Resurrection Walk

43

Bosch was driving the Navigator, Arslanian in the passenger seat next to him. They were moving in slow traffic on the northbound 101 freeway.

“Do you think she’ll hold him overnight?” Arslanian asked.

“Sounds like it,” Bosch said. “Sounds like he really made her blow a gasket. Sort of wish I’d been in the courtroom for it.”

“Do you think he’ll be in danger in there?”

“They’ll likely isolate him. The last thing the judge wants is for a lawyer she stuck in there to get hurt.”

“Well, will he be kept in the court holding cell all night?”

“No, they’ll take him to MDC.”

“What’s MDC?”

“Metropolitan Detention Center — it’s the federal jail. They don’t keep any overnighters in the courthouse jail. Everybody is bused back to MDC at the end of the day. He’s probably on a bus now, or the marshals might move him solo because of his VIP status.”

“I hope so.”

“He’ll be all right. I’m sure he factored it all in before he went nuts with the judge. When he got accused of murder a few years ago, he spent three months in county and managed to stay safe. You heard about that, right?”

“Oh, yes. I was ready to come out if needed but then you and the others on the team got it done.”

“Yeah, including Maggie McFierce, who tore me up pretty good on the stand today.”

“You know, I considered becoming a lawyer, maybe adding a law degree to the others. But then I thought, Nah, too many gray areas and shifting loyalties. I’ll stick with the science side of things.”

“Good plan.”

“Anyway, I just can’t believe the judge’s ruling on the science.”

Bosch didn’t reply. It had been as Haller had said at lunch. The judge chose to go by the book, not by what was right. No gray area there.

“She’s exiting,” he said.

Arslanian looked through the windshield. Bosch switched lanes so he could follow the car they were tailing.

“Where do you think she’s going?” Arslanian asked.

“No idea,” Bosch said. “I don’t think she lives this far from the AV.”

Sanger was driving a Rivian pickup truck. There were so few of these on the road that it was an easy follow, allowing Bosch to fall far back and not be noticed. But as he went down the Ventura Boulevard exit he realized he was going to end up only two cars behind her at the traffic light. If Sanger checked her mirrors, she might recognize the Navigator and the two people in it.

It was a two-lane turn. The Rivian was in the inside lane with another pickup truck behind it. Bosch stopped behind the second pickup and lowered his sun visor. The bed of the truck in front of him had a pipe rack and other air-conditioning maintenance equipment that worked well as a blind.

A homeless man stood on the shoulder with a sign asking for help in any form. When nothing came from the Rivian, he started walking down the shoulder, holding up his hand-lettered cardboard sign.

The light stayed red.

From his vantage point, Bosch could see the side of the truck in front of him as well as Sanger’s truck. He saw the driver’s-side window of the Rivian go down. He saw cigarette smoke escape as Sanger extended her hand and arm out the window and threw something onto the shoulder by the homeless man’s backpack and plastic milk crate.

“She just threw something out the window,” he said. “I think it was a cigarette butt. That’ll work, right?”

“Yes!” Arslanian said. “Definitely. Do you see it?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s get it.”

“We’ll probably lose her if we stop.”

“It’s okay. The cigarette is all we need. We go straight to the lab with it.”

The light turned green and the Rivian took off, went left across the overpass, and down to Ventura. Bosch checked his rearview and saw that he now had two cars behind him. He hit the emergency blinkers and pulled the Navigator onto the shoulder as far as he could, but there wasn’t enough room for him to get completely out of the traffic lane and still have space to open his door and get out.

A chorus of horns followed this move. Undaunted, Bosch put the vehicle in park, got out, and found the homeless man standing in the thin channel between the Navigator and the concrete retaining wall that lined the exit ramp.

“Hey, what the fuck?” the man said. “You almost hit me.”

“Sorry about that,” Bosch said.

He closed the car door and walked to the spot by the milk crate, pulling out his phone as he approached. He crouched at the spot, his knees sending stress signals to his brain. He surveyed the area and saw the cigarette butt on the loose gravel. He opened his camera app and took a photo of the cigarette butt in situ — as it had been found — just in case the evidence collection was challenged in any way. He put the phone away and pulled a ziplock bag out of his coat pocket. Using the bag as a glove, he picked up the discarded butt and sealed it inside.

He got up, turned, and headed back to the Navigator. The homeless man was still standing there, a puzzled look on his face.

“Hey, man, that cigarette is mine,” he said. “This is my spot. I own it.”

“It’s just a butt,” Bosch said. “She smoked it down to the filter.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s mine. You want to buy it?”

“How much?”

“Ten dollars.”

“For a cigarette butt?”

“Ten dollars, man. That’s the price.”

Bosch reached into his pocket and pulled out his money. He had a twenty and a ten. He held the ten out to the man.

“Do you mind stepping back so I can get back in the car?” Bosch said.

“Sure thing, boss.”

He grabbed the ten and backed away.

Bosch got in the Navigator and closed the door. He handed the ziplock to Arslanian as he checked the rearview to see if it was clear to enter the traffic lane. She examined the contents of the bag without opening it.

“This is going to be perfect,” she said. “We got lucky.”

“About time,” Bosch said.

“I thought we’d be following her all the way to the Antelope Valley and then some. Then have to look through her trash.”

“Me too. So, Applied Forensics?”

“Absolutely. I’ll call ahead so they’re ready for us. If we get this in now, we could have what we need by tomorrow.”

The light turned green and Bosch muscled the Navigator into the traffic lane in front of a car, garnering another angry horn rebuke from the driver. Bosch held his hand up, waved his thanks, and drove on.

As they headed toward Van Nuys, Bosch put things together.

“She broke into my house,” he said.

“Who did?” Arslanian asked.

“Sanger.”

“When was this?”

“Like seven months ago. I wasn’t sure till now. I smelled cigarette smoke when I came home and found the place open.”

“Did she take anything?”

“No. She just wanted me to know. It was an intimidation tactic.”

Bosch smiled and shook his head.

“But it didn’t work, because I wasn’t sure if I had left the door open and was just losing my mind,” he said. “You know, like dementia or something. I thought the cigarette smell might have been a side effect from the isotope they were putting in me.”

“Then I guess it must be nice to know there really was a break-in, which sounds weird said out loud.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Bosch thought about the police report that Maggie McFierce had used to embarrass him in court and suggest he was losing his mind. He now felt vindicated.