Michael Connelly: The Reversal

She returned.

“Take a look at this.”

McPherson came around the desk and bent over to read the notes on the top page of the pad. The page was covered with what looked like random notes, phone numbers and names. Some were circled, others scratched out. It looked like a pad Revelle jotted on while on the phone.

“What?” McPherson asked.

Without touching the pad, Bosch pointed to a notation in the bottom right corner. All it said was Checkers-804 . But that was enough.

“Shit!” McPherson said. “Sarah isn’t even registered under her name. How did Revelle get this?”

“She must’ve followed us back after court, paid somebody for the room number. We have to assume that Jessup has this information.”

Bosch pulled his phone and called Mickey Haller on speed dial.

“It’s Bosch. You still have Sarah with you?”

“Yes, she’s here in court. We’re waiting for the judge.”

“Look, don’t scare her but she can’t go back to the hotel.”

“All right. How come?”

“Because there’s an indication here that Jessup has that location. We’ll be setting up on it.”

“What do I do, then?”

“I’ll be sending a protection team to the court-for both of you. They’ll know what to do.”

“They can cover her. I don’t need it.”

“That’ll be your choice. My advice is you take it.”

He closed the phone and looked at McPherson.

“I gotta get a protection team over there. I want you to take my car and get my daughter and your daughter and go somewhere safe. You call me then and I’ll send a team to you, too.”

“My car’s two blocks from here. I can just-”

“That’ll waste too much time. Take mine and go now. I’ll call the school and tell them you’re coming for Maddie.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you. Call me when you have-”

They heard shouting from the front of the office suite. Angry male voices. Bosch knew they came from the friends of Manny Branson. They were seeing their fallen comrade on the floor and getting fueled with outrage and the scent of blood for the hunt.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They moved back through the suite to the front. Bosch saw Wright standing just outside the front door, consoling two SIS men with angry, tear-streaked faces. Bosch made his way around Branson’s body and out the door. He tapped Wright on the elbow.

“I need a moment, Lieutenant.”

Wright broke away from his two men and followed. Bosch walked a few yards to where they could speak privately. But he need not have worried about being overheard. In the sky above, there were at least four media choppers circling over the crime scene and laying down a layer of camouflage sound that would make any conversation on the block private.

“I need two of your best men,” Bosch said, leaning toward Wright’s ear.

“Okay. What do you have going?”

“There’s a note on the desk of one of the victims. It’s the hotel and room number of our prime witness. We have to assume our shooter has that information. The slaughter inside there indicates he’s taking out the people associated with the trial. The people he thinks did him wrong. That’s a long list but I think our witness would be at the top of it.”

“Got it. You want to set up at the hotel.”

Bosch nodded.

“Yeah. One man outside, one inside and me in the room. We wait and see if he shows.”

Wright shook his head.

“We use four. Two inside and two outside. But forget waiting in the room, because Jessup will never get by the surveillance. Instead, you and I find a viewpoint up high and set up the command post. That’s the right way to do it.”

Bosch nodded.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Except there’s one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“If I bring you in on this, then you stay back. My people take him down.”

Bosch studied him for a moment, trying to read everything hidden in what he was saying.

“There are questions,” Bosch said. “About Franklin Canyon and the other places. I need to talk to Jessup.”

Wright looked over Bosch’s shoulder and back toward the front door of Royce and Associates.

“Detective, one of my best people is dead on the floor in there. I’m not guaranteeing you anything. You understand?”

Bosch paused and then nodded.

“I understand.”

Thursday, April 8, 1:50P.M.

There was more media in the courtroom than there had been at any other point of the trial. The first two rows of the gallery were shoulder-to-shoulder with reporters and cameramen. The rest of the rows were filled with courthouse personnel and lawyers who had heard what had happened to Clive Royce.

Sarah Gleason sat in a row by the courtroom deputy’s desk. It was marked as reserved for law enforcement officers but the deputy put her there so the reporters couldn’t get to her. Meantime, I sat at the prosecution table waiting for the judge like a man on a desert island. No Maggie. No Bosch. Nobody at the defense table. I was alone.

“Mickey,” someone whispered from behind me.

I turned to see Kate Salters from the Times leaning across the railing.

“I can’t talk now. I have to figure out what to say here.”

“But do you think your total destruction of this morning’s witness is what could have-?”

I was saved by the judge. Breitman entered the courtroom and bounded up to the bench and took her seat. Salters took hers and the question I wanted to avoid for the rest of my life remained unasked-at least for the moment.

“We are back on the record in California versus Jessup. Michael Haller is present for the People. But the jury is not present, nor is defense counsel or the defendant. I am aware through unconfirmed media reports of what has transpired in the last ninety minutes at Mr. Royce’s office. Can you add anything to what I have seen and heard on television, Mr. Haller?”

I stood up to address the court.

“Your Honor, I don’t know what they are putting out to the media at the moment, but I can confirm that Mr. Royce and his cocounsel on this case, Ms. Graydon, were shot and killed in their offices at lunchtime. Karen Revelle is also dead, as well as a police officer who responded to the shooting. The suspect in the shooting has been identified as Jason Jessup. He remains at large.”

Judging by the murmur from the gallery behind me, those basic facts had probably been speculated upon but not yet confirmed to the media.

“This is, indeed, very sad news,” Breitman said.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “Very sad.”

“But I think at this moment we need to put aside our emotions and act carefully here. The issue is, how do we proceed with this case? I am pretty sure I know the answer to that question but am willing to listen to counsel before ruling. Do you wish to be heard, Mr. Haller?”

“Yes, I do, Judge. I ask the court to recess the trial for the remainder of the day and sequester the jury while we await further information. I also ask that you revoke Mr. Jessup’s pretrial release and issue a capias for his arrest.”

The judge considered these requests for a long moment before responding.

“I will grant the motion revoking the defendant’s release and issue the capias. But I don’t see the need to sequester the jury. Regrettably, I see no alternative to a mistrial here, Mr. Haller.”

I knew that would be her first thought. I had been considering my response since the moment I had returned to the courthouse.

“The People object to a mistrial, Judge. The law is clear that Mr. Jessup waives his right to be present at these proceedings by voluntarily absenting himself from them. According to what the defense represented earlier, he was scheduled to be the last witness today. But he has obviously decided not to testify. So, taking all of this into-”