Authors: Michael Connelly
“Jessup’s been in prison for twenty-four years. He knows less about the Internet than I do. He had to have help and I’m betting it came from Royce.”
“Look, we don’t know that.”
Bosch looked pointedly at me, a darkness crossing his eyes.
“You’re defending
him
now?”
“No, I’m not defending anybody. I’m just saying we shouldn’t rush to any conclusions here. Jessup’s got a roommate and is a minor celebrity. Celebrities get people to do things for them, okay? So why don’t you calm down and let’s back up a little bit. Tell me what happened at your house.”
Bosch seemed to take it down a notch but he was still anything but calm. I half expected him to get up and take a swing at a lamp or punch a hole in a wall. Thankfully, Maggie was the one who told the story.
“We were with the SIS, watching him. We thought he was going to go up to one of the parks he’s been visiting. Instead, he drove right by them all and kept going on Mulholland. When we got to Harry’s street we had to hang back so he wouldn’t see us. The SIS has a bike car. Two of them saddled up and rode down. They found Jessup sitting in his car in front of Harry’s house.”
“Goddamn it!” Bosch said. “I have my daughter living with me. If this prick is—”
“Harry, not so loud and watch what you say,” I said. “My daughter’s on the other side of that wall. Now, please, go back to the story. What did Jessup do?”
Bosch hesitated. Maggie didn’t.
“He just sat there,” Maggie said. “For about a half hour. And he lit a candle.”
“A candle? In the car?”
“Yeah, on the dashboard.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Who knows?”
Bosch couldn’t remain sitting. He jumped up from the couch and started pacing.
“And after a half hour he drove off and went home,” Maggie said. “That was it. We just came from Venice.”
Now I stood up and started to pace, but in a pattern clear of Bosch’s orbit.
“Okay, let’s think about this. Let’s think about what he was doing.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Bosch said. “That’s the question.”
I nodded. I had that coming.
“Is there any reason to think that he knows or suspects he’s being followed?” I asked.
“No, no way,” Bosch said immediately.
“Wait a minute, not so fast on that,” Maggie said. “I’ve been thinking about it. There was a near-miss earlier in the night. You remember, Harry? On Breeze Avenue?”
Bosch nodded. Maggie explained it to me.
“They thought they lost him on a walk street in Venice. The lieutenant sent a guy in with a pizza box. Jessup came out from between two houses after taking a leak. It was a close call.”
I spread my hands.
“Well, maybe that was it. Maybe that planted suspicion and he decided to see if he was being followed. You show up outside the lead investigator’s house and it’s a good way to draw out the flies if you’ve got them on you.”
“You mean like a test?” Bosch asked.
“Exactly. Nobody approached him out there, right?”
“No, we left him alone,” Maggie said. “If he had gotten out of his car I think it would’ve been a different story.”
I nodded.
“Okay, so it was either a test or he’s got something planned. In that case, it would’ve been a reconnaissance mission. He wanted to see where you live.”
Bosch stopped and stared out the window. The sky was fully lit now.
“But one thing you have to keep in mind is that what he did was not illegal,” I said. “It’s a public street and the OR put no restrictions on travel within Los Angeles County. So no matter what he was up to, it’s a good thing you didn’t stop him and reveal yourself.”
Bosch stayed at the window, his back to us. I didn’t know what he was thinking.
“Harry,” I said. “I know your concerns and I agree with them. But we can’t let this be a distraction. The trial is coming up quick and we have work to do. If we convict this guy, he goes away forever and it won’t matter if he knows where you live.”
“So what do I do till then, sit on my front porch every night with a shotgun?”
“The SIS is on him twenty-four/seven, right?” Maggie said. “Do you trust them?”
Bosch didn’t answer for a long moment.
“They won’t lose him,” he finally said.
Maggie looked at me and I could see the concern in her eyes. Each of us had a daughter. It would be hard to put your trust in anybody else, even an elite surveillance squad. I thought for a moment about something I had been considering since the conversation began.
“What about you moving in here? With your daughter. She can use Hayley’s room because Hayley’s going back to her mother’s today. And you can use the office. It’s got a sleeper sofa that I’ve spent more than a few nights on. It’s actually comfortable.”
Bosch turned from the window and looked at me.
“What, stay here through the whole trial?”
“Why not? Our daughters will finally get a chance to meet when Hayley comes over.”
“It’s a good idea,” Maggie said.
I didn’t know if she was referring to the daughters meeting or the idea of Bosch and child staying with me.
“And look, I’m here every night,” I said. “If you have to go out with the SIS, I got you covered with your daughter, especially when Hayley’s here.”
Bosch thought about it for a few moments but then shook his head.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it’s my house. My home. I’m not going to run from this guy. He’s going to run from me.”
“What about your daughter?” Maggie asked.
“I’ll take care of my daughter.”
“Harry, think about it,” she said. “Think about your daughter. You don’t want her in harm’s way.”
“Look, if Jessup has my address, then he probably has this address, too. Moving in here isn’t the answer. It’s just… just running from him. Maybe that’s his test—to see what I do. So I’m not doing anything. I’m not moving. I’ve got the SIS, and if he comes back and so much as crosses the curb out front, I’ll be waiting for him.”
“I don’t like this,” Maggie said.
I thought about what Bosch had said about Jessup having my address.
“Neither do I,” I said.
Wednesday, March 31, 9:00
A.M
.
B
osch didn’t need to be in court. In fact, he wouldn’t be needed until after jury selection and the actual trial began. But he wanted to get a close look at the man he had been shadowing from a distance with the SIS. He wanted to see if Jessup would show any reaction to seeing him in return. It had been a month and a half since they had spent the long day in the car driving down from San Quentin. Bosch felt the need to get closer than the surveillance allowed him to. It would help him keep the fire burning.
It was billed as a status conference. The judge wanted to deal with all final motions and issues before beginning jury selection the next day and then moving seamlessly into the trial. There were scheduling and jury issues to discuss and each side’s list of exhibits were to be handed in as well.
The prosecution team was locked and loaded. In the last two weeks Haller and McPherson had sharpened and streamlined the case, run through mock witness examinations and reconsidered every piece of evidence. They had carefully choreographed the ways in which they would bring the twenty-four-year-old evidence forward. They were ready. The bow had been pulled taut and the arrow was ready to fly.
Even the decision on the death penalty had been made—or rather, announced. Haller had officially withdrawn it, even though Bosch assumed all along that his use of it to threaten Jessup had merely been a pose. He was a defense attorney by nature, and there was no getting him across that line. A conviction on the charges would bring Jessup a sentence of life in prison without the possibility of parole, and that would have to be enough justice for Melissa Landy.
Bosch was ready as well. He had diligently reinvestigated the case and located the witnesses who would be called to testify. All the while, he was still out riding with the SIS as often as possible—nights that his daughter stayed at the homes of friends or with Sue Bambrough, the assistant principal. He was prepared for his part and had helped Haller and McPherson get ready for theirs. Confidence was high and that was another reason for Bosch to be in the courtroom. He wanted to see this thing get started.
Judge Breitman entered and the courtroom was brought to order at a few minutes after nine. Bosch was in a chair against the railing directly behind the prosecution table where Haller and McPherson sat side by side. They had told him to pull the chair up to the table but Harry wanted to hang back. He wanted to be able to watch Jessup from behind, and besides, there was too much anxiety coming from the two prosecutors. The judge was going to make a ruling on whether Sarah Ann Gleason would be allowed to testify against Jessup. As Haller had said the night before, nothing else mattered. If they lost Sarah as a witness, they would surely lose the case.
“On the record with
California versus Jessup
again,” the judge said upon taking the bench. “Good morning to all.”
After a chorus of good mornings fired back to her, the judge got right down to business.
“Tomorrow we begin jury selection in this case and then we proceed to trial. Therefore today is the day that we’re going to clean out the garage, so to speak, so that we can finally bring the car in. Any last motions, any pending motions, anything anybody wants to talk about in regard to exhibits or evidence or anything else, now is the time. We have a number of motions pending and I will get to them first. The prosecution’s request to redress the issue of the defendant’s use of makeup to cover certain body tattoos is dismissed. We argued that at length already and I do not see the need to go at it further.”
Bosch checked Jessup. He was at a sharp angle to him, so he could not see the defendant’s face. But he did see Jessup nod his head in approval of the judge’s first ruling of the day.
Breitman then went through a housekeeping list of minor motions from both sides. She seemed to want to accommodate all so neither side emerged as a clear favorite. Bosch saw that McPherson was meticulously keeping notes on each decision on a yellow legal pad.
It was all part of the buildup to the ruling of the day. Since Sarah was to be McPherson’s witness to question during trial, she had handled the oral arguments on the defense motion two days earlier. Though Bosch had not attended that hearing, Haller had told him that Maggie had held forth for nearly an hour in a well-prepared response to the motion to disqualify. She had then backed it with an eighteen-page written response. The prosecution team was confident in the argument but neither member of the team knew Breitman well enough to be confident in how she would rule.
“Now,” the judge said, “we come to the defense motion to disqualify Sarah Ann Gleason as a witness for the prosecution. The question has been argued and submitted by both sides and the court is ready to make a ruling.”
“Your Honor, could I be heard?” Royce said, standing up at the defense table.
“Mr. Royce,” the judge said, “I don’t see the need for further argument. You made the motion and I allowed you to respond to the prosecution’s submission. What more needs to be said?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Royce sat back down, leaving whatever he was going to add to his attack on Sarah Gleason a secret.
“The defense’s motion is dismissed,” the judge said immediately. “I will be allowing the defense wide latitude in its examination of the prosecution’s witness as well as in the production of its own witnesses to address Ms. Gleason’s credibility before the jury. But I believe that this witness’s credibility and reliability is indeed something that jurors will need to decide.”
A momentary silence enveloped the courtroom, as if everyone collectively had drawn in a breath. No response followed from either the prosecution or defense table. It was another down-the-middle ruling, Bosch knew, and both sides were probably pleased to have gotten something. Gleason would be allowed to testify, so the prosecution’s case was secured, but the judge was going to let Royce go after her with all he had. It would come down to whether Sarah was strong enough to take it.
“Now, I would like to move on,” the judge said. “Let’s talk about jury selection and scheduling first, and then we’ll get to the exhibits.”
The judge proceeded to outline how she wanted voir dire to proceed. Though each side would be allowed to question prospective jurors, she said she would strictly limit the time for each side. She wanted to start a momentum that would carry into the trial. She also limited each side to only twelve peremptory challenges—juror rejections without cause—and said she wanted to pick six alternates because it was her practice to be quick with the hook on jurors who misbehaved, were chronically late or had the audacity to fall asleep during testimony.
“I like a good supply of alternates because we usually need them,” she said.
The low number of peremptory challenges and the high number of alternates brought objections from both the prosecution and the defense. The judge grudgingly gave each side two more challenges but warned that she would not allow voir dire to get bogged down.
“I want jury selection completed by the end of the day Friday. If you slow me down, then I will slow you down. I will hold the panel and every lawyer in here until Friday night if I have to. I want opening statements first thing Monday. Any objection to that?”
Both sides seemed properly cowed by the judge. She was clearly exerting command of her own courtroom. She next outlined the trial schedule, stating that testimony would begin each morning at nine sharp and continue until five with a ninety-minute lunch and morning and afternoon breaks of fifteen minutes each.
“That leaves a solid six hours a day of testimony,” she said. “Any more and I find the jurors start losing interest. So I keep it to six a day. It will be up to you to be in here and ready to go each morning when I step through the door at nine. Any questions?”