Michael Connelly - The Reversal

Bosch clicked through the mug shots for these arrests. They showed a young woman with changing hairstyles and colors but the unwavering look of hurt and defiance in her eyes. One mug shot showed a deep purple bruise under her left eye and open sores along her jawline. The photos seemed to tell the story best. A downward spiral of drugs and crime. An internal wound that never healed, a guilt never assuaged.

Under the name Sarah Witten, the arrests didn’t change, only the location. She had probably realized she was wearing thin on the prosecutors and judges who had repeatedly given her breaks-most likely after reading the summary of her life contained in the presentencing investigations. She moved north to San Francisco and once again had frequent encounters with the law. Drugs and petty crime, charges that often go hand in hand. Bosch checked the mug shots and saw a woman who looked old beyond her years. She looked like she was forty before she was yet thirty.

In 2003 she did her first significant jail time when she was sentenced to six months in San Mateo County Jail after pleading guilty to a possession charge. The records showed that she served four months in jail followed by a lockdown rehab program. It was the last marker on the system for her. No one with any of her names or Social Security number had been arrested since or applied for a driver’s license in any of the fifty states.

Bosch tried a few other digital maneuvers he had learned while working in the Open-Unsolved Unit, where Internet tracing was raised to an art form, but could not pick up the trail. Sarah was gone.

Putting the computer aside, Bosch took up the files from the murder box. He started scanning the documents, looking for clues that might help him track her. He got more than a clue when he found a photocopy of Sarah’s birth certificate. It was then that he remembered that she had been living with her mother and stepfather at the time of her sister’s murder.

The birth name on the certificate was Sarah Ann Gleason. He entered it into the computer along with her birth date. He found no criminal history under the name but he did find a Washington State driver’s license that had been established six years earlier and renewed just two months before. He pulled up the photo and it was a match. But barely. Bosch studied it for a long time. He would have sworn that Sarah Ann Gleason was getting younger.

His guess was that she had left the hard life behind. She had found something that made her change. Maybe she had taken the cure. Maybe she had a child. But something had changed her life for the better.

Bosch next ran her name through another search engine and got utility and satellite hookups under her name. The addresses matched the one on her driver’s license. Bosch was sure he had found her. Port Townsend. He went onto Google and typed it in. Soon he was looking at a map of the Olympic Peninsula in the northwest corner of Washington. Sarah Landy had changed her name three times and had run to the farthest tip of the continental United States, but he had found her.

The phone rang as he was reaching for it. It was Lieutenant Stephen Wright, commander of the LAPD’s Special Investigation Section.

“I just wanted you to know that as of fifteen minutes ago we’re fully deployed on Jessup. The full unit’s involved and we’ll get you surveillance logs each morning. If you need anything else or want to ride along at any point, you call me.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I will.”

“Let’s hope something happens.”

“That would be nice.”

Bosch disconnected. And made the call to Maggie McPherson.

“Couple things. First, SIS is in place now on Jessup. You can let Gabriel Williams know.”

He thought he heard a small chuckle before she responded.

“Ironic, huh?”

“Yeah. Maybe they’ll end up killing Jessup and we won’t have to worry about a trial.”

The Special Investigation Section was an elite surveillance squad that had existed for more than forty years despite a kill rate higher than that of any other unit in the department, including SWAT. The SIS was used to clandestinely watch apex predators-individuals suspected in violent crimes who would not cease until caught in the act and stopped by the police. Masters of surveillance, SIS officers waited to observe suspects committing new crimes before moving in to make arrests, often with fatal consequences.

The irony McPherson mentioned was that Gabriel Williams was a civil rights attorney before running for and winning the DA’s post. He had sued the department over SIS shootings on multiple occasions, claiming that the unit’s strategies were designed to draw suspects into deadly confrontations with police. He had gone so far as to call the unit a “death squad” while announcing a lawsuit over an SIS shooting that had left four robbers dead outside a Tommy’s fast-food franchise. That same death squad was now being used in a gambit that might help win the case against Jessup and further Williams’s political rise.

“You’ll be informed of his activities?” McPherson asked.

“Every morning I’ll get the surveillance log. And they’ll call me out if anything good happens.”

“Perfect. Was there something else? I’m in a bit of a rush. I’m working on one of my preexisting cases and have a hearing about to start.”

“Yeah, I found our witness.”

“You’re brilliant! Where is she?”

“Up in Washington on the northern tip of the Olympic Peninsula. A place called Port Townsend. She’s using her birth name, Sarah Ann Gleason, and it appears that she’s been living clean up there for about six years.”

“That’s good for us.”

“Maybe not.”

“How so?”

“It looks to me like most of her life has been spent trying to get away from what happened that Sunday in Hancock Park. If she’s finally gotten past it and is living the clean life up there in Port Townsend, she might not be interested in picking at old scabs, if you know what I mean.”

“Not even for her sister?”

“Maybe not. We’re talking about twenty-four years ago.”

McPherson was quiet for a long moment and then finally responded.

“That’s a cynical view of the world, Harry. When are you planning on going up there?”

“As soon as I can. But I have to make arrangements for my daughter. She stayed with a friend when I went up to get Jessup at San Quentin. It didn’t turn out so good and now I have to hit the road again.”

“Sorry to hear that. I want to go up with you.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“I know you can handle it. But it might be good to have a woman and a prosecutor with you. More and more, I think she’s going to be the key to this whole thing and she’s going to be my witness. Our approach to her will be very important.”

“I’ve been approaching witnesses for about thirty years. I think I-”

“Let me have the travel office here make the arrangements. That way we can go up together. Talk out the strategy.”

Bosch paused. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to change her mind.

“Whatever you say.”

“Good. I’ll tell Mickey and contact travel. We’ll book a morning flight. I’m clear tomorrow. Is that too soon for you? I’d hate to wait on this till next week.”

“I’ll make it work.”

Bosch had had a third reason to call her but now decided to hold back. Her taking over the trip to Washington made him gun-shy about discussing his investigative moves.

They hung up and he was left drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk as he contemplated what he would say to Rachel Walling.

After a few moments he pulled out his cell phone and used it to make the call. He had Walling’s number in its memory. To his surprise, she answered right away. He had envisioned her seeing his name on the ID and letting him go to the message. They’d had a relationship that was long over but still left a trail of intense feelings.