Michael Connelly - The Reversal

“This is Three. Retro’s on the move.”

Bosch was jarred out of his thoughts. A few seconds went by and the next report came from another voice.

“He’s driving.”

Wright took over.

“Okay, we get ready for an auto tail. One, get out to Main and Rose, Two, go down to Pacific and Venice. Everybody else, sit tight until we have his direction.”

A few minutes later they had their answer.

“North on Main. Same as usual.”

Wright redirected his units and the carefully orchestrated mobile surveillance began moving with Jessup as he took Main Street to Pico and then made his way to the entrance of the 10 Freeway.

Jessup headed east and then merged onto the northbound 405, which was crowded with cars even at the late hour. As expected, he was heading toward the Santa Monica Mountains. The surveillance vehicles ranged from Wright’s SUV to a black Mercedes convertible to a Volvo station wagon with two bikes on a rear rack to a pair of generic Japanese sedans. The only thing missing for a surveillance in the Hollywood Hills was a hybrid. The teams employed a surveillance procedure called the floating box. Two outriders on either side of the target car, another car up front and one behind, all moving in a choreographed rotation. Wright’s SUV was the floater, running backup behind the box.

The whole way Jessup stayed at or below the speed limit. As the freeway rose to the crest of the mountains Bosch looked out his window and saw the Getty Museum rising in the mist at the top like a castle, the sky black behind it.

Anticipating that Jessup was heading to his usual destinations on Mulholland Drive, Wright told two teams to break off from the box and move ahead. He wanted them already up and on Mulholland ahead of Jessup. He wanted a ground team with night vision goggles in Franklin Canyon Park before Jessup went in.

True to form, Jessup took the Mulholland exit and was soon heading east on the winding, two-lane snake that runs the spine of the mountain chain. Wright explained that this was when the surveillance was most vulnerable to exposure.

“You need a bee to properly do this up here but that’s not in the budget,” he said.

“A bee?” McPherson asked.

“Part of our code. Means helicopter. We could sure use one.”

The first surprise of the night came five minutes later when Jessup drove by Franklin Canyon Park without stopping. Wright quickly recalled his ground team from the park as Jessup continued east.

Jessup passed Coldwater Canyon Boulevard without slowing and next drove by the overlook above Fryman Canyon. When he passed through the intersection of Mulholland and Laurel Canyon Boulevard he was taking the surveillance team into new territory.

“What are the chances he’s made us?” Bosch asked.

“None,” Wright said. “We’re too good. He’s got something new on his mind.”

For the next ten minutes the follow continued east toward the Cahuenga Pass. The command car was well behind the surveillance, and Wright and his two passengers had to rely on radio reports to know what was happening.

One car was moving in front of Jessup while all the rest were behind. The rear cars followed a continual rotation of turning off and moving up so the headlight configurations would keep changing in Jessup’s rearview. Finally, a radio report came in that made Bosch move forward in his seat, as if closer proximity to the source of the information would make things clearer.

“There’s a stop sign up here and Retro turned north. It’s too dark to see the street sign but I had to stay on Mulholland. Too risky. Next up turn left at the stop.”

“Roger that. We got the left.”

“Wait!” Bosch said urgently. “Tell him to wait.”

Wright checked him in the mirror.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“There’s only one stop on Mulholland. Woodrow Wilson Drive. I know it. It winds down and reconnects with Mulholland at the light down at Highland. The lead car can pick him up there. But Woodrow Wilson is too tight. If you send a car down there he may know he’s being followed.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. I live on Woodrow Wilson.”

Wright thought for a moment and then went on the radio.

“Cancel that left. Where’s the Volvo?”

“We’re holding up until further command.”

“Okay, go on up and make the left on the two wheelers. Watch for oncoming. And watch for our guy.”

“Roger that.”

Soon Wright’s SUV got to the intersection. Bosch saw the Volvo pulled off to the side. The bike rack was empty. Wright pulled over to wait, checking the teams on the radio.

“One, are you in position?”

“That’s a roger. We’re at the light at the bottom. No sign of Retro yet.”

“Three, you up?”

There was no response.

“Okay, everybody hold till we hear.”

“What do you mean?” Bosch asked. “What about the bikes?”

“They must’ve gone down deaf. We’ll hear when they-”

“This is Three,” a voice said in a whisper. “We came up on him. He’d closed his eyes and went to sleep.”

Wright translated for his passengers.

“He killed his lights and stopped moving.”

Bosch felt his chest start to tighten.

“Are they sure he’s in the car?”

Wright communicated the question over the radio.

“Yeah, we can see him. He’s got a candle burning on the dashboard.”

“Where exactly are you, Three?”

“About halfway down. We can hear the freeway.”

Bosch leaned all the way forward between the two front seats.

“Ask him if he can pick a number off the curb,” he said. “Get me an address.”

Wright relayed the request and almost a minute went by before the whisper came back.

“It’s too dark to see the curbs here without using a flash. But we got a light next to the door of the house he’s parked in front of. It’s one of those cantilever jobs hanging its ass out over the pass. From here it looks like seventy-two-oh-three.”

Bosch slid back and leaned heavily against the seat. McPherson turned to look at him. Wright used the mirror to look back.

“You know that address?” Wright asked.

Bosch nodded in the darkness.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s my house.”

Sunday, March 21, 6:40 A.M .

My daughter liked to sleep in on Sundays. Normally I hated losing the time with her. I only had her every other weekend and Wednesdays. But this Sunday was different. I was happy to let her sleep while I got up early to go back to work on the motion to save my chief witness’s testimony. I was in the kitchen pouring the first cup of coffee of the day when I heard knocking on my front door. It was still dark out. I checked the peep before opening it and was relieved to see it was my ex-wife with Harry Bosch standing right behind her.

But that relief was short-lived. The moment I turned the knob they pushed in and I could immediately feel a bad energy enter with them.

“We’ve got a problem,” Maggie said.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“What’s wrong is that Jessup camped outside my house this morning,” Bosch said. “And I want to know how he found it and what the hell he’s doing.”

He came up too close to me when he said it. I didn’t know which was worse, his breath or the accusatory tone of his words. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking but I realized all the bad energy was coming from him.

I stepped back from him.

“Hayley’s still asleep. Let me just go close her bedroom door. There’s fresh decaf in the kitchen and I can brew some fully leaded if you need it.”

I went down the hall and checked on my daughter. She was still down. I closed the door and hoped the voices that were bound to get loud would not wake her.