his daughter had resulted in his love for her growing more than he thought was possible. Thoughts of her safety as well as hopes for her happy future invaded his mind at all times. His longing to make her life better and take her far past her own history had at times become a physical ache in his chest. Still, he couldn’t seem to reach across the aisle. The plane was bouncing and he kept missing.

He put his phone away and checked the front of the Brig again. There was a crowd of smokers standing outside. Just then a voice and the sharp crack of billiard balls colliding in the background came over the radio speaker.

“Coming out. Retro is coming out.”

“This seems early,” Wright said.

“Does he smoke?” McPherson asked. “Maybe he’s just—”

“Not that we’ve seen.”

Bosch kept his eyes on the door and soon it pushed open. A man he recognized even from a distance as Jessup stepped out and headed along the sidewalk. Abbot Kinney slashed in a northwesterly direction across Venice. He was heading that way.

“Where did he park?” Bosch asked.

“He didn’t,” Wright said. “He only lives a few blocks from here. He walked over.”

They watched in silence after that. Jessup walked two blocks on Abbot Kinney, passing a variety of restaurants, coffee shops and galleries. The sidewalk was busy. Almost every place was still open for Saturday-night business. He stepped into a coffee shop called Abbot’s Habit. Wright got on the radio and assigned one of his men to enter it but before that could happen, Jessup stepped back out, coffee in hand, and proceeded on foot again.

Wright started the SUV and pulled into traffic going the opposite direction. He made a U-turn when he was two blocks further down and away from Jessup’s view, should he happen to turn around. All the while he maintained constant radio contact with the other followers. Jessup had an invisible net around him. Even if he knew it was there he couldn’t lose it.