The Reversal Read online

  "There's not a whole lot we can do about it. Speaking of Harry, where is he this morning?"

  "He called me and said he had some things to check out. He'll be around later. You didn't really answer my question about Sarah. What should--?"

  "Tell her that she might have another visitor, somebody working for the defense, but that she doesn't have to talk to anybody unless she wants to."

  We headed out into the hallway and then went left toward the elevator bank.

  "If she doesn't talk to them, Royce will complain to the judge. She's the key witness, Mickey."

  "So? The judge won't be able to make her talk if she doesn't want to talk. Meantime, Royce loses prep time. He wants to play games like he did with the judge in there, then we'll play games, too. In fact, how about this? We put every convict Jessup ever shared a prison cell with on the witness list. That should keep his investigators out of the way for a while."

  A broad smile broke across Maggie's face.

  "You really are getting it, aren't you?"

  We squeezed onto the crowded elevator. Maggie and I were close enough to kiss. I looked down into her eyes as I spoke.

  "That's because I don't want to lose."

  Sixteen

  Wednesday, February 24, 8:45 A.M.

  After school drop-off Bosch turned his car around and headed back up Woodrow Wilson, past his house, and to what those in the neighborhood called the upper crossing with Mulholland Drive. Both Mulholland and Woodrow Wilson were long and winding mountain roads. They intersected twice, at the bottom and top of the mountain, thus the local description of upper and lower crossings.

  At the top of the mountain Bosch turned right onto Mulholland and followed it until it crossed Laurel Canyon Boulevard. He then pulled off the road to make a call on his cell. He punched in the number Shipley had given him for the SIS dispatch sergeant. His name was Willman and he would know the current status of any SIS surveillance. At any given time, SIS could be working four or five unrelated cases. Each was given a code name in order to keep them in order and so that the real names of suspects did not ever go out over the radio. Bosch knew that the Jessup surveillance had been termed Operation Retro because it involved an old case and a retrial.

  "This is Bosch, RHD. I'm lead on the Retro case. I want to get a location on the suspect because I'm about to pull into one of his favorite haunts. I want to make sure I don't run into him."

  "Hold one."

  Bosch could hear the phone being put down, then a radio conversation in which the duty sergeant asked for Jessup's location. The response was garbled with static by the time it reached Bosch over the phone. He waited for the sergeant's official response.

  "Retro is in pocket right now," he promptly reported to Bosch. "They think he's catching Zs."

  In pocket meant he was at home.

  "Then I'm clear," Bosch said. "Thank you, Sergeant."

  "Any time."

  Bosch closed the phone and pulled the car back onto Mulholland. A few curves later he reached Fryman Canyon Park and turned in. Bosch had talked to Shipley early that morning as he was passing surveillance off to the day team. He reported that Jessup had once again visited both Franklin and Fryman canyons. Bosch was becoming consumed with curiosity about what Jessup was up to and this was only increased by the report that Jessup had also driven by the house on Windsor where the Landy family had once lived.

  Fryman was a rugged, inclined park with steep trails and a flat-surface parking and observation area on top and just off Mulholland. Bosch had been there before on cases and was familiar with its expanse. He pulled to a stop with his car pointing north and the view of the San Fernando Valley spread before him. The air was pretty clear and the vista stretched all the way across the valley to the San Gabriel Mountains. The brutal week of storms that had ended January had cleared the skies out and the smog was only now climbing back into the valley's bowl.

  After a few minutes Bosch got out and walked over to the bench where Shipley had told him Jessup had sat for twenty minutes while looking out at the lights below. Bosch sat down and checked his watch. He had an eleven o'clock appointment with a witness. That gave him more than an hour.

  Sitting where Jessup had sat brought no vibe or insight into what the suspect was doing on his frequent visits to the mountainside parks. Bosch decided to move on down Mulholland to Franklin Canyon.

  But Franklin Canyon Park offered him the same thing, a large natural respite in the midst of a teeming city. Bosch found the picnic area Shipley and the SIS reports had described but once again didn't understand the pull the park had for Jessup. He found the terminus of Blinderman Trail and walked it until his legs started to hurt because of the incline. He turned around and headed back to the parking and picnic area, still puzzled by Jessup's activities.

  On his return Bosch passed a large old sycamore that the trail had been routed around. He noticed a buildup of a grayish-white material at the base of the tree between two fingers of exposed roots. He looked closer and realized it was wax. Somebody had burned a candle.

  There were signs all over the park warning against smoking or the use of matches, as fire was the park's greatest threat. But somebody had lit a candle at the base of the tree.

  Bosch wanted to call Shipley to ask if Jessup could have lit a candle while in the park the night before, but knew it was the wrong move. Shipley had just come off a night of surveillance and was probably in his bed asleep. Harry would wait for the evening to make the call.

  He looked around the tree for any other signs that Jessup had possibly been in the area. It looked like an animal had burrowed recently in a few spots under the tree. But otherwise there was no sign of activity.

  As he came off the trail and into the clearing where the picnic area was located, Bosch saw a city parks ranger looking into a trash can from which he had removed the top. Harry approached him.

  "Officer?"

  The man whipped around, still holding the top of the trash can away from his body.

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was... I was walking up on that trail and there's a big tree there--I think a sycamore--and it looks like somebody burned a candle down at its base. I was wondering--"

  "Where?"

  "Up on Blinderman Trail."

  "Show me."

  "Actually, I'm not going to go all the way back up there. I don't have the right shoes. It's the big tree in the middle of the trail. I'm sure you can find it."

  "You can't light fires in the park!"

  The ranger put the top back on the trash can, banging it loudly to underline his statement.

  "I know. That's why I was reporting it. But I wanted to ask you, is there anything special about that tree that would make somebody do that?"

  "Every tree is special here. The whole park is special."

  "Yes, I get that. Can you just tell--"

  "Can I see some ID, please?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "ID. I want to see some ID. A man in a shirt and tie walking the trails with 'the wrong shoes' is a little bit suspicious to me."

  Bosch shook his head and pulled out his badge wallet.

  "Yeah, here's my ID."

  He opened it and held it out and gave the ranger a few moments to study it. Bosch saw the nameplate on his uniform said Brorein.

  "Okay?" Bosch said. "Can we get to my questions now, Officer Brorein?"

  "I'm a city ranger, not an officer," Brorein said. "Is this part of an investigation?"

  "No, it's part of a situation where you just answer my questions about the tree up on that trail."

  Bosch pointed in the direction he had come from.

  "You get it now?" he asked.

  Brorein shook his head.

  "I'm sorry but you're on my turf here and it's my obligation to--"

  "No, pal, you're actually on my turf. But thanks for all the help. I'll make a note of it in the report."

  Bosch walked away from him and headed b
ack toward the parking clearing. Brorein called after him.

  "As far as I know, there's nothing special about that tree. It's just a tree, Detective Borsh."

  Bosch waved without looking back. He added poor reading skills to the list of things he didn't like about Brorein.

  Seventeen

  Wednesday, February 24, 2:15 P.M.

  My successes as a defense attorney invariably came when the prosecution was unprepared for and surprised by my moves. The entire government grinds along on routine. Prosecuting violators of the government's laws is no different. As a newly minted prosecutor I took this to heart and vowed not to succumb to the comfort and dangers of routine. I promised myself that I would be more than ready for clever Clive Royce's moves. I would anticipate them. I would know them before Royce did. And I would be like a sniper in a tree, waiting to skillfully pick them off from a distance, one by one.

  This promise brought Maggie McFierce and me together in my new office for frequent strategy sessions. And on this afternoon the discussion was focused on what would be the centerpiece of our opponent's pretrial defense. We knew Royce would be filing a motion to dismiss the case. That was a given. What we were discussing were the grounds on which he would make the motion. I wanted to be ready for each one. It is said that in war the sniper ambushes an enemy patrol by first taking out the commander, the radioman and the medic. If he accomplishes this, the remaining members of the patrol panic and scatter. This was what I hoped to quickly do when Royce filed his motion. I wanted to move swiftly and thoroughly with demoralizing arguments and answers that would put the defendant on strong notice that he was in trouble. If I panicked Jessup, I might not even have to go to trial. I might get a disposition. A plea. And a plea was a conviction. That was as good as a win on this side of the aisle.

  "I think one thing he's going to argue is that the charges are no longer valid without a preliminary hearing," Maggie said. "This will give him two bites out of the apple. He'll first ask the judge to dismiss but at the very least to order a new prelim."

  "But the verdict of the trial was what was reversed," I said. "It goes back to the trial and we have a new trial. The prelim is not what was challenged."

  "Well, that's what we'll argue."

  "Good, you get to handle that one. What else?"

  "I'm not going to keep throwing out angles if you keep giving them back to me to be prepared for. That's the third one you've given me and by my scorecard you've only taken one."

  "Okay, I'll take the next one sight unseen. What do you have?"

  Maggie smiled and I realized I had just walked into my own ambush. But before she could pull the trigger, the office door opened and Bosch entered without knocking.

  "Saved by the bell," I said. "Harry, what's up?"

  "I've got a witness I think you two should hear. I think he's going to be good for us and they didn't use him in the first trial."

  "Who?" Maggie asked.

  "Bill Clinton," Bosch said.

  I didn't recognize the name as belonging to anyone associated with the case. But Maggie, with her command of case detail, brought it together.

  "One of the tow truck drivers who worked with Jessup."

  Bosch pointed at her.

  "Right. He worked with Jessup back then at Aardvark Towing. Now he owns an auto repair shop on LaBrea near Olympic. It's called Presidential Motors."

  "Of course it is," I said. "What does he do for us as a witness?"

  Bosch pointed toward the door.

  "I got him sitting out there with Lorna. Why don't I bring him in and he can tell you himself?"

  I looked at Maggie, and seeing no objection, I told Bosch to bring Clinton in. Before stepping out Bosch lowered his voice and reported that he had run Clinton through the crime databases and he had come up clean. He had no criminal record.

  "Nothing," Bosch said. "Not even an unpaid parking ticket."

  "Good," Maggie said. "Now let's see what he has to say."

  Bosch went out to the reception room and came back with a short man in his midfifties who was wearing blue work pants and a shirt with an oval patch above the breast pocket. It said Bill. His hair was neatly combed and he didn't wear glasses. I saw grease under his fingernails but figured that could be remedied before he ever appeared in front of a jury.

  Bosch pulled a chair away from the wall and placed it in the middle of the room and facing my desk.

  "Why don't you sit down here, Mr. Clinton, and we'll ask you some questions," he said.

  Bosch then nodded to me, passing the lead.

  "First of all, Mr. Clinton, thank you for agreeing to come in and talk to us today."

  Clinton nodded.

  "That's okay. Things are kind of slow at the shop right now."

  "What kind of work do you do at the shop? Is there a specialty?"

  "Yeah, we do restoration. Mostly British cars. Triumphs, MGs, Jags, collectibles like that."

  "I see. What's a Triumph TR Two-Fifty go for these days?"

  Clinton looked up at me, surprised by my apparent knowledge of one of the cars he specialized in.

  "Depends on the shape. I sold a beauty last year for twenty-five. I put almost twelve into the restoration. That and a lot of man-hours."

  I nodded.

  "I had one in high school. Wish I'd never sold it."

  "They only made them for one year. 'Sixty-eight. Makes it one of the most collectible."

  I nodded. We had just covered everything I knew about the car. I just liked it because of its wooden dashboard and the drop top. I used to cruise up to Malibu in it on weekends, hang out on the surf beaches even though I didn't know how to surf.

  "Well, let's jump from 'sixty-eight to 'eighty-six, okay?"

  Clinton shrugged.

  "Fine by me."

  "If you don't mind, Ms. McPherson is going to take notes."

  Clinton shrugged again.

  "So then, let's start. How well do you remember the day that Melissa Landy was murdered?"

  Clinton spread his hands.

  "Well, see, I remember it real well because of what happened. That little girl getting killed and it turning out I was working with the guy who did it."

  "Must've been pretty traumatic."

  "Yeah, it was for a while there."

  "And then you put it out of your mind?"

  "No, not exactly... but I stopped thinking about it all the time. I started my business and everything."

  I nodded. Clinton seemed genuine enough and honest. It was a start. I looked at Bosch. I knew he had pulled some nugget from Clinton that he believed was gold. I wanted him to take over.

  "Bill," Bosch said. "Tell them a little about what was going on with Aardvark at the time. About how business was bad."

  Clinton nodded.

  "Yeah, well, back then we weren't doing so hot. What happened was they passed a law that nobody could park on the side streets off of Wilshire without a resident sticker, you know? Anybody else, we got to tow. So we would go in the neighborhoods on a Sunday morning and hook up cars right and left on account of the church services. In the beginning. Mr. Korish was the owner and we were getting so many cars that he hired another driver and even started paying us for our overtime. It was fun because there were a couple other companies with the same contract, so we were all competing for tows. It was like keeping score and we were a team."

  Clinton looked at Bosch to see if he was telling the right story. Harry nodded and told him to keep going.

  "So then it all kind of went bad. The people started getting wise and they stopped parking over there. Somebody said the church was even making announcements: 'Don't park north of Wilshire.' So we went from having too much to do to not enough. So Mr. Korish said he had to cut back on costs and one of us was going to have to go, and maybe even two of us. He said he was going to watch our performance levels and make his decision based on that."

  "When did he tell you this in relation to the day of the murder?" Bosch asked.

&nb
sp; "It was right before. Because all three of us were still there. See, he didn't fire anybody yet."

  Taking over the questioning, I asked him what the new edict did to the competition among tow truck drivers.

  "Well, it made it rough, you know. We were all friends and then all of a sudden we didn't like each other because we wanted to keep our jobs."

  "How was Jason Jessup to work with then?"

  "Well, Jason was real cutthroat."

  "The pressure got to him?"

  "Yeah, because he was in last place. Mr. Korish put up a tote board to keep track of the tows and he was last place."

  "And he wasn't happy about it?"

  "No, not happy. He became a real prick to work with, excuse my French."

  "Do you remember how he acted on the day of the murder?"

  "A little bit. Like I told Detective Bosch, he started claiming streets. Like saying Windsor was all his. And Las Palmas and Lucerne. Like that. And me and Derek--he was the other driver--we told him there were no rules like that. And he said, 'Fine, try hooking a car on one of those streets and see what happens.' "

  "He threatened you."

  "Yeah, you could say that. Definitely."

  "Do you remember specifically that Windsor was one of the streets he claimed was his?"

  "Yes, I do. He claimed Windsor."

  This was all good information. It would go to the state of mind of the defendant. It would be a challenge getting it on the record if there wasn't additional corroboration from Wilbern or Korish, if either was still alive and available.

  "Did he ever act on that threat in any way?" Maggie asked.

  "No," Clinton said. "But that was the same day as the girl. So he got arrested and that was that. I can't say I was too upset about seeing him go. Turned out Mr. Korish then laid off Derek 'cause he lied about not having a record. I was the last man standing. I worked there another four years--till I saved up the money to start my place."

  A regular American success story. I waited to see if Maggie had a follow but she didn't. I did.

  "Mr. Clinton, did you ever talk about any of this with the police or prosecutors twenty-four years ago?"