Майкл Коннелли: Two Kinds of Truth

The call was answered by a human voice and Bosch asked for an investigator named Gabe Menendez. The prison had its own squad of investigators who handled inmate-on-inmate crimes and also gathered intel on the activities of the criminals housed within the prison. Bosch had worked with Menendez in years past and knew him as a straight shooter.

After a short delay, a new voice came on the line.

“This is Lieutenant Menendez. How can I help you?”

He had gotten a promotion since the last time Bosch had spoken to him.

“This is Harry Bosch down in L.A. Sounds like you’ve been moving up in the world.”

Bosch was careful not to say he was calling from the LAPD. He was skirting the reality of his situation because he believed he would get better cooperation if Menendez believed he was dealing with the LAPD than with the tiny SFPD.

“That’s been a while, Detective Bosch,” Menendez said. “What can I do for you?”

“One of your guys on death row,” Bosch said. “Name’s Preston Borders. I put him there.”

“I know him. Been here longer than me.”

“Yeah, well, then you may have heard. He’s trying to change that.”

“I may have heard something about it, yeah. We just got travel orders for him. He’s heading your way next week. I thought a guy like him being here so long, his appeals would have run out.”

“They did, but this is a new angle he’s playing. What I need to know is his visitor history and who is on his list.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem. How far back you want to go?”

Bosch thought about when Lucas John Olmer had died.

“How about going back two years?” he asked.

“Not a problem,” Menendez said. “I’ll put someone on it and get back to you. Anything else?”

“Yeah, I was wondering, does Borders have phone and computer access on death row?”

“Not directly, no. No phone and no computer but he has access to regular mail. There are a number of websites out there that facilitate communication between death row inmates and pen pals, things like that. He connects to them through mail.”

Bosch thought about that for a moment before continuing.

“Is that monitored?” he asked. “The mail, I mean.”

“Yes, it all goes through readers,” Menendez said. “Somebody in this unit. It’s on a rotation. Nobody can stand doing it for too long.”

“Any record of it kept?”

“Only if follow-up action is required. If there’s nothing suspicious about the letter, it’s passed on.”

“Do you know if Borders gets much mail?”

“They all do. Remember Scott Peterson? His mail is off the charts. There are a lot of fucked-up women out there, Bosch. They fall in love with the bad guys. Only this is safe for them, because these bad guys aren’t getting out. Usually.”

“Right. What about letters going out?”

“Same thing. It goes through vetting before it’s sent. If there’s an issue with it, we turn it back to the inmate. Usually when we do that, it’s because the guy’s spinning some sick sex fantasy or something. Like what he’d do to the girl if they ever met up, shit like that. We don’t allow that out.”

“Got it.”

“Anyway, I’ve got your number on my Rolodex. I’m the last guy around here who still uses one. Let me find somebody to put on this and we’ll get back to you.”

“Then let me give you my cell. I’m out and about on another case — a double murder yesterday — and the cell is best. You can put it in your Rolodex.”

Bosch gave him the number and thanked him before disconnecting. He realized after the call that the information he was seeking might already be in the reports Soto had slipped to him. The new investigation should have covered who Borders was meeting with or communicating with, but Menendez gave no indication that he had received a similar request already. It left Bosch thinking that either Soto and Tapscott had dropped the ball or Menendez had just been playing him.

Either way Bosch would find out soon enough.

Bosch next called his lawyer, Mickey Haller, who also happened to be his half brother. Haller had handled the legal issues that had come up when Bosch left the LAPD, ultimately suing the department for a full pension payout. The department folded and Bosch received an additional $180,000 that went into the kitty he hoped one day to leave to his daughter.

Haller answered with what Bosch would describe as a reluctant grunt.

“It’s Bosch. I wake you?”

“No, man, I’m awake. I usually don’t answer blocked calls this early. It’s usually one of my clients saying, ‘Mick, the cops are knocking on my door with a warrant, what do I do?’ Stuff like that.”

“Well, I got a problem, but a little different.”

“My brutha from another mutha, what’s wrong? DUI?”

Haller was fond of the line and said it every time, always employing a half-assed impression of the Texas-bred Matthew McConaughey, the actor who had played him in a movie six years earlier.

“No, no DUI. Worse.”

Bosch proceeded to tell Haller about the visit the day before from Soto, Tapscott, and Kennedy. “So my question is, should I be putting my pension and my house and everything else in Maddie’s name right now? I mean, all of this is for her, not Borders.”

“First of all, fuck that. You won’t pay a dime to that guy. Let me ask a couple of questions. Did these people who came to see you say or imply that there was any malfeasance on your part? Like you planted evidence or you withheld exculpatory evidence from the defense during the trial? Anything like that?”

“Not so far. They acted like it was a lab fuckup, if there even was one. Back then they didn’t have the same techniques they use today. No DNA or any of that.”

“That’s what I mean. So if something was missed during the due diligence and you were just carrying out your job in good faith, then the city has to cover you in any action Borders might take against you. Simple as that, and we’ll sue the city if it doesn’t. Wait till the union gets ahold of that and realizes the city isn’t covering guys just doing their jobs.”

Bosch thought about what Soto had said about casting blame on Sheehan. It had not come up in the meeting with Kennedy. Was she trying to tip him off to another issue raised in the reinvestigation? He decided not to bring it up until he had been able to review the entire file.

“Okay,” he said.

He felt some relief from talking to Haller. He might soon face a career-ending humiliation but it appeared that at least his finances and his daughter’s inheritance would be protected.

“What’s the name of the DA from CIU who came to see you?” Haller said. “I’ve dealt with those people a few times.”

“Kennedy,” Bosch said. “I can’t remember his first name.”

“Alex Kennedy. He’s a real D-bag. He may have played the respect card with you but that guy’s going to come up with the knife behind your back and try to take your scalp.”

So much for the relief Bosch felt. He was now on the 5 freeway and approaching the exit for San Fernando.

“The good news is, fuck him,” Haller said. “If this is all based on new evidence and not malfeasance of duty, then, like I said, the city will have to cover you. You want me to get involved with this?”

“Not yet,” Bosch said. “I’m looking into it. I reviewed my own investigation and I don’t think I was wrong back then. Borders did this and I’m going to find the fix. But the hearing is scheduled for next Wednesday. What are my options there?”

“Depending on what you find out between now and then, I could always file a motion challenging the whole shooting match and asking to be heard on the matter. It might stay the ruling, give the judge something to think about for a week or so. But we’ll eventually have to put up or shut up.”