Michael Connelly - A Darkness More Than Night

Tafero’s attorney cleared his throat.

“Ms. Winston, this is hardly a professional manner in which -”

“I don’t give a shit about my manner. This man is a killer. He’s no different from a hit man except, no, he’s worse. He used to carry a badge and that makes it all the more despicable. So this is what we’ll do for your client, Mr. Prince. We’ll take guilty pleas to the murder of Edward Gunn and the attempted on Terry McCaleb. Life without on both counts. Nonnegotiable. We’ll no-bill the charge on his brother. Maybe it will help him live with it better if he doesn’t carry the charge. I don’t really care. What I care about is that he understands that his life as he knows it is over. He’s gone. And he can either go to death row or super max, but he’s going to one of them and not coming back.”

She looked at her watch.

“You’ve got about five minutes and then we’re out of here. You don’t want the deal, fine, we’ll take both of them to trial. Storey might be a long shot but there’s no question about Mr. Tafero here. Alice is going to have prosecutors knocking down her door, sending her flowers and chocolates. Every day’s going to be Valentine’s Day – or Valentino’s day, as the case may be. This one’s a ticket to prosecutor of the year.”

Prince brought a slim briefcase up onto the table and slid his legal pad into it. He hadn’t written a word on it.

“Thank you for your time,” he said. “I think what we’ll do is proceed to a bail hearing and go from there with discovery and other matters.”

He pushed his chair back and stood up.

Tafero slowly raised his head and looked at Winston, his eyes badly bloodshot from the hemorrhaging of his nose.

“It was his idea to make it look like a painting,” he said. “David Storey’s idea.”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then the defense attorney sat down heavily and closed his eyes in pain.

“Mr. Tafero,” Prince said. “I am strongly advising -”

“Shut up,” Tafero barked. “You little pissant. You’re not the one facing the needle.”

He looked back at Winston.

“I’ll take the deal. As long as I don’t get charged with my brother.”

Winston nodded.

Tafero turned to Short and pointed his finger and waited. She nodded.

“Deal,” she said.

“One thing,” Winston said quickly. “We’re not going into this with your word against his. What else have you got?”

Tafero looked at her and a thin, dead smile cracked across his face.

In the viewing room, Bosch stepped closer to the glass. McCaleb saw his reflection more clearly on the glass. His eyes stared unblinking.

“I’ve got pictures,” Tafero said.

Winston hooked her hair behind her ear and narrowed her eyes. She leaned across the table.

“Pictures? What do you mean, photographs? Photographs of what?”

Tafero shook his head.

“No. Pictures. He drew pictures for me while we were in the attorney visiting room in the jail. Drawings of what he wanted the scene to look like. So it would look like the painting.”

McCaleb gripped his hands into fists at his sides.

“Where are the drawings?” Winston said.

Tafero smiled again.

“Safe deposit box. City National Bank, Sunset and Doheny. The key’s on the ring that was in my pocket.”

Bosch brought his hands up and slapped them together.

“Bang!” he exclaimed, loud enough that Tafero turned and looked toward the glass.

“Please!” the videographer whispered. “We’re taping.”

Bosch went to the door of the little room and stepped out. McCaleb followed. Bosch turned and looked at him. He nodded.

“Storey goes down,” he said. “The monster goes back into the darkness from which it came.”

They looked at each other silently for a moment and then Bosch broke it away.

“I gotta go,” he said.

“Where?”

“Get ready for court.”

He turned and started walking through the deserted bullpen of the Sheriff’s Department homicide squad. McCaleb saw him bang a fist on a desk and then punch it into the air above him.

McCaleb went back into the viewing room and watched the interview continue. Tafero was telling the assemblage in the interview room that David Storey had demanded that the killing of Edward Gunn take place on the first morning of the new year.

McCaleb listened for a while and then thought of something. He stepped out of the observation room and into the bullpen. Detectives were now filtering in to start the day of work. He went to an empty desk and tore a page off a note pad on its top. He wrote, “Ask about the Lincoln” on it. He folded it and took it to the door to the interview room.

He knocked and after a moment Alice Short opened the door. He handed her the folded note.

“Give this to Jaye before the interview is over,” he whispered.

She nodded and closed the door. McCaleb went back into the observation room to watch.

Freshly showered and shaved, Bosch stepped off the elevator and headed toward the doors to the Division N courtroom. He walked with purpose. He felt like a true prince of the city. He had taken only a few strides when he was accosted by McEvoy, who stepped out of an alcove like a coyote that had been waiting in a cave for his unsuspecting prey. But nothing could dent Bosch’s demeanor. He smiled as the reporter fell into stride with him.

“Detective Bosch, have you thought any more about what we talked about? I’ve got to start writing my story today.”

Bosch didn’t slow his pace. He knew that once he got into the courtroom he wouldn’t have a lot of time.

“Rudy Tafero,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“He was your source. Rudy Tafero. I figured it out this morning.”

“Detective, I told you that I can’t reveal -”

“Yeah, I know. But, see, I’m the one who’s revealing it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

Bosch suddenly stopped. McEvoy walked a few steps past and then came back.

“Why not?” he asked again.

“Today’s your lucky day, Jack. I’ve got two good tips for you.”

“Okay. What?”

McEvoy started pulling a notebook from his back pocket. Bosch put his hand on his arm to stop him.

“Don’t take that out. The other reporters see that, they’ll think I’m telling you something.”

He gestured up the hall to the open door of the media room where a handful of reporters were loitering and waiting for the day’s court session to begin.

“Then they’ll come over and I’ll have to tell them.”

McEvoy left the notebook in place.

“Okay. What are the tips?”

“First of all, you’re full of shit on that story. In fact, your source was arrested this morning for the murder of Edward Gunn as well as the attempted murder of Terry McCaleb.”

“What? He got -”

“Wait. Let me talk. I don’t have a lot of time.”

He waited and McEvoy nodded.

“Yeah, Rudy got popped. He killed Gunn. The plan was to put it on me and spring it on the world during the defense case.”

“Are you saying that Storey was a part of -”

“Exactly. Which brings me to tip number two. And that is, if I were you, I would be in that courtroom today long before the judge comes in and starts things. You see those guys standing down there? They’re going to miss it, Jack. You don’t want to be like them.”

Bosch left him there. He nodded to the deputy on the courtroom door and was allowed in.

Two deputies were walking David Storey to his place at the defense table as Bosch came into the courtroom. Fowkkes was already there and Langwiser and Kretzler were seated at the prosecution table. Bosch looked at his watch as he came through the gate. He had about fifteen minutes before the judge would take the bench and call for the jury.