Michael Connelly - The Closers

Bosch admired Rider’s response. It was a carefully designed answer that would put a lot of pressure on the judge to sign the authorization. After all, she was an elected official. She had to consider the ramifications of her turning down the application. If Mackey committed a crime that could have been stopped had the police been listening to his phone calls, the judge could be held responsible by an electorate that wouldn’t care much about whether she had been trying to safeguard Mackey’s personal rights.

“I see,” Demchak said coldly in response to Rider. “And what is your probable cause to believe he is engaged in current criminal activities since you cannot cite a specific crime.”

“A variety of things, Judge. Mr. Mackey cleared probation for a sex crime twelve months ago and immediately moved to a new address where his name is not listed on a deed or rental agreement. He left no forwarding address with his former landlord or the post office. He is living on the same property as an ex-convict with whom he has previously engaged in documented criminal activity. That is William Burkhart, also listed in the application. And, as you can see from the application, he is using a phone not registered in his name. He is clearly flying below radar, Your Honor. All of these things together paint a picture of someone taking precautions to hide involvement in criminal activity.”

“Or maybe he just wants to avoid government intrusion,” the judge said. “It is still very thin, Detective. Do you have anything else? I could use something else.”

Rider glanced sideways at Bosch, her eyes wide. Her confidence in the waiting room was leaving her. Bosch knew she had put everything into the application and her comments in chambers. What was left? Bosch cleared his throat and leaned forward to speak for the first time.

“The previous criminal activity he took part in with the man he now lives with were hate crimes, Judge. These guys hurt and threatened a lot of people. A lot of people.”

He settled back in his seat, hoping he had just ratcheted the pressure up at least another notch.

“And how long ago were these crimes?” the judge asked.

“They were prosecuted in the late eighties,” Bosch said. “But who knows how long they have continued? The association of these two men has obviously continued.”

The judge said nothing for another minute as she seemed to be reading and rereading the summation section of Rider’s application. A small red light at the side of the desk went on. Bosch knew it meant that whatever was scheduled in her courtroom was ready to begin. All attorneys and parties were present.

Finally, Judge Demchak shook her head.

“I just don’t think you have it here, Detectives. You have him with the gun but not at the murder scene. He could have handled the gun days or weeks before the killing.”

She waved dismissively at the papers spread in front of her.

“This bit about him burglarizing a drive-in movie theater where the victim and her friends liked to go is tenuous at best. You really put me on the spot here by asking me to sign off on something that just isn’t there.”

“It is there,” Bosch said. “We know it is there.”

Rider put a hand on his arm, a warning not to lose it.

“I’m not seeing it, Detective,” Demchak said. “You are asking me to bail you out here. You don’t have enough probable cause and you are asking me to make up the difference. I can’t do it. Not as is.”

“Your Honor,” Rider said. “If we don’t get this signed we will lose the opportunity with the newspaper story.”

The judge smiled at her.

“That has nothing to do with me and what I must do here, Detective. You know that. I am not an arm of the police department. I am independent and I have to deal with the facts of the case as presented.”

“The victim was biracial,” Bosch said. “This guy is a documented hater. He stole that gun and it was used to kill a girl of mixed race. The connection is right there.”

“Not a connection of evidence, Detective. A circumstantial connection of inference.”

Bosch stared at the judge for a moment and the judge stared right back.

“Do you have children, Judge?” he asked.

The color immediately rose in the judge’s cheeks.

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Your Honor,” Rider broke in. “We’ll come back to you with this.”

“No,” Bosch said. “No, we’re not coming back. We need this now, Judge. This guy has been out there free for seventeen years. What if it had been your daughter? Could you look away then? Rebecca Verloren was an only child.”

Judge Demchak’s eyes grew darker. When she spoke it was with measures of both calm and anger.

“I am not looking away from anything, Detective. I happen to be the only one in this room that is looking closely at this. And I might add that if you continue to insult and question the court, then I will remand you to the lockup for contempt. I could have a bailiff in here in five seconds. Perhaps you could use the downtime to contemplate the deficiencies of your presentation.”

Bosch pressed on undaunted.

“Her mother still lives in the house,” Bosch said. “The bedroom she was taken from is still the same as the day she was killed. Same bedspread, same pillows, same everything. The room-and the mother-are frozen in time.”

“But those facts are not germane to this.”

“Her father became a drunk. He lost his business, then his wife and home. I visited with him on Fifth Street this morning. That’s where he lives now. I know that’s not germane either, but I thought you might want to know. I guess we don’t have enough facts for you but we have a lot of the ripples, Your Honor.”

The judge held his eyes and Bosch knew he was either about to go to jail or walk out with a signed warrant. No in-between. After a moment he saw the glimmer of pain in her eyes. Anybody who spends time in the trenches of the criminal justice system-either side-gets that look after a while.

“Very well, Detective,” she finally said.

She looked down and scribbled a signature at the bottom of the last page and started to fill in the spaces that dictated the length of the wiretaps.

“But I am still not convinced,” she said sternly. “So I am giving you seventy-two hours.”

“Your Honor,” Bosch said.

But Rider put her hand on Bosch’s arm again, trying to stop him from turning a yes into a no. Then she spoke.

“Your Honor, seventy-two hours is a very short time period for this. We were hoping that we would have at least a week.”

“You said the newspaper article is coming out tomorrow,” the judge responded.

“Yes, Judge, it is supposed to, but -”

“You will know something pretty quick then. If you feel you need to extend it then come back and see me on Friday and try to convince me. Seventy-two hours, and I want daily summaries delivered each morning. If I don’t get them I am going to hold you both in contempt. I am not going to allow you to go fishing. If what is on the summaries is not on point then I will shut you down early. Is all of that clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Bosch and Rider said in unison.

“Good. Now, I have a status conference in my courtroom. It is time for you to go and for me to go back to work.”

Rider collected the paperwork and they said their thanks. As they headed to the door, Judge Demchak called out to their backs.

“Detective Bosch?”

Bosch turned around and looked at her.

“Yes, Judge?”

“You saw the picture, didn’t you?” she said. “Of my daughter. You guessed I have only one child.”

Bosch looked at her for a moment and then nodded.

“I only have one myself,” he said. “I know what it’s like.”