Michael Connelly - The Reversal

“Wait.”

Bosch turned back. The door was open six inches. He saw a set of hollow eyes looking out at him, a dim light behind them.

“Let me see.”

Bosch looked around.

“What, out here?” he said. “They got cameras all over the place.”

“Eddie tol’ me not to open the door for strangers. You look like a cop to me.”

“Well, maybe I am, but that doesn’t change that Eddie sent me.”

Bosch started to turn again.

“Like I said, I’ll tell him I tried. Have a nice night.”

“Okay, okay. You can come in but only to make the drop. Nothing else.”

Bosch walked back toward the door. She moved behind it and opened it. He entered and turned to her and saw the gun. It was an old revolver and he saw no bullets in the exposed chambers. Bosch raised his hands chest high. He could tell she was hurting. She’d been waiting too long for somebody, putting blind junkie trust in something that wouldn’t pay off.

“That’s not necessary, Sonia. Besides, I don’t think Eddie left you with any bullets.”

“I got one left. You want to try it?”

Probably the one she was saving for herself. She was skin and bones and close to the end of the line. No junkie went the distance.

“Give it to me,” she ordered. “Now.”

“Okay, take it easy. I have it right here.”

He reached his right hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a balled piece of aluminum foil he had taken from a roll in Mickey Haller’s kitchen. He held it out to the right of his body and he knew her desperate eyes would follow it. He shot his left hand out and snatched the gun out of her hand. He then stepped forward and roughly shoved her onto the bed.

“Shut up and don’t move,” he commanded.

“What is-?”

“I said shut up!”

He popped the gun’s barrel out and checked it. She had been right. There was one bullet left. He slid it out into his palm and then put it in his pocket. He hooked the gun into his belt. Then he pulled his badge wallet and opened it for her to see.

“You had that right,” he said.

“What do you want?”

“We’ll get to that.”

Bosch moved around the bed, looking about the threadbare room. It smelled like cigarettes and body odor. There were several plastic grocery bags on the floor containing her belongings. Shoes in one, clothing in a few others. On the bed’s lone side table was an overloaded ashtray and a glass pipe.

“What are you hurting for, Sonia. Crack? Heroin? Or is it meth?”

She didn’t answer.

“I can help you better if I know what you need.”

“I don’t want your help.”

Bosch turned and looked at her. So far things were going exactly as he predicted they would.

“Really?” he said. “Don’t need my help? You think Eddie Roman is going to come back for you?”

“He’s coming back.”

“I got news for you. He’s already gone. I’m guessing they got him cleaned up nice and neat and he won’t be coming back up here once he does what they want him to do. He’ll take the paycheck and when that runs out he’ll just find himself a new trick partner.”

He paused and looked at her.

“Somebody who still has something somebody would want to buy.”

Her eyes took on the distant look of someone who knows the truth when she hears it.

“Leave me alone,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. You’ve been waiting for Eddie longer than you thought you would, huh? How many days you have left on the room?”

He read the answer in her eyes.

“Already past, huh? Probably giving the guy in the office blowjobs to let you stay. How long’s that going to last? Pretty soon he’ll just want the money.”

“I said go away.”

“I will. But you come with me, Sonia. Right now.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to know everything you know about Eddie Roman.”

Thursday, April 8, 9:01 A.M .

Before the judge called for the jury, Clive Royce stood and asked the court for a directed verdict of acquittal. He argued that the state had failed to live up to its duty in carrying the burden of proof. He said that the evidence presented by the prosecutors failed to cross the threshold of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I was ready to stand to argue the state’s side, but the judge held up her hand to signal me to stay in place. She then quickly dispensed with Royce’s motion.

“Motion denied,” Breitman said. “The court holds that the evidence presented by the prosecution is sufficient for the jury to consider. Mr. Royce, are you ready to proceed with the defense?”

“I am, Your Honor.”

“Okay, sir, then we will recall the jury now. Will you have an opening statement?”

“A brief one, Your Honor.”

“Very well, I am going to hold you to that.”

The jurors filed in and took their assigned places. On many of them I saw expressions of anticipation. I took this as a good sign, as if they were wondering how in the hell the defense would be able to dig its way out of all the evidence the state had dumped on it. It was probably all wishful thinking on my part, but I had been studying juries for most of my adult life and I liked what I saw.

After welcoming the jury back, the judge turned the courtroom over to Royce, reminded the jurors that this was an opening statement, not a listing of facts unless backed up later with testimony and evidence. Royce strode with full confidence to the lectern without a note or file in his hand. I knew he had the same philosophy as I did when it came to making opening statements. Look them in the eyes and don’t flinch and don’t back down from your theory, no matter how far-fetched or unbelievable. Sell it. If they don’t think you believe it, they never will.

His strategy of deferring his opener until the start of the defense’s case would now pay dividends. He would begin the day and his case by delivering to the jury a statement that didn’t have to be true, that could be as outlandish as anything ever heard in the courtroom. As long as he kept the jury riding along, nothing else really mattered.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, good morning. Today begins a new phase of the trial. The defense phase. This is when we start to tell you our side of the story, and believe me, we have another side to almost everything the prosecution has offered you over the past three days.

“I am not going to take a lot of your time here because I am very eager, and Jason Jessup is very eager, to get to the evidence that the prosecution has either failed to find or chosen not to present to you. It doesn’t matter which, at this point; the only things that matter are that you hear it and that it allows you to see the full picture of what transpired on Windsor Boulevard on February sixteenth, nineteen eighty-six. I urge you to listen closely, to watch closely. If you do that, you will see the truth emerge.”

I looked over at the legal pad on which Maggie had been doodling while Royce spoke. In large letters she had written WINDBAG! I thought, She hasn’t seen anything yet.

“This case,” Royce continued, “is about one thing. A family’s darkest secrets. You got only a glimpse of them during the prosecution’s presentation. You got the tip of the iceberg from the prosecution, but today you will get the whole iceberg. Today you will get the cold hard truth. That being that Jason Jessup is the true victim here today. The victim of a family’s desire to hide their darkest secret.”

Maggie leaned toward me and whispered, “Brace yourself.”

I nodded. I knew exactly where we were going.