The Reversal

Thirty-seven

Thursday, April 8, 9:01 A.M .

Before the judge called for the jury, Clive Royce stood and asked the court for a directed verdict of acquittal. He argued that the state had failed to live up to its duty in carrying the burden of proof. He said that the evidence presented by the prosecutors failed to cross the threshold of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I was ready to stand to argue the state’s side, but the judge held up her hand to signal me to stay in place. She then quickly dispensed with Royce’s motion.

“Motion denied,” Breitman said. “The court holds that the evidence presented by the prosecution is sufficient for the jury to consider. Mr. Royce, are you ready to proceed with the defense?”

“I am, Your Honor.”

“Okay, sir, then we will recall the jury now. Will you have an opening statement?”

“A brief one, Your Honor.”

“Very well, I am going to hold you to that.”

The jurors filed in and took their assigned places. On many of them I saw expressions of anticipation. I took this as a good sign, as if they were wondering how in the hell the defense would be able to dig its way out of all the evidence the state had dumped on it. It was probably all wishful thinking on my part, but I had been studying juries for most of my adult life and I liked what I saw.

After welcoming the jury back, the judge turned the courtroom over to Royce, reminded the jurors that this was an opening statement, not a listing of facts unless backed up later with testimony and evidence. Royce strode with full confidence to the lectern without a note or file in his hand. I knew he had the same philosophy as I did when it came to making opening statements. Look them in the eyes and don’t flinch and don’t back down from your theory, no matter how far-fetched or unbelievable. Sell it. If they don’t think you believe it, they never will.

His strategy of deferring his opener until the start of the defense’s case would now pay dividends. He would begin the day and his case by delivering to the jury a statement that didn’t have to be true, that could be as outlandish as anything ever heard in the courtroom. As long as he kept the jury riding along, nothing else really mattered.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, good morning. Today begins a new phase of the trial. The defense phase. This is when we start to tell you our side of the story, and believe me, we have another side to almost everything the prosecution has offered you over the past three days.

“I am not going to take a lot of your time here because I am very eager, and Jason Jessup is very eager, to get to the evidence that the prosecution has either failed to find or chosen not to present to you. It doesn’t matter which, at this point; the only things that matter are that you hear it and that it allows you to see the full picture of what transpired on Windsor Boulevard on February sixteenth, nineteen eighty-six. I urge you to listen closely, to watch closely. If you do that, you will see the truth emerge.”

I looked over at the legal pad on which Maggie had been doodling while Royce spoke. In large letters she had written WINDBAG! I thought, She hasn’t seen anything yet.

“This case,” Royce continued, “is about one thing. A family’s darkest secrets. You got only a glimpse of them during the prosecution’s presentation. You got the tip of the iceberg from the prosecution, but today you will get the whole iceberg. Today you will get the cold hard truth. That being that Jason Jessup is the true victim here today. The victim of a family’s desire to hide their darkest secret.”

Maggie leaned toward me and whispered, “Brace yourself.”

I nodded. I knew exactly where we were going.

“This trial is about a monster who killed a child. A monster who defiled one young girl and was going to move on to the next when something went wrong and he killed that child. This trial is about the family that was so fearful of that monster that they went along with the plan to cover up the crime and point the finger elsewhere. At an innocent man.”

Royce pointed righteously at Jessup as he said this last line. Maggie shook her head in disgust, a calculated move for the jury.

“Jason, would you please stand up?” Royce said.

His client did as instructed and turned fully to the jury, his eyes boldly scanning from face to face, not flinching or looking away.

“Jason Jessup is an innocent man,” Royce said with the requisite outrage in his voice. “He was the fall guy. An innocent man caught in an impromptu plan to cover up the worst kind of crime, the taking of a child’s life.”

Jessup sat down and Royce paused so his words would burn into every juror’s conscience. It was highly theatrical and planned that way.

“There are two victims here,” he finally said. “Melissa Landy is a victim. She lost her life. Jason Jessup is also a victim because they are trying to take his life. The family conspired against him and then the police followed their lead. They ignored the evidence and planted their own. And now after twenty-four years, after witnesses are gone and memories have dimmed, they’ve come calling for him…”

Royce cast his head down as if tremendously burdened by the truth. I knew he would now wrap things up.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we are here for only one reason. To seek the truth. Before the end of this day, you will know the truth about Windsor Boulevard. You will know that Jason Jessup is an innocent man.”

Royce paused again, then thanked the jury and moved back to his seat. In what I was sure was a well-rehearsed moment, Jessup put his arm around his lawyer’s shoulders, gave him a squeeze and thanked him.

But the judge gave Royce little time to savor the moment or the slick delivery of his opening statement. She told him to call his first witness. I turned in my seat and saw Bosch standing in the back of the courtroom. He gave me the nod. I had sent him to get Sarah Ann Gleason from the hotel as soon as Royce had informed me upon arriving at court that she would be his first witness.

“The defense calls Sarah Ann Gleason to the stand,” Royce said, putting the accent on defense in a way that suggested that this was an unexpected turnabout.

Bosch stepped out of the courtroom and quickly returned with Gleason. He walked her down the aisle and through the gate. She went the rest of the way on her own. She again was dressed for court informally, wearing a white peasant blouse and a pair of jeans.

Gleason was reminded by the judge that she was still under oath and turned over to Royce. This time when he went to the lectern he carried a thick file and a legal pad. Probably most of it-the file, at least-was just an attempt to intimidate Gleason, to make her think he had a big fat file on everything she had ever done wrong in life.

“Good morning, Ms. Gleason.”

“Good morning.”

“Now, you testified yesterday that you were the victim of sexual abuse at the hands of your stepfather, Kensington Landy, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

With the first word of her testimony I detected trepidation. She hadn’t been allowed to hear Royce’s opening statement but we had prepared Gleason for the way we thought the defense case would go. She was exhibiting fear already and this never played well with the jury. There was little Maggie and I could do. Sarah was up there on her own.

“At what point in your life did this abuse start?”

“When I was twelve.”

“And it ended when?”

“When I was thirteen. Right after my sister’s death.”

“I notice you didn’t call it your sister’s murder. You called it her death. Is there a reason for that?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, your sister was murdered, correct? It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“No, it was murder.”

“Then why did you refer to it as her death just a moment ago?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are you confused about what happened to your sister?”

Maggie was on her feet objecting before Gleason could answer.

“Counsel is badgering the witness,” she said. “He’s more interested in eliciting an emotional response than an answer.”

“Your Honor, I simply am trying to learn how and why this witness views this crime the way she does. It goes to state of mind of the witness. I am not interested in eliciting anything other than an answer to the question I asked.”

The judge weighed things for a moment before ruling.

“I’m going to allow it. The witness may answer the question.”

“I’ll repeat it,” Royce said. “Ms. Gleason, are you confused about what happened to your sister?”

During the exchange between lawyers and the judge, Gleason had found some resolve. She answered forcefully while hitting Royce with a hard stare of defiance.

“No, I’m not confused about what happened. I was there. She was kidnapped by your client and after that I never saw her again. There is no confusion about that at all.”

I wanted to stand and clap. Instead, I just nodded to myself. It was a fine, fine answer. But Royce moved on, acting as though he had not been hit with the tomato.

“There have been times in your life when you were confused, however, correct?”

“About my sister and what happened and who took her? Never.”

“I’m talking about times you were incarcerated in mental health facilities and the psych wards of jails and prisons.”

Gleason lowered her head in full realization that she would not escape this trial without a full airing of the lost years of her life. I just had to hope she would respond in the way Maggie had told her to.

“After the murder of my sister, many things went wrong in my life,” she said.

She then looked up directly at Royce as she continued.

“Yes, I spent some time in those kinds of places. I think, and my counselors agreed, that it was because of what happened to Melissa.”

Good answer, I thought. She was fighting.

“We’ll get back into that later on,” Royce said. “But getting back to your sister, she was twelve at the time of her murder, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“This would have been the same age you were when your stepfather began to sexually abuse you. Am I right?”

“About the same, yes.”

“Did you warn your sister about him?”

There was a long pause as Gleason considered her answer. This was because there was no good answer.

“Ms. Gleason?” the judge prompted. “Please answer the question.”

“No, I didn’t warn her. I was afraid to.”

“Afraid of what?” Royce asked.

“Him. As you’ve already pointed out, I’ve been through a lot of therapy in my life. I know that it is not unusual for a child to be unable to tell anyone. You get trapped in the behavior. Trapped by fear. I’ve been told that many times.”

“In other words, you go along to get along.”

“Sort of. But that is a simplification. It was more-”

“But you did live with a lot of fear in your life back then?”

“Yes, I-”

“Did your stepfather tell you not to tell anyone about what he was doing to you?”

“Yes, he said-”

“Did he threaten you?”

“He said that if I told anyone I would be taken away from my mother and sister. He said he would make sure that the state would think my mother knew about it and they would consider her unfit. They would take Melissa and me away. Then we would get split up because foster homes couldn’t always take two at a time.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Yes, I was twelve. I believed him.”

“And it scared you, didn’t it?”

“Yes. I wanted to stay with my fam-”

“Wasn’t it that same fear and control that your stepfather had over you that made you go along to get along after he killed your sister?”

Again Maggie jumped up to object, stating that the question was leading and assumed facts not in evidence. The judge agreed and sustained the objection.

Undeterred, Royce went at Gleason relentlessly.

“Isn’t it true that you and your mother did and said exactly what your stepfather told you to in the cover-up of Melissa’s murder?”

“No, that’s not-”

“He told you to say it was a tow truck driver and that you were to pick one of the men the police brought to the house.”

“No! He didn’t-”

“Objection!”

“There was no hide-and-seek game outside the house, was there? Your sister was murdered inside the house by Kensington Landy. Isn’t that true!”

“Your Honor!”

Maggie was now shouting.

“Counsel is badgering the witness with these leading questions. He doesn’t want her answers. He just wants to deliver his lies to the jury!”

The judge looked from Maggie to Royce.

“All right, everyone just calm down. The objection is sustained. Mr. Royce, ask the witness one question at a time and allow her the time to answer. And you will not ask leading questions. Need I remind you, you called her as a witness. If you wanted to lead her you should’ve conducted a cross-examination when you had the opportunity.”

Royce put on his best look of contrition. It must’ve been difficult.

“I apologize for getting carried away, Your Honor,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

It didn’t matter if it happened again. Royce had already gotten his point across. His purpose was not to get an admission from Gleason. In fact, he expected none. His purpose was to get his alternate theory to the jury. In that, he was being very successful.

“Okay, let’s move on,” Royce said. “You mentioned earlier that you spent a considerable part of your adult life in counseling and drug rehab, not to mention incarceration. Is that correct?”

“To a point,” Gleason said. “I have been clean and sober and a-”

“Just answer the question that was asked,” Royce quickly interjected.

“Objection,” Maggie said. “She is trying to answer the question he asked, but Mr. Royce doesn’t like the full answer and is trying to cut her off.”

“Let her answer the question, Mr. Royce,” Breitman said tiredly. “Go ahead, Ms. Gleason.”

“I was just saying that I have been clean for seven years and a productive member of society.”

“Thank you, Ms. Gleason.”

Royce then led her through a tragic and sordid history, literally going arrest by arrest and revealing all the details of the depravity Sarah wallowed in for so long. Maggie objected often, arguing that it had little to do with Sarah’s identification of Jessup, but Breitman allowed most of the questioning to continue.

Finally, Royce wrapped up his examination by setting up his next witness.

“Getting back to the rehabilitation center in North Hollywood, you were there for five months in nineteen ninety-nine, correct?”

“I don’t remember exactly when or for how long. You obviously have the records there.”

“But you do remember meeting another client, named Edward Roman, known as Eddie?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you got to know him well?”

“Yes.”

“How did you meet him?”

“We were in group counseling together.”

“How would you describe the relationship you had with Eddie Roman back then?”

“Well, in counseling we sort of realized that we knew some of the same people and liked doing the same things-meaning drugs. So we started hanging out and it continued after we were both released.”

“Was this a romantic relationship?”

Gleason laughed in a way that was not supposed to impart humor.

“What passed for romance between two drug addicts,” she said. “I think the term is enablers. By being together we were enabling each other. But romance is not a word I would use. We had sex on occasion-when he was able to. But there was no romance, Mr. Royce.”

“But didn’t you in fact believe at one point that you two were married?”

“Eddie set something up on the beach with a man he said was a minister. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t legal.”

“But at the time you thought it was, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So were you in love with him?”

“No, I wasn’t in love with him. I just thought he could protect me.”

“So you were married, or at least thought you were. Did you live together?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In different motels in the Valley.”

“All this time you were together, you must’ve confided in Eddie, yes?”

“About some things, yes.”

“Did you ever confide in him about your sister’s murder?”

“I am sure I did. I didn’t keep it a secret. I would have talked about it in group therapy in North Hollywood and he was sitting right there.”

“Did you ever tell him that your stepfather killed your sister?”

“No, because that didn’t happen.”

“So if Eddie Roman were to come to this courtroom and testify that you did indeed tell him that, then he would be lying.”

“Yes.”

“But you have already testified yesterday and today that you have lied to counselors and police. You have stolen and committed many crimes in your life. But you’re not lying here. Is that what we are to believe?”

“I’m not lying. You are talking about a period of my life when I did those things. I don’t deny that. I was human trash, okay? But I am past that now and have been past it for a long time. I’m not lying now.”

“Okay, Ms. Gleason, no further questions.”

As Royce returned to his seat, Maggie and I put our heads together and whispered.

“She held up really well,” Maggie said. “I think we should let it stand and I’ll just hit a couple high notes.”

“Sounds good.”

“Ms. McPherson?” the judge prompted.

Maggie stood.

“Yes, Your Honor. Just a few questions.”

She went to the lectern with her trusty legal pad. She skipped the buildup and got right to the matters she wanted to cover.

“Sarah, this man Eddie Roman and the phony marriage-whose idea was it to get married?”

“Eddie asked me to get married. He said we would work together as a team and share everything, that he would protect me and that we could never be forced to testify against each other if we got arrested.”

“And what did working together as a team mean in that circumstance?”

“Well, I… he wanted me to sell myself so we would have money to buy drugs and to have a motel room.”

“Did you do that for Eddie?”

“For a little bit of time. And then I got arrested.”

“Did Eddie bail you out?”

“No.”

“Did he come to court?”

“No.”

“Your record shows you pleaded guilty to soliciting and were sentenced to time served, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“How long was that?”

“I think it was thirteen days.”

“And was Eddie there waiting when you got out of jail?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Maggie checked her notes, flipped up a couple pages and found what she was looking for.

“Okay, Sarah, you mentioned several times during your testimony earlier today that you did not remember specific dates and occurrences that Mr. Royce asked you about during the time you were a drug user. Is that a fair characterization?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“During all of those years of drug abuse and counseling and incarceration, were you ever able to forget what happened to your sister, Melissa?”

“No, never. I thought about it every day. I still do.”

“Were you ever able to forget about the man who crossed your front yard and grabbed your sister while you watched from the bushes?”

“No, never. I thought about him every day and still do.”

“Have you ever had a moment of doubt about the man you identified as your sister’s abductor?”

“No.”

Maggie turned and pointedly looked at Jessup, who was looking down at a legal pad and writing what were probably meaningless notes. Her eyes held on him and she waited. Just as Jessup looked up to see what was holding up the testimony she asked her last question.

“Never a single doubt, Sarah?”

“No, never.”

“Thank you, Sarah. No further questions.”

Thirty-eight

Thursday, April 8, 10:35 A.M .

The judge followed Sarah Gleason’s testimony by announcing the midmorning break. Bosch waited in his seat at the railing until Royce and Jessup got up and started to file out. He then stood and moved against the grain to get to his witness. As he passed by Jessup he clapped him hard on the arm.

“I think your makeup’s starting to run, Jason.”

He said it with a smile as he went by.

Jessup stopped and turned and was about to respond to the taunt when Royce grabbed him by the other arm and kept him going.

Bosch moved forward to collect Gleason from the witness stand. After parts of two days on the stand, she looked like she was both emotionally and physically drained. Like she might need help just getting up from the chair.

“Sarah, you did great,” he told her.

“Thank you. I couldn’t tell if anybody believed me.”

“They all did, Sarah. They all did.”

He walked her back to the prosecution table, where Haller and McPherson had similar reviews of her testimony. McPherson got up out of her seat and hugged her.

“You stood up to Jessup and you stood up for your sister,” she said. “You can be proud of that for the rest of your life.”

Gleason suddenly burst into tears and held her hand over her eyes. McPherson quickly pulled her back into the hug.

“I know, I know. You’ve held it together and stayed strong. It’s okay to let it go now.”

Bosch walked over to the jury box and grabbed the box of tissues. He brought them to Gleason and she wiped away her tears.

“You’re almost done,” Haller said to her. “You’ve totally finished testifying so now all we want you to do is sit in court and observe the trial. We want you to sit up here in the front row when Eddie Roman testifies. After that, we can put you on a plane home this afternoon.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Because he’s going to tell lies about you. And if he is going to do that, then he’s going to have to tell them to your face.”

“I don’t think he’s going to have a problem with that. He never did.”

“Well, then, the jury will want to see how you react. And how he’ll react. And don’t worry, we’ve got something else cooking that’ll make Eddie feel some heat.”

At that, Haller turned to Bosch.

“You ready with this?”

“Just give me the sign.”

“Can I ask something?” Gleason said.

“Sure,” Haller said.

“What if I don’t want to get on a plane today? What if I want to be here for the verdict? For my sister.”

“We would love that, Sarah,” Maggie said. “You are welcome and can stay as long as you like.”

Bosch stood in the hallway outside the courtroom. He had his phone out and was slowly typing a text to his daughter with one finger. His efforts were interrupted when he received a text. It was from Haller and was only one word.

NOW

He put his phone away and walked to the witness waiting room. Sonia Reyes was slumped in a chair with her head down, two empty coffee cups on the table in front of her.

“Okay, Sonia, rise and shine. We’re going to go do this. You okay? You ready?”

She looked up at him with tired eyes.

“That’s too many questions, po-liceman.”

“Okay, I’ll settle for one. How’re you feeling?”

“About how I look. You got any more of that stuff they gave me at the clinic?”

“That was it. But I’m going to have someone take you right back there as soon as we’re finished here.”

“Whatever you say, po-liceman. I don’t think I’ve been up this early since the last time I was in county lockup.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not that early. Let’s go.”

He helped her up and they headed toward Department 112. Reyes was what they called a silent witness. She wouldn’t be testifying in the trial. She was in no condition to. But by walking her down the aisle and putting her in the front row, Bosch would make sure she would be noticed by Edward Roman. The hope was that she’d knock Roman off his game, maybe even make him change it up. They were banking on his not knowing the rules of evidence and therefore not understanding that her appearance in the gallery precluded her from testifying at the trial and exposing his lies.

Harry hit the door with a fist as he pushed it open because he knew it would draw attention inside the court. He then ushered Reyes in and walked her down the aisle. Edward Roman was already on the stand, sworn in and testifying. He wore an ill-fitting suit borrowed from Royce’s client closet and was clean-shaven with short, neat hair. He stumbled verbally when he saw Sonia in the courtroom.

“We had group counseling twice…”

“Only twice?” Royce asked, unaware of the distraction in the aisle behind him.

“What?”

“You said you only had group counseling with Sarah Gleason twice?”

“Nah, man, I meant twice a day.”

Bosch escorted Reyes to a seat with a reserved sign on it. He then sat down next to her.

“And approximately how long did this last?” Royce asked.

“Each one was fifty minutes, I think,” Roman answered, his eyes holding on Reyes in the audience.

“I mean how long were you both in counseling? A month, a year, how long?”

“Oh, it was for five months.”

“And did you become lovers while you were in the center?”

Roman lowered his eyes.

“Uh… yeah, that’s right.”

“How did you manage that? I assume there are rules against that.”

“Well, if there’s a will, there’s always a way, you know? We found time. We found places.”

“Did this relationship continue after you two were released from the center?”

“Yes. She got out a couple weeks ahead of me. Then I got out and we hooked up.”

“Did you live together?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Can I ask a question?”

Royce paused. He hadn’t expected this.

“No, Mr. Roman,” the judge said. “You can’t ask a question. You are a witness in these proceedings.”

“But how can they bring her in here like that?”

“Who, Mr. Roman?”

Roman pointed out to the gallery and right at Reyes.

“Her.”

The judge looked at Reyes and then at Bosch sitting next to her. A look of deep suspicion crossed her face.

“I’m going to ask the jury to step back into the jury room for a few moments. This should not take long.”

The jurors filed back into the jury room. The moment the last one in closed the door, the judge zeroed in on Bosch.

“Detective Bosch.”

Harry stood up.

“Who is the woman sitting to your left?”

“Your Honor,” Haller said. “Can I answer that question?”

“Please do.”

“Detective Bosch is sitting with Sonia Reyes, who has agreed to help the prosecution as a witness consultant.”

The judge looked from Haller to Reyes and back to Haller.

“You want to run that by me again, Mr. Haller?”

“Judge, Ms. Reyes is acquainted with the witness. Because the defense did not make Mr. Roman available to us prior to his testimony here, we have asked Ms. Reyes to give us advice on how to proceed with our cross-examination.”

Haller’s explanation had done nothing to change the look of suspicion on Breitman’s face.

“Are you paying her for this advice?”

“We have agreed to help her get into a clinic.”

“I should hope so.”

“Your Honor,” Royce said. “May I be heard?”

“Go ahead, Mr. Royce.”

“I think it is quite obvious that the prosecution is attempting to intimidate Mr. Roman. This is a gangster move, Judge. Not something I would expect to see from the District Attorney’s Office.”

“Well, I strongly object to that characterization,” Haller said. “It is perfectly acceptable within the canon of courtroom procedure and ethics to hire and use consultants. Mr. Royce employed a jury consultant last week and that was perfectly acceptable. But now that the prosecution has a consultant that he knows will help expose his witness as a liar and someone who preys on women, he objects. With all due respect, I would call that the gangster move.”

“Okay, we’re not going to debate this now,” Breitman said. “I find that the prosecution is certainly within bounds in using Ms. Reyes as a consultant. Let’s bring the jury back.”

“Thank you, Judge,” Haller said as he sat down.

As the jurors filed back into the box, Haller turned and looked back at Bosch. He gave a slight nod and Bosch knew that he was happy. The exchange with the judge could not have worked better in delivering a message to Roman. The message being that we know your game, and come our turn to ask the questions, so will the jury. Roman now had a choice. He could stick with the defense or start playing for the prosecution.

Testimony continued once the jury was back in place. Royce quickly established through Roman that he and Sarah Gleason had a relationship that lasted nearly a year and involved the sharing of personal stories as well as drugs. But when it came to revealing those personal stories, Roman did a cut and run, leaving Royce hanging in the wind.

“Now, did there come a time when she spoke about her sister’s murder?”

“A time? There were lots of times. She talked about it a lot, man.”

“And did she ever tell you in detail what she called the ‘real story’?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Can you tell the court what she told you?”

Roman hesitated and scratched his chin before answering. Bosch knew this was the moment that his work either paid off or went for naught.

“She told me that they were playing hide-and-seek in the yard and a guy came and grabbed her sister and that she saw the whole thing.”

Bosch’s eyes made a circuit of the room. First he checked the jurors and it seemed that even they had been expecting Roman to say something else. Then the prosecution table. He saw that McPherson had grabbed Haller by the back of his arm and was squeezing it. And lastly Royce, who was now the one hesitating. He stood at the lectern looking down at his notes, one armed cocked with his fist on his hip like a frustrated teacher who could not draw the correct answer from a student.

“That is the story you heard Sarah Gleason tell in group counseling at the rehabilitation center, correct?” he finally asked.

“That’s right.”

“But isn’t it true that she told you a different version of events-what she called the ‘real story’-when you were in more private settings?”

“Uh, no. She pretty much stuck to the same story all the time.”

Bosch saw McPherson squeeze Haller’s arm again. This was the whole case right here.

Royce was like a man left behind in the water by a dive boat. He was treading water but he was in the open sea and it was only a matter of time before he went down. He tried to do what he could.

“Now, Mr. Roman, on March second of this year, did you not contact my office and offer your services as a witness for the defense?”

“I don’t know about the date but I called there, yeah.”

“And did you speak to my investigator, Karen Revelle?”

“I spoke to a woman but I can’t remember her name.”

“And didn’t you tell her a story that is quite different from the one you just recounted?”

“But I wasn’t under oath or nothin’ then.”

“That’s right, sir, but you did tell Karen a different story, true?”

“I might’ve. I can’t remember.”

“Didn’t you tell Karen at that time that Ms. Gleason had told you that her stepfather had killed her sister?”

Haller was up with the objection, arguing that not only was Royce leading the witness but that there was no foundation for the question and that counsel was trying to get testimony to the jury that the witness was not willing to give. The judge sustained the objection.

“Your Honor,” Royce said, “the defense would like to request a short break to confer with its witness.”

Before Haller could object the judge denied the request.

“By this witness’s own testimony this morning, you have had since March second to prepare for this moment. We go to lunch in thirty-five minutes. You can confer with him then, Mr. Royce. Ask your next question.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Royce looked down at his legal pad. From Bosch’s angle he could tell he was looking at a blank page.

“Mr. Royce?” the judge prompted.

“Yes, Your Honor, just rechecking a date. Mr. Roman, why did you call my office on March second?”

“Well, I seen something about the case on the TV. In fact, it was you. I seen you talking about it. And I knew something about it from knowing Sarah like I did. So I called up to see if I was needed.”

“And then you came to my offices, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You sent that lady to pick me up.”

“And when you came to my office, you told me a different story than you are telling the jury now, isn’t that right?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember exactly what I said then. I’m a drug addict, sir. I say a lot of things I don’t remember and don’t really mean. All I remember is that the woman who came said she’d put me up in a nicer hotel and I had no money for a place at that time. So I sort of said what she told me to say.”

Bosch made a fist and bounced it once on his thigh. This was an unmitigated disaster for the defense. He looked over at Jessup to see if he realized how bad things had just turned for him. And Jessup seemed to sense it. He turned and looked back at Bosch, his eyes dark with growing anger and realization. Bosch leaned forward and slowly raised a finger. He dragged it across his throat.

Jessup turned away.

Thirty-nine

Thursday, April 8, 11:30 A.M .

I have had many good moments in court. I’ve stood next to men at the moment they knew that they were going free because of my good work. I have stood in the well in front of a jury and felt the tingle of truth and righteousness roll down my spine. And I have destroyed liars without mercy on the witness stand. These are the moments I live for in my professional life. But few of them measured up to the moment I watched Jason Jessup’s defense unravel with the testimony of Edward Roman.

As Roman crashed and burned on the stand, my ex-wife and prosecution partner squeezed my arm to the point of pain. She couldn’t help it. She knew it, too. This was not something Royce was going to recover from. A key part of what was already going to be a fragile defense was crumbling before his eyes. It wasn’t so much that his witness had pulled a one-eighty on him. It was the jury seeing a defense that was now obviously built upon a liar. The jury would not forgive this. It was over and I believed everyone in the courtroom-from the judge to the gadflies in the back row of the gallery-knew it. Jessup was going down.

I turned and looked back to share the moment with Bosch. After all, the silent witness maneuver had been his idea. And I caught him giving Jessup the throat slash-the internationally recognized sign that it was over.

I looked back to the front of the court.

“Mr. Royce,” the judge said. “Are you continuing with this witness?”

“A moment, Your Honor,” Royce said.

It was a valid question. Royce had few ways with which to go with Roman at this point. He could cut his losses and simply end the questioning. Or he could ask the judge to declare Roman to be a hostile witness-a move that was always professionally embarrassing when the hostile witness is one you called to the stand. But it was a move that would allow Royce more latitude in asking leading questions that explored what Roman had initially said to the defense investigator and why he was dissembling now. But this was fraught with danger, especially since this initial interview had not been recorded or documented in an effort to hide Roman during the discovery process.

“Mr. Royce!” the judge barked. “I consider the court’s time quite valuable. Please ask your next question or I will turn the witness over to Mr. Haller for cross-examination.”

Royce nodded to himself as he came to a decision.

“I’m sorry, Your Honor. But no further questions at this time.”

Royce walked dejectedly back to his seat and a waiting client who was visibly upset with the turnabout. I stood up and started moving to the lectern even before the judge turned the witness over to me.

“Mr. Roman,” I said, “your testimony has been somewhat confusing to me. So let me get this straight. Are you telling this jury that Sarah Ann Gleason did or did not tell you that her stepfather murdered her sister?”

“She didn’t. That’s just what they wanted me to say.”

“Who is ‘they,’ sir?”

“The defense. The lady investigator and Royce.”

“Besides a hotel room, were you to receive anything else if you testified to such a story today?”

“They just said they’d take care of me. That a lot of money was at-”

“Objection!” Royce yelled.

He jumped to his feet.

“Your Honor, the witness is clearly hostile and acting out a vindictive fantasy.”

“He’s your witness, Mr. Royce. He can answer the question. Go ahead, sir.”

“They said there was a lot of money at stake and they would take care of me,” Roman said.

It just kept getting better for me and worse for Jessup. But I had to make sure I didn’t come off to the jury as gleeful or vindictive myself. I recalibrated and focused on what was important.

“What was the story that Sarah told you all those years ago, Mr. Roman?”

“Like I said, that she was in the yard and she was hiding and she saw the guy who grabbed her sister.”

“Did she ever tell you she identified the wrong man?”

“No.”

“Did she ever tell you that the police told her who to identify?”

“No.”

“Did she ever once tell you that the wrong man was charged with her sister’s murder?”

“No.”

“No further questions.”

I checked the clock as I returned to my seat. We still had twenty minutes before the lunch break. Rather than break early, the judge asked Royce to call his next witness. He called his investigator, Karen Revelle. I knew what he was doing and I was going to be ready.

Revelle was a mannish-looking woman who wore slacks and a sport jacket. She had ex-cop written all over her dour expression. After she was sworn in, Royce got right to the point, probably hoping to stem the flow of blood from his case before the jurors went to lunch.

“What do you do for a living, Ms. Revelle?”

“I am an investigator for the law firm of Royce and Associates.”

“You work for me, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“On March second of this year, did you conduct a telephone interview with an individual named Edward Roman?”

“I did.”

“What did he tell you in that call?”

I stood and objected. I asked the judge if I could discuss my objection at a sidebar conference.

“Come on up,” she said.

Maggie and I followed Royce to the side of the bench. The judge told me to state my objection.

“My first objection is that anything this witness states about a conversation with Roman is clearly hearsay and not allowed. But the larger objection is to Mr. Royce trying to impeach his own witness. He’s going to use Revelle to impeach Roman, and you can’t do that, Judge. It’s damn near suborning perjury on Mr. Royce’s part, because one of these two people is lying under oath and he called them both!”

“I strongly object to Mr. Haller’s last characterization,” Royce said, leaning over the sidebar and moving in closer to the judge. “Suborning perjury? I have been practicing law for more than-”

“First of all, back up, Mr. Royce, you’re in my space,” Breitman said sternly. “And second, you can save your self-serving objection for some other time. Mr. Haller is correct on all counts. If I allow this witness to continue her testimony, you are not only going to go into hearsay but we will have a situation where one of your witnesses has lied under oath. You can’t have it both ways and you can’t put a liar on the stand. So this is what we’re going to do. You are going to get your investigator off the stand, Mr. Haller is going to make a motion to strike what little testimony she has already given and I will agree to that motion. Then we’re going to lunch. During that time, you and your client can get together and decide what to do next. But it’s looking to me like your options got really limited in the last half hour. That’s all.”

She didn’t wait for any of us to respond. She simply rolled her chair away from the sidebar.

Royce followed the judge’s advice and ended his questioning of Revelle. I moved to strike and that was that. A half hour later I was sitting with Maggie and Sarah Gleason at a table at the Water Grill, the place where the case had started for me. We had decided to go high-end because we were celebrating what appeared to be the beginning of the end for Jason Jessup’s case, and because the Water Grill was just across the street from Sarah’s hotel. The only one missing at the table was Bosch, and he was on his way after dropping our silent witness, Sonia Reyes, at the drug rehab facility at County-USC Medical Center.

“Wow,” I said after the three of us were seated. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that before in a courtroom.”

“Me, neither,” Maggie said.

“Well, I’ve been in a few courtrooms but I don’t know enough to know what it all means,” said Gleason.

“It means the end is near,” Maggie said.

“It means the entire defense imploded,” I added. “See, the defense’s case was sort of simple. Stepfather killed the girl and the family concocted a cover-up. They came up with the story about hide-and-seek and the man on the lawn to throw the authorities off of stepdad. Then sister-that’s you-made a false identification of Jessup. Just sort of randomly set him up for a murder he did not commit.”

“But what about Melissa’s hair in the tow truck?” Gleason asked.

“The defense claims it was planted,” I said. “Either in conspiracy or independent of the family’s cover-up. The police realized they didn’t have much of a case. They had a thirteen-year-old girl’s ID of a suspect and almost nothing else. So they took hair from the body or a hairbrush and planted it in the tow truck. After lunch-if Royce is foolish enough to continue this-he will present investigative chronology reports and time logs that will show Detective Kloster had enough access and time to make the plant in the tow truck before a search warrant was obtained and forensics opened the truck.”

“But that’s crazy,” Gleason said.

“Maybe so,” Maggie said, “but that was their case and Eddie Roman was the linchpin because he was supposed to testify that you told him your stepfather did it. He was supposed to plant the seed of doubt. That’s all it takes, Sarah. One little doubt. Only he took one look at who was in the audience-namely Sonia Reyes-and thought he was in trouble. You see Eddie did the same thing with Sonia as he did with you. Met her, got close and turned her out to keep him in meth. When he saw her in court, he knew he was in trouble. Because he knew if Sonia got on the stand and told the same story about him as you did, then the jury would know what he was-a liar and predator-and wouldn’t trust a single thing he said. He also had no idea what Sonia might have told us about crimes they committed together. So he decided up there that his best out was the truth. To screw the defense and make the prosecution happy. He changed his story.”

Gleason nodded as she began to understand.

“Do you think Mr. Royce really told him what to say and was going to pay him off for his lies?”

“Of course,” Maggie said.

“I don’t know,” I said quickly. “I’ve known Clive a long time. I don’t think that’s how he operates.”

“What?” Maggie said. “You think Eddie Roman just made it all up on his own?”

“No, but he spoke to the investigator before he ever got to Clive.”

“Plausible denial. You’re just being charitable, Haller. They don’t call him Clever Clive for no reason.”

Sarah seemed to sense that she had pushed us into a zone of contention that had existed long before this trial. She tried to move us on.

“Do you really think it’s over?” she asked.

I thought for a moment about it and then nodded.

“I think if I was Clever Clive I’d be thinking of what’s best for my client and that would be not to let this go to a verdict. I’d start thinking about a deal. Maybe he’ll even call during lunch.”

I pulled my phone out and put it down on the table, as if being ready for Royce’s call would make it happen. Just as I did so, Bosch showed up and took the seat next to Maggie. I grabbed my water glass and raised it to him.

“Cheers, Harry. Smooth move today. I think Jessup’s house of cards is falling down.”

Bosch raised a water glass and clinked it off mine.

“Royce was right, you know,” he said. “It was a gangster move. Saw it in one of the Godfather movies way back.”

He then held his water glass up to the two women.

“Anyway, cheers,” he said. “You two are the real stars. Great work yesterday and today.”

We all clinked glasses but Sarah hesitated.

“What’s wrong, Sarah?” I asked. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of clinking glass.”

I smiled, proud of my own humor.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I think it’s supposed to be bad luck to toast with water.”

“Well,” I said, quickly recovering, “it’s going to take more than bad luck to change things now.”

Bosch switched subjects.

“What happens next?” he asked.

“I was just telling Sarah that I don’t think this will go to a jury. Clive has to be thinking disposition. They really don’t have any other choice.”

Bosch turned serious.

“I know there’s money on the line and your boss probably thinks that’s the priority,” he said, “but this guy has got to go back to prison.”

“Absolutely,” Maggie said.

“Of course,” I added. “And after what happened this morning, we have all the leverage. Jessup has to take what we offer or we-”

My phone started to buzz. The ID screen said UNKNOWN.

“Speak of the devil,” Maggie said.

I looked at Sarah.

“You might be on that plane home tonight after all.”

I opened the phone and said my name.

“Mickey, District Attorney Williams here. How are you?”

I shook my head at the others. It wasn’t Royce.

“I’m doing fine, Gabe. How are you?”

My informality didn’t seem to faze him.

“I’m hearing good things out of court this morning.”

His statement confirmed what I had thought all along. While Williams had never once showed his face in the courtroom, he had a plant in the gallery watching.

“Well, I hope so. I think we’ll know more about which way this will go after lunch.”

“Are you considering a disposition?”

“Well, not yet. I haven’t heard from opposing counsel, but I assume that we may soon enter into discussions. He’s probably talking to his client about it right now. I would be if I were him.”

“Well, keep me in the loop on that before you sign off on anything.”

I paused as I weighed this last statement. I saw Bosch put his hand inside his jacket and pull out his own phone to take a call.

“Tell you what, Gabe. As independent counsel I prefer to stay independent. I’ll inform you of a disposition if and when I have an agreement.”

“I want to be part of that conversation,” Williams insisted.

I saw some sort of darkness move into Bosch’s eyes. Instinctively, I knew it was time to get off my call.

“I’ll get back to you on that, Mr. District Attorney. I’ve got another call coming in here. It could be Clive Royce.”

I closed the phone just as Bosch closed his and started to stand up.

“What is it?” Maggie asked.

Bosch’s face looked ashen.

“There’s been a shooting over at Royce’s office. There’s four on the floor over there.”

“Is Jessup one of them?” I asked.

“No… Jessup’s gone.”

Forty

Thursday, April 8, 1:05 P.M .

Bosch drove and McPherson insisted on riding with him. Haller had split off with Gleason to head back to court. Bosch pulled a card out of his wallet and got Lieutenant Stephen Wright’s number off it. He handed the card and his phone to McPherson and told her to punch in the number.

“It’s ringing,” she said.

He took the phone and got it to his ear just as Wright answered.

“It’s Bosch. Tell me your people are on Jessup.”

“I wish.”

“Damn it! What the hell happened? Why wasn’t SIS on him?”

“Hold your horses, Bosch. We were on him. That’s one of my people on the floor in Royce’s office.”

That hit like a punch. Bosch hadn’t realized a cop was one of the victims.

“Where are you?” he asked Wright.

“On my way there. I’m three minutes out.”

“What do you know so far?”

“Not a hell of a lot. We had a light tail on him during court hours. You knew that. One team during court and full coverage before and after. Today they followed him from the courthouse to Royce’s office at lunchtime. Jessup and Royce’s team walked over. After they were in there a few minutes my guys heard gunshots. They called it in and then went in. One was knocked down, the other pinned down. Jessup went out the back and my guy stayed to try CPR on his partner. He had to let Jessup go.”

Bosch shook his head. The thought of his daughter pushed through everything. She was at school for the next ninety minutes. He felt that she would be safe. For now.

“Who else was hit?” he asked.

“As far as I know,” Wright said, “it was Royce and his investigator and then another lawyer. A female. They were lucky it was lunchtime. Everybody else in the office was gone.”

Bosch didn’t see much that was lucky about a quadruple murder and Jessup out there somewhere with a gun. Wright kept talking.

“I’m not going to shed a tear over a couple of defense lawyers but my guy on the floor in there’s got two little kids at home, Bosch. This is not a good goddamn thing at all.”

Bosch turned onto First, and up ahead he could see the flashing lights. Royce’s office was in a storefront on a dead-end street that ran behind the Kyoto Grand Hotel on the edge of Japantown. Easy walking distance to the courthouse.

“Did you get Jessup’s car out on a broadcast?”

“Yes, everybody has it. Somebody will see it.”

“Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“Everybody’s heading to the scene.”

“No, send them out looking for Jessup. At all the places he’s been. The parks, everywhere, even my house. There’s no use for them at the scene.”

“We’ll meet there and I’ll send them out.”

“You’re wasting time, Lieutenant.”

“You think I can stop them from coming to the scene first?”

Bosch understood the impossibility of Wright’s situation.

“I’m pulling up now,” he said. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Two minutes.”

Bosch closed the phone. McPherson asked him what Wright had said and he quickly filled her in as he pulled the car to a stop behind a patrol car.

Bosch badged his way under the yellow tape and McPherson did the same. Because the shooting had occurred only twenty-five minutes earlier, the crime scene was largely inhabited by uniformed officers-the first responders-and was chaotic. Bosch found a patrol sergeant issuing orders regarding crime scene protection and went to him.

“Sergeant, Harry Bosch, RHD. Who is taking this investigation?”

“Isn’t it you?”

“No, I’m on a related case. But this one won’t be mine.”

“Then I don’t know, Bosch. I was told RHD will handle.”

“Okay, then they’re still on their way. Who’s inside?”

“Couple guys from Central Division. Roche and Stout.”

Babysitters, Bosch thought. As soon as RHD moved in, they would be moved out. He pulled his phone and called his lieutenant.

“Gandle.”

“Lieutenant, who’s taking the four on the floor by the Kyoto?”

“Bosch? Where are you?”

“At the scene. It was my guy from the trial. Jessup.”

“Shit, what went wrong?”

“I don’t know. Who are you sending and where the hell are they?”

“I’m sending four. Penzler, Kirshbaum, Krikorian and Russell. But they were all at lunch up at Birds. I’m coming over, too, but you don’t have to be there, Harry.”

“I know. I’m not staying long.”

Bosch closed the phone and looked around for McPherson. He had lost her in the confusion of the crime scene. He spotted her crouching down next to a man sitting on the sidewalk curb in front of the bail-bonds shop next door to Royce’s office. Bosch recognized him from the night he and McPherson rode on the surveillance of Jessup. There was blood on his hands and shirt from his efforts to save his partner. Bosch went to them.

“… he went to his car when they got back here. For just a minute. Got in and then got out. He then went into the office. Right away we heard shots. We moved and Manny got hit as soon as we opened the door. I got off a couple rounds but I had to try to help Manny…”

“So Jessup must’ve gotten the gun from his car, right?”

“Must’ve. They’ve got the metal detectors at the courthouse. He didn’t have it in court today.”

“But you never saw it?”

“No, never saw the weapon. If we had seen it, we would’ve done something.”

Bosch left them there and went to the door of Royce and Associates. He got there just as Lieutenant Wright did. Together they entered.

“Oh, my God,” Wright said when he saw his man on the floor just inside the front door.

“What was his name?” Bosch asked.

“Manuel Branson. He’s got two kids and I have to go tell his wife.”

Branson was on his back. He had bullet entry wounds on the left side of his neck and upper left cheek. There had been a lot of blood. The neck shot appeared to have sliced through the carotid artery.

Bosch left Wright there and moved past a reception desk and down a hallway on the right side. There was a wall of glass that looked into a boardroom with doors on both ends. The rest of the victims were in here, along with two detectives who wore gloves and booties and were taking notes on clipboards. Roche and Stout. Bosch stood in the first doorway of the room but did not enter. The two detectives looked at him.

“Who are you?” one asked.

“Bosch, RHD.”

“You taking this?”

“Not exactly. I’m on something related. The others are coming.”

“Christ, we’re only two blocks from the PAB.”

“They weren’t there. They were at lunch up in Hollywood. But don’t worry, they’ll get here. It’s not like these people are going anywhere.”

Bosch looked at the bodies. Clive Royce sat dead in a chair at the head of a long board table. His head was snapped back as if he were looking at the ceiling. There was a bloodless bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Blood from the exit wound at the back of his head had poured down the back of his jacket and chair.

The investigator, Karen Revelle, was on the floor on the other side of the room near the other door. It appeared that she had tried to make a run for it before being hit by gunfire. She was facedown and Bosch could not see where or how many times she had been hit.

Royce’s pretty associate counsel, whose name Bosch could not remember, was no longer pretty. Her body was in a seat diagonal to Royce, her upper body down on the table, an entry wound at the back of her head. The bullet had exited below her right eye and destroyed her face. There was always more damage coming out than going in.

“What do you think?” asked one of the Central guys.

“Looks like he came in shooting. Hit these two first and then tagged the other as she made a run for the door. Then backed into the hall and opened up on the SIS guys as they came in.”

“Yeah. Looks that way.”

“I’m going to check the rest of the place out.”

Bosch continued down the hall and looked through open doors into empty offices. There were nameplates on the wall outside the doors and he was reminded that Royce’s associate was named Denise Graydon.

The hallway ended at a break room, where there was a kitchenette with a refrigerator and a microwave. There was another communal table here. And an exit door that was three inches ajar.

Bosch used his elbow to push the door open. He stepped into an alley lined with trash bins. He looked both ways and saw a pay parking lot a half block down to his right. He assumed it was the lot where Jessup had parked his car and had gone to retrieve the gun.

He went back inside and this time took a longer look in each of the offices. He knew from experience that he was treading in a gray area here. This was a law office, and whether the lawyers were dead or not, their clients were still entitled to privacy and attorney-client privilege. Bosch touched nothing and opened no drawer or file. He simply moved his eyes over the surface of things, seeing and reading what was in plain sight.

When he was in Revelle’s office he was joined by McPherson.

“What are you doing?”

“Just looking.”

“We might have a problem going into any of their offices. As an officer of the court I can’t-”

“Then wait outside. Like I said, I’m just looking. I am making sure the premises are secure.”

“Whatever. I’ll be out front. The media’s all over the place out there now. It’s a circus.”

Bosch was leaning over Revelle’s desk. He didn’t look up.

“Good for them.”

McPherson left the room at the same moment Bosch read something off a legal pad that was on top of a stack of files on the side of the desk near the phone.

“Maggie? Come back here.”

She returned.

“Take a look at this.”

McPherson came around the desk and bent over to read the notes on the top page of the pad. The page was covered with what looked like random notes, phone numbers and names. Some were circled, others scratched out. It looked like a pad Revelle jotted on while on the phone.

“What?” McPherson asked.

Without touching the pad, Bosch pointed to a notation in the bottom right corner. All it said was Checkers-804. But that was enough.

“Shit!” McPherson said. “Sarah isn’t even registered under her name. How did Revelle get this?”

“She must’ve followed us back after court, paid somebody for the room number. We have to assume that Jessup has this information.”

Bosch pulled his phone and called Mickey Haller on speed dial.

“It’s Bosch. You still have Sarah with you?”

“Yes, she’s here in court. We’re waiting for the judge.”

“Look, don’t scare her but she can’t go back to the hotel.”

“All right. How come?”

“Because there’s an indication here that Jessup has that location. We’ll be setting up on it.”

“What do I do, then?”

“I’ll be sending a protection team to the court-for both of you. They’ll know what to do.”

“They can cover her. I don’t need it.”

“That’ll be your choice. My advice is you take it.”

He closed the phone and looked at McPherson.

“I gotta get a protection team over there. I want you to take my car and get my daughter and your daughter and go somewhere safe. You call me then and I’ll send a team to you, too.”

“My car’s two blocks from here. I can just-”

“That’ll waste too much time. Take mine and go now. I’ll call the school and tell them you’re coming for Maddie.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you. Call me when you have-”

They heard shouting from the front of the office suite. Angry male voices. Bosch knew they came from the friends of Manny Branson. They were seeing their fallen comrade on the floor and getting fueled with outrage and the scent of blood for the hunt.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They moved back through the suite to the front. Bosch saw Wright standing just outside the front door, consoling two SIS men with angry, tear-streaked faces. Bosch made his way around Branson’s body and out the door. He tapped Wright on the elbow.

“I need a moment, Lieutenant.”

Wright broke away from his two men and followed. Bosch walked a few yards to where they could speak privately. But he need not have worried about being overheard. In the sky above, there were at least four media choppers circling over the crime scene and laying down a layer of camouflage sound that would make any conversation on the block private.

“I need two of your best men,” Bosch said, leaning toward Wright’s ear.

“Okay. What do you have going?”

“There’s a note on the desk of one of the victims. It’s the hotel and room number of our prime witness. We have to assume our shooter has that information. The slaughter inside there indicates he’s taking out the people associated with the trial. The people he thinks did him wrong. That’s a long list but I think our witness would be at the top of it.”

“Got it. You want to set up at the hotel.”

Bosch nodded.

“Yeah. One man outside, one inside and me in the room. We wait and see if he shows.”

Wright shook his head.

“We use four. Two inside and two outside. But forget waiting in the room, because Jessup will never get by the surveillance. Instead, you and I find a viewpoint up high and set up the command post. That’s the right way to do it.”

Bosch nodded.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Except there’s one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“If I bring you in on this, then you stay back. My people take him down.”

Bosch studied him for a moment, trying to read everything hidden in what he was saying.

“There are questions,” Bosch said. “About Franklin Canyon and the other places. I need to talk to Jessup.”

Wright looked over Bosch’s shoulder and back toward the front door of Royce and Associates.

“Detective, one of my best people is dead on the floor in there. I’m not guaranteeing you anything. You understand?”

Bosch paused and then nodded.

“I understand.”

Forty-one

Thursday, April 8, 1:50 P.M .

There was more media in the courtroom than there had been at any other point of the trial. The first two rows of the gallery were shoulder-to-shoulder with reporters and cameramen. The rest of the rows were filled with courthouse personnel and lawyers who had heard what had happened to Clive Royce.

Sarah Gleason sat in a row by the courtroom deputy’s desk. It was marked as reserved for law enforcement officers but the deputy put her there so the reporters couldn’t get to her. Meantime, I sat at the prosecution table waiting for the judge like a man on a desert island. No Maggie. No Bosch. Nobody at the defense table. I was alone.

“Mickey,” someone whispered from behind me.

I turned to see Kate Salters from the Times leaning across the railing.

“I can’t talk now. I have to figure out what to say here.”

“But do you think your total destruction of this morning’s witness is what could have-?”

I was saved by the judge. Breitman entered the courtroom and bounded up to the bench and took her seat. Salters took hers and the question I wanted to avoid for the rest of my life remained unasked-at least for the moment.

“We are back on the record in California versus Jessup. Michael Haller is present for the People. But the jury is not present, nor is defense counsel or the defendant. I am aware through unconfirmed media reports of what has transpired in the last ninety minutes at Mr. Royce’s office. Can you add anything to what I have seen and heard on television, Mr. Haller?”

I stood up to address the court.

“Your Honor, I don’t know what they are putting out to the media at the moment, but I can confirm that Mr. Royce and his cocounsel on this case, Ms. Graydon, were shot and killed in their offices at lunchtime. Karen Revelle is also dead, as well as a police officer who responded to the shooting. The suspect in the shooting has been identified as Jason Jessup. He remains at large.”

Judging by the murmur from the gallery behind me, those basic facts had probably been speculated upon but not yet confirmed to the media.

“This is, indeed, very sad news,” Breitman said.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “Very sad.”

“But I think at this moment we need to put aside our emotions and act carefully here. The issue is, how do we proceed with this case? I am pretty sure I know the answer to that question but am willing to listen to counsel before ruling. Do you wish to be heard, Mr. Haller?”

“Yes, I do, Judge. I ask the court to recess the trial for the remainder of the day and sequester the jury while we await further information. I also ask that you revoke Mr. Jessup’s pretrial release and issue a capias for his arrest.”

The judge considered these requests for a long moment before responding.

“I will grant the motion revoking the defendant’s release and issue the capias. But I don’t see the need to sequester the jury. Regrettably, I see no alternative to a mistrial here, Mr. Haller.”

I knew that would be her first thought. I had been considering my response since the moment I had returned to the courthouse.

“The People object to a mistrial, Judge. The law is clear that Mr. Jessup waives his right to be present at these proceedings by voluntarily absenting himself from them. According to what the defense represented earlier, he was scheduled to be the last witness today. But he has obviously decided not to testify. So, taking all of this into-”

“Mr. Haller, I am going to have to stop you right there. I think you are missing one part of the equation and I am afraid the horse is already out of the barn. You may recall that Deputy Solantz was assigned lunch duty with our jurors after we had the issue of tardiness on Monday.”

“Yes.”

“Well, lunch for eighteen in downtown Los Angeles is a tall order. Deputy Solantz arranged for the group to travel by bus together and eat each day at Clifton’s Cafeteria. There are TVs in the restaurant but Deputy Solantz always keeps them off the local channels. Unfortunately, one TV was on CNN today when the network chose to go live with what was occurring at Mr. Royce’s office. Several jurors saw the live report and got the gist of what was happening before Deputy Solantz managed to kill the feed. As you can imagine, Deputy Solantz is not very happy with himself at the moment, and neither am I.”

I turned and looked over at the courtroom deputy’s desk. Solantz had his eyes down in humiliation. I looked back at the judge and I knew I was dead in the water.

“Needless to say, your suggestion of sequestering the jury was a good one, just a little late. Therefore, and after taking all things into consideration, I find that the jury in this trial has been prejudiced by events which have occurred outside of the court. I intend to declare a mistrial and continue this case until such time as Mr. Jessup has been brought again before this court.”

She paused for a moment to see if I had an objection but I had nothing. I knew what she was doing was right and inevitable.

“Let’s bring in the jury now,” she said.

Soon the jurors were filing into the box, many of them glancing over at the empty defense table.

When everyone was in place, the judge went on the record and turned her chair directly to the jurors. In a subdued tone she addressed them.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I must inform you that because of factors that are not fully clear to you but will soon become so, I have declared a mistrial in the case of California versus Jason Jessup. I do this with great regret because all of us here have invested a great deal of time and effort in these proceedings.”

She paused and studied the confused faces in front of her.

“No one likes to invest so much time without seeing the case through to a result. I am sorry for this. But I do thank you for your duty. You were all dependable and for the most part on time every day. I also watched you closely during the testimony and you were all attentive. The court cannot thank you enough. You are dismissed now from this courtroom and discharged from jury duty. You may all go home.”

The jurors slowly filed back into the jury room, many taking a last look back at the courtroom. Once they were gone the judge turned back to me.

“Mr. Haller, for what it’s worth, I thought you acquitted yourself quite well as a prosecutor. I am sorry it ended this way but you are welcome back to this court anytime and on either side of the aisle.”

“Thank you, Judge. I appreciate that. I had a lot of help.”

“Then I commend your whole team as well.”

With that, the judge stood and left the bench. I sat there for a long time, listening to the gallery clear out behind me and thinking about what Breitman had said at the end. I wondered how and why such a good job in court had resulted in such a horrible thing happening in Clive Royce’s office.

“Mr. Haller?”

I turned, expecting it to be a reporter. But it was two uniformed police officers.

“Detective Bosch sent us. We are here to take you and Ms. Gleason into protective custody.”

“Only Ms. Gleason and she’s right here.”

Sarah was waiting on the bench next to Deputy Solantz’s desk.

“Sarah, these officers are going to take care of you until Jason Jessup is in custody or…”

I didn’t need to finish. Sarah got up and walked over to us.

“So there’s no more trial?” she asked.

“Right. The judge declared a mistrial. That means if Jessup is caught, we would have to start over. With a new jury.”

She nodded and looked a little dumbfounded. I had seen the look on the faces of many people who venture naively into the justice system. They leave the courthouse wondering what just happened. Sarah Gleason would be no different.

“You should go with these men now, Sarah. We’ll be in touch as soon as we know what happens next.”

She just nodded and they headed for the door.

I waited a while, alone in the courtroom, and then headed out to the hallway myself. I saw several of the jurors being interviewed by the reporters. I could’ve watched but at the moment I wasn’t interested in what anybody had to say about the case. Not anymore.

Kate Salters saw me and broke away from one of the clusters.

“Mickey, can we talk now?”

“I don’t feel like talking. Call me tomorrow.”

“The story’s today, Mick.”

“I don’t care.”

I pushed by her in the direction of the elevators.

“Where are you going?”

I didn’t answer. I got to the elevators and jumped through the open doors of a waiting car. I moved into the rear corner and saw a woman standing by the panel. She asked me the same question as Salters.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” I said.

She pushed the button marked G and we went down.