Michael Connelly - The Reversal

“This is Bosch, RHD. I’m lead on the Retro case. I want to get a location on the suspect because I’m about to pull into one of his favorite haunts. I want to make sure I don’t run into him.”

“Hold one.”

Bosch could hear the phone being put down, then a radio conversation in which the duty sergeant asked for Jessup’s location. The response was garbled with static by the time it reached Bosch over the phone. He waited for the sergeant’s official response.

“Retro is in pocket right now,” he promptly reported to Bosch. “They think he’s catching Zs.”

In pocket meant he was at home.

“Then I’m clear,” Bosch said. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Any time.”

Bosch closed the phone and pulled the car back onto Mulholland. A few curves later he reached Fryman Canyon Park and turned in. Bosch had talked to Shipley early that morning as he was passing surveillance off to the day team. He reported that Jessup had once again visited both Franklin and Fryman canyons. Bosch was becoming consumed with curiosity about what Jessup was up to and this was only increased by the report that Jessup had also driven by the house on Windsor where the Landy family had once lived.

Fryman was a rugged, inclined park with steep trails and a flat-surface parking and observation area on top and just off Mulholland. Bosch had been there before on cases and was familiar with its expanse. He pulled to a stop with his car pointing north and the view of the San Fernando Valley spread before him. The air was pretty clear and the vista stretched all the way across the valley to the San Gabriel Mountains. The brutal week of storms that had ended January had cleared the skies out and the smog was only now climbing back into the valley’s bowl.

After a few minutes Bosch got out and walked over to the bench where Shipley had told him Jessup had sat for twenty minutes while looking out at the lights below. Bosch sat down and checked his watch. He had an eleven o’clock appointment with a witness. That gave him more than an hour.

Sitting where Jessup had sat brought no vibe or insight into what the suspect was doing on his frequent visits to the mountainside parks. Bosch decided to move on down Mulholland to Franklin Canyon.

But Franklin Canyon Park offered him the same thing, a large natural respite in the midst of a teeming city. Bosch found the picnic area Shipley and the SIS reports had described but once again didn’t understand the pull the park had for Jessup. He found the terminus of Blinderman Trail and walked it until his legs started to hurt because of the incline. He turned around and headed back to the parking and picnic area, still puzzled by Jessup’s activities.

On his return Bosch passed a large old sycamore that the trail had been routed around. He noticed a buildup of a grayish-white material at the base of the tree between two fingers of exposed roots. He looked closer and realized it was wax. Somebody had burned a candle.

There were signs all over the park warning against smoking or the use of matches, as fire was the park’s greatest threat. But somebody had lit a candle at the base of the tree.

Bosch wanted to call Shipley to ask if Jessup could have lit a candle while in the park the night before, but knew it was the wrong move. Shipley had just come off a night of surveillance and was probably in his bed asleep. Harry would wait for the evening to make the call.

He looked around the tree for any other signs that Jessup had possibly been in the area. It looked like an animal had burrowed recently in a few spots under the tree. But otherwise there was no sign of activity.

As he came off the trail and into the clearing where the picnic area was located, Bosch saw a city parks ranger looking into a trash can from which he had removed the top. Harry approached him.

“Officer?”

The man whipped around, still holding the top of the trash can away from his body.

“Yes, sir!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was… I was walking up on that trail and there’s a big tree there-I think a sycamore-and it looks like somebody burned a candle down at its base. I was wondering-”

“Where?”

“Up on Blinderman Trail.”

“Show me.”

“Actually, I’m not going to go all the way back up there. I don’t have the right shoes. It’s the big tree in the middle of the trail. I’m sure you can find it.”

“You can’t light fires in the park!”

The ranger put the top back on the trash can, banging it loudly to underline his statement.

“I know. That’s why I was reporting it. But I wanted to ask you, is there anything special about that tree that would make somebody do that?”

“Every tree is special here. The whole park is special.”

“Yes, I get that. Can you just tell-”

“Can I see some ID, please?”

“Excuse me?”

“ID. I want to see some ID. A man in a shirt and tie walking the trails with ‘the wrong shoes’ is a little bit suspicious to me.”

Bosch shook his head and pulled out his badge wallet.

“Yeah, here’s my ID.”

He opened it and held it out and gave the ranger a few moments to study it. Bosch saw the nameplate on his uniform said Brorein.

“Okay?” Bosch said. “Can we get to my questions now, Officer Brorein?”

“I’m a city ranger, not an officer,” Brorein said. “Is this part of an investigation?”

“No, it’s part of a situation where you just answer my questions about the tree up on that trail.”

Bosch pointed in the direction he had come from.

“You get it now?” he asked.

Brorein shook his head.

“I’m sorry but you’re on my turf here and it’s my obligation to-”

“No, pal, you’re actually on my turf. But thanks for all the help. I’ll make a note of it in the report.”

Bosch walked away from him and headed back toward the parking clearing. Brorein called after him.

“As far as I know, there’s nothing special about that tree. It’s just a tree, Detective Borsh.”

Bosch waved without looking back. He added poor reading skills to the list of things he didn’t like about Brorein.

Wednesday, February 24, 2:15 P.M .

My successes as a defense attorney invariably came when the prosecution was unprepared for and surprised by my moves. The entire government grinds along on routine. Prosecuting violators of the government’s laws is no different. As a newly minted prosecutor I took this to heart and vowed not to succumb to the comfort and dangers of routine. I promised myself that I would be more than ready for clever Clive Royce’s moves. I would anticipate them. I would know them before Royce did. And I would be like a sniper in a tree, waiting to skillfully pick them off from a distance, one by one.

This promise brought Maggie McFierce and me together in my new office for frequent strategy sessions. And on this afternoon the discussion was focused on what would be the centerpiece of our opponent’s pretrial defense. We knew Royce would be filing a motion to dismiss the case. That was a given. What we were discussing were the grounds on which he would make the motion. I wanted to be ready for each one. It is said that in war the sniper ambushes an enemy patrol by first taking out the commander, the radioman and the medic. If he accomplishes this, the remaining members of the patrol panic and scatter. This was what I hoped to quickly do when Royce filed his motion. I wanted to move swiftly and thoroughly with demoralizing arguments and answers that would put the defendant on strong notice that he was in trouble. If I panicked Jessup, I might not even have to go to trial. I might get a disposition. A plea. And a plea was a conviction. That was as good as a win on this side of the aisle.