Майкл Коннелли - Two Kinds of Truth

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try.”

Bosch got to his breakfast meeting fifteen minutes late. Haller was in a booth near the back of the restaurant. Bosch slid in across from him, wondering if he could stomach any food. He decided not.

“You’re late and you look like shit,” Haller said.

“Thanks,” Bosch said. “Let’s just say the past seventy-two hours haven’t been the best of my life.”

“Then, good news, my brother. We’re here to plot your rise from the ashes.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You know, a lot has happened in the past seventy-two hours. I wish I had Cisco here to talk about his end of it, but he seems to be off the grid.”

“You can’t fill me in?”

“Of course I can. The main thing is, we have a strong lineup of testimony for Wednesday, as long as we can get our foot in the door. That’ll be the key. The D.A. and Cronyn are going to argue like hell to exclude us from the hearing, but I think we have a strong argument for standing. So I need you to practice your outrage.”

“I don’t need to practice it. And Borders will be there?”

“The judge issued a transfer order. He’s probably coming down in a van as we sit here.”

“Yeah, well, if he’s there and that close to freedom, then I’ll have all the outrage you need.”

Haller nodded. That’s what he wanted to hear.

“Now, as upsetting as that article in the Times was, it’s going to work in our favor,” the lawyer said. “Because that kicks this thing out into the open, and the state’s not going to be able to argue that your professional reputation hasn’t taken a big hit. It’s clear as day, right there in black and white.”

“Good,” Bosch said. “I’m glad that’s backfiring on that asshole Kennedy.”

“Right. Now, we have to be ready for all eventualities. After I make my argument, the judge might want to question you back in chambers. The story yesterday guarantees full media coverage of this, so the judge may want to take you back and hear your side of it before he puts it out in front of the media. You have a problem with that?”

“No, none.”

The waitress came to the table and Bosch ordered coffee. Haller ordered a short stack of pancakes and the waitress left them alone.

“You don’t want to eat?” Haller asked.

“No, not now,” Bosch said. “So what about Spencer, the counter guy? Where’s that gone since I’ve been out of the loop?”

“We put a solid buzz in his ear last night.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I had him hit with a subpoena. It freaked him the fuck out because he didn’t know we were onto where they were hiding his ass.”

“Okay, back up. I’ve been out of the loop since Thursday, you remember? Last I heard, Cisco was on him and saw him meet with Cronyn’s wife in the bookstore parking lot. What happened after that?”

“The next morning, I put Cisco back on him. Cronyn and Cronyn obviously suspected you were up to something and not going to take this lying down. So they tried to stash Spencer until after the hearing so we wouldn’t have him. But fuck that, Cisco and his guys already had him and followed him to the stash house they set up down in Laguna. It was their own weekend house. You should’ve seen the look on Spencer’s face when he got the subpoena.”

“You were there?”

“No, that would have been against the rules, me delivering a subpoena. But I’ve got the next best thing to being there.”

Haller pulled out his phone and continued as he set up the playback of a video.

“I issued a subpoena and faxed it to a P.I. I know down in OC. Lauren Sachs, ex — Orange County sheriff and a real looker. People call her Sexy Sachsy. She does a lot of matrimonial work now — you know, going into bars to see if the husband’s got the wandering eye, that sort of thing. She’s got these glasses with the hidden camera she wears on those jobs, and I told her I wanted a video record of service on this thing. This is what she got.”

Haller turned his phone so Bosch could see it. Harry leaned across the table so he could pick up the audio. On the screen was a door. It was shot through the point of view of Sachs’s video glasses. Bosch saw her arm reach out as she knocked on the door. There was silence but then a shadow could be seen through an ornamental stained-glass square set in the center of the door. Someone was standing silently on the other side.

“Mr. Spencer,” Sachs said. “I need you to open the door, please.”

Her stern tone was met with a long silence.

“Mr. Spencer, I can see you,” Sachs said. “Please open the door.”

“Who are you?” said a voice. “What do you want?”

“I have legal documents for you to sign. From Los Angeles.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your law firm is Cronyn and Cronyn, right? Then these are for you.”

No response. Then a lock could be heard turning, and the door opened three inches. A man looked out with one eye. But enough of his face appeared in the opening for Bosch and anyone else to confirm it was Spencer. Sachs quickly shoved a folded white document through the door. Spencer tried to close it but, unseen in the video, Sachs had put her foot over the threshold. The document got through and Spencer let it fall to the floor in the hallway behind him.

“That is a subpoena demanding your appearance in court this coming Wednesday morning,” Sachs said. “It is all clear in the document you have been served with. If you do not appear, you will be subject to warrant and arrest by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. I’d be there if I were you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened as he realized that his worst nightmare was about to unfold. When he spoke, he stuttered.

“I–I — I’m not Terry Spencer.”

“Well, sir, I never used the name Terry here and the subpoena says ‘Terrence.’ If I were you, I would not try that tack to avoid appearance in court. You have been duly and legally served, sir. I have documented service. To not show up or to claim you have not been served will only anger a Superior Court judge and probably your employer, the Los Angeles Police Department.”

Sachs removed her foot and Spencer closed the door. His shadow remained behind the stained-glass panel. Sachs held at the door for a moment, then reached out and knocked again, this time employing a gentle, almost sympathetic tap.

“A piece of advice, Mr. Spencer? Come with a lawyer. And you should know that using Kathy Cronyn would be a conflict of interest. Her firm represents the interests of Preston Borders, not yours. Have a good day, sir.”

The POV of the video swung 180 degrees as Sachs turned and walked down a stone pathway to a waiting car. The location was clearly the hills of Laguna. and Bosch could see the cobalt blue ocean over the roofline of the house across the street.

The video ended and Haller took his phone back. He looked at Bosch with a smile.

“Pretty neat, huh?” he said. “I think we teed up Mr. Spencer pretty good.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“I’m hoping he shows up. I told her to say that part about angering the judge and his employer. Maybe that will make him show.”

“Did you tell her to suggest he bring a lawyer? A lawyer might tell him to take the fifth.”

“Maybe. But I thought it was worth the risk. We need him to cut the Cronyns loose. The hope is he won’t let them know what’s going on.”

“I get that, but if he takes the fifth, we’ll never know how he played the evidence and got into that box.”

“Some secrets you live with if you win your case. Know what I mean?”

“I guess. What else have we got?”