Michael Connelly - A Darkness More Than Night

He went to the prosecution table but remained standing. He leaned down and put both palms on the table and looked at the two prosecutors.

“Harry, you ready?” Langwiser began. “Today’s the day.”

“Today’s the day but not because of what you think. You two would take a plea on this wouldn’t you? If he copped to Jody Krementz and Alicia Lopez, you wouldn’t go for the needle, right?”

They both looked at him with blank stares of confusion.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time before the judge comes out. What if I could go over there and in five minutes get you two murder ones? Alicia Lopez’s family would love you for it. You told them you didn’t have a case.”

“Harry, what are you talking about?” Langwiser said. “We floated a plea. Twice. Fowkkes shot it down both times.”

“And we don’t have the evidence on Lopez,” Kretzler added. “You know that – the grand jury passed. Nobody, no -”

“Listen, you want the plea or not? I think I can go over there and get it. I arrested Rudy Tafero for murder this morning. It was a setup orchestrated by Storey to get to me. It backfired and Tafero is taking a deal. He’s talking.”

“Jesus Christ!” Kretzler said.

He said it too loudly. Bosch turned and looked over at the defense table. Both Fowkkes and Storey were looking at them. Just past the defense table he saw McEvoy take a seat in the media gallery that was closest to the defense table. No other reporters had come in and sat down yet.

“Harry, what are you talking about?” Langwiser said. “What murder?”

Bosch ignored the questions.

“Let me go over there,” Bosch said. “I want to look in Storey’s eyes when I tell him.”

Kretzler and Langwiser looked at each other. Langwiser shook her shoulders and waved her hands in exasperation.

“Worth a try. We were only holding death as an ace in the hole.”

“Okay then,” Bosch said. “See if you can get the clerk to buy me some time with the judge.”

Bosch stepped around the defense table and stood in front of it so he could look equally at Fowkkes and Storey. Fowkkes was writing something on a legal pad. Bosch cleared his throat and after a few moments the defense attorney slowly looked up.

“Yes, Detective? Shouldn’t you be at your table preparing for -”

“Where’s Rudy Tafero?”

Bosch looked at Storey as he asked it.

Fowkkes looked behind him to the seat against the rail where Tafero normally sat during court sessions.

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” he said. “We have a few minutes.”

Bosch smiled.

“On his way? Yeah, he’s on his way. Up to super max at Corcoran, maybe Pelican Cove if he’s lucky. I really wouldn’t want to be a former cop doing my time in Corcoran.”

Fowkkes seemed unimpressed.

“Detective, I don’t know what you are talking about. I am trying to prepare a defense strategy here because I think the prosecution is going to fold its tent today. So, if you don’t mind.”

Bosch looked at Storey when he responded.

“There is no strategy. There is no defense. Rudy Tafero was arrested this morning. He’s been charged with murder and attempted murder. I’m sure your client can tell you all about it, Counselor. That is, if you didn’t know already.”

Fowkkes stood up abruptly as though he were making an objection.

“Sir, it is highly irregular for you to come to the defense table and -”

“He cut a deal about two hours ago. He’s laying it all out.”

Again Bosch ignored Fowkkes and looked at Storey.

“So here’s the deal. You’ve got about five minutes to go over there to Langwiser and Kretzler and agree to plead to murder one on Krementz and Lopez.”

“This is preposterous. I am going to complain to the judge about this.”

Bosch now looked at Fowkkes.

“You do that. But it doesn’t change things. Five minutes.”

Bosch stepped away but went to the clerk’s desk in front of the judge’s bench. The exhibits were lying stacked on a side table. Bosch looked through them until he found the poster he wanted. He slid it out and carried it with him back to the defense table. Fowkkes was still standing but bending down so Storey could whisper in his ear. Bosch dropped the poster, containing the blowup photo of the bookcase in Storey’s house, on the table. He tapped his finger on two of the books on an upper shelf. The titles on the spines were clearly readable. One title was The Art of Darkness and the other book was merely titled Bosch.

“There’s your prior knowledge right there.”

He left the exhibit on the defense table and started to walk back to the prosecution table. But after two steps he came back and put his palms down flat on the defense table. He looked directly at Storey. He spoke in a voice that he knew would be loud enough for McEvoy to hear in the media gallery.

“You know what your big mistake was, David?”

“No,” Storey said, a sneer in his voice. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Fowkkes immediately grabbed his client’s arm in a silencing gesture.

“Drawing out the scene for Tafero,” Bosch said. “What he did was, he went and put those pretty pictures you made right into his safe deposit box at City National. He knew they might come in handy and they sure did. He used them this morning to buy his way out of a death sentence. What are you going to use?”

Bosch saw the falter in Storey’s eyes, the tell. For just a moment his eyes blinked without really blinking. But in that moment Bosch knew it was over because Storey knew it was over.

Bosch straightened up and casually looked at his watch, then at Fowkkes.

“About three minutes now, Mr. Fowkkes. Your client’s life is on the line.”

He returned to the defense table and sat down. Kretzler and Langwiser leaned toward him and urgently whispered questions but Bosch ignored them.

“Let’s just see what happens.”

Over the next five minutes he never once looked over at the defense table. He could hear muffled words and whispers but couldn’t make out any of it. The courtroom filled with spectators and members of the media.

Nothing came from the defense table.

At precisely 9 A.M. the door behind the bench opened and Judge Houghton bounded up the steps to his spot. He took his seat and glanced at both the prosecution and defense tables.

“Ladies and gentlemen, are we ready for the jury?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Kretzler said.

Nothing came from the defense table. Houghton looked over, a curious smile on his face.

“Mr. Fowkkes? Can I bring in our jury?”

Now Bosch leaned back so he could look past Langwiser and Kretzler at the defense table. Fowkkes sat slouched in his chair, a posture he had never exhibited in the courtroom before. He had an elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand up. He was wagging a pen in his fingers and seemed to be lost in deep, depressing thought. His client sat rigid next to him, face forward.

“Mr. Fowkkes? I’m waiting for an answer.”

Fowkkes finally looked up at the judge. Very slowly he rose from the seat and went to the lectern.

“Your Honor, may we approach at sidebar for a moment?”

The judge looked both curious and annoyed. It had been the routine of the trial to submit all nonpublic conference requests by 8:30 A.M. so that they could be considered and argued in chambers without cutting into court time.

“This can’t be handled in open court, Mr. Fowkkes?”

“No, Your Honor. Not at this time.”

“Very well. Come on up.”

Houghton signaled the lawyers forward with both hands as though he were giving signals to a truck backing up.

The attorneys approached the side of the bench and huddled with the judge. From his angle Bosch could see all of their faces and he didn’t need to hear what was being whispered. Fowkkes looked ashen and after a few words Kretzler and Langwiser seemed to grow in stature. Langwiser even glanced over at Bosch and he could read the victory message in her eyes.