The Reversal Read online

  Following the prescribed trail, Bosch came to the door marked CONFERENCE ROOM A, knocked once and heard a female voice say, "Come in."

  He entered and saw a woman seated by herself at an eight-chaired table, a spread of documents, files, photos and a laptop computer in front of her. She looked vaguely familiar but he could not place her. She was attractive with dark, curling hair framing her face. She had sharp eyes that followed him as he entered, and a pleasant, almost curious smile. Like she knew something he didn't. She wore the standard female prosecutor's power suit in navy blue. Harry might not have been able to place her but he assumed she was a DDA.

  "Detective Bosch?"

  "That's me."

  "Come in, have a seat."

  Bosch pulled out a chair and sat across from her. On the table he saw a crime scene photograph of a child's body in an open Dumpster. It was a girl and she was wearing a blue dress with long sleeves. Her feet were bare and she was lying on a pile of construction debris and other trash. The white edges of the photo were yellowed. It was an old print.

  The woman moved a file over the picture and then offered her hand across the table.

  "I don't think we've ever met," she said. "My name is Maggie McPherson."

  Bosch recognized the name but he couldn't remember from where or what case.

  "I'm a deputy district attorney," she continued, "and I'm going to be second chair on the Jason Jessup prosecution. First chair--"

  "Jason Jessup?" Bosch asked. "You're going to take it to trial?"

  "Yes, we are. We'll be announcing it next week and I need to ask you to keep it confidential until then. I am sorry that our first chair is late coming to our meet--"

  The door opened and Bosch turned. Mickey Haller stepped into the room. Bosch did a double take. Not because he didn't recognize Haller. They were half brothers and he easily knew him on sight. But seeing Haller in the DA's office was one of those images that didn't quite make sense. Haller was a criminal defense attorney. He fit in at the DA's office about as well as a cat did at the dog pound.

  "I know," Haller said. "You're thinking, What in the hell is this?"

  Smiling, Haller moved to McPherson's side of the table and started pulling out a chair. Then Bosch remembered how he knew McPherson's name.

  "You two...," Bosch said. "You were married, right?"

  "That's right," Haller said. "Eight wonderful years."

  "And what, she's prosecuting Jessup and you're defending him? Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

  Haller's smile became a broad grin.

  "It would only be a conflict if we were opposing each other, Harry. But we're not. We're prosecuting him. Together. I'm first chair. Maggie's second. And we want you to be our investigator."

  Bosch was completely confused.

  "Wait a minute. You're not a prosecutor. This doesn't--"

  "I'm an appointed independent prosecutor, Harry. It's all legit. I wouldn't be sitting here if it weren't. We're going after Jessup and we want you to help us."

  Bosch pulled out a chair and slowly sat down.

  "From what I heard, this case is beyond help. Unless you're telling me Jessup rigged the DNA test."

  "No, we're not telling you that," McPherson said. "We did our own testing and matching. His results were correct. It wasn't his DNA on the victim's dress."

  "But that doesn't mean we've lost the case," Haller quickly added.

  Bosch looked from McPherson to Haller and then back again. He was clearly missing something.

  "Then whose DNA was it?" he asked.

  McPherson glanced sideways at Haller before answering.

  "Her stepfather's," she said. "He's dead now but we believe there is an explanation for why his semen was found on his stepdaughter's dress."

  Haller leaned urgently across the table.

  "An explanation that still leaves room to reconvict Jessup of the girl's murder."

  Bosch thought for a moment and the image of his own daughter flashed in his mind. He knew there were certain kinds of evil in the world that had to be contained, no matter the hardship. A child killer was at the top of that list.

  "Okay," he said. "I'm in."

  Three

  Tuesday, February 16, 1:00 P.M.

  The DA's Office had a press conference room that had not been updated since the days they'd used it to hold briefings on the Charles Manson case. Its faded wood-paneled walls and drooping flags in the corner had been the backdrop of a thousand press briefings and they gave all proceedings there a threadbare appearance that belied the true power and might of the office. The state prosecutor was never the underdog in any undertaking, yet it appeared that the office did not have the money for even a fresh coat of paint.

  The setting, however, served the announcement on the Jessup decision well. For possibly the first time in these hallowed halls of justice, the prosecution would indeed be the underdog. The decision to retry Jason Jessup was fraught with peril and the realistic likelihood of failure. As I stood at the front of the room next to Gabriel Williams and before a phalanx of video cameras, bright lights and reporters, it finally dawned on me what a terrible mistake I had made. My decision to take on the case in hopes of currying favor with my daughter, ex-wife and myself was going to be met with disastrous consequences. I was going to go down in flames.

  It was a rare moment to witness firsthand. The media had gathered to report the end of the story. The DA's Office would assuredly announce that Jason Jessup would not be subjected to a retrial. The DA might not offer an apology but would at the very least say the evidence was not there. That there was no case against this man who had been incarcerated for so long. The case would be closed and in the eyes of the law as well as the public Jessup would finally be a free and innocent man.

  The media is rarely fooled in complete numbers and usually doesn't react well when it happens. But there was no doubt that Williams had punked them all. We had moved stealthily in the last week, putting together the team and reviewing the evidence that was still available. Not a word had leaked, which must've been a first in the halls of the CCB. While I could see the first inkling of suspicion creasing the brows of the reporters who recognized me as we entered, it was Williams who delivered the knockout punch when he wasted no time in stepping before a lectern festooned with microphones and digital recorders.

  "On a Sunday morning twenty-four years ago today, twelve-year-old Melissa Landy was taken from her yard in Hancock Park and brutally murdered. An investigation quickly led to a suspect named Jason Jessup. He was arrested, convicted at trial and sentenced to life in prison without parole. That conviction was reversed two weeks ago by the state supreme court and remanded to my office. I am here to announce that the Los Angeles County District Attorney's Office will retry Jason Jessup in the death of Melissa Landy. The charges of abduction and murder stand. This office intends once again to prosecute Mr. Jessup to the fullest extent of the law."

  He paused to add appropriate gravity to the announcement.

  "As you know, the supreme court found that irregularities occurred during the first prosecution--which, of course, occurred more than two decades before the current administration. To avoid political conflicts and any future appearance of impropriety on the part of this office, I have appointed an independent special prosecutor to handle the case. Many of you know of the man standing here to my right. Michael Haller has been a defense counselor of some note in Los Angeles for two decades. He is a fair-minded and respected member of the bar. He has accepted the appointment and has assumed responsibility for the case as of today. It has been the policy of this department not to try cases in the media. However, Mr. Haller and I are willing to answer a few questions as long as they don't tread on the specifics and evidence of the case."

  There was a booming chorus of voices calling questions out at us. Williams raised his hands for calm in the room.

  "One at a time, people. Let's start with you."

  He pointed to a woman sitting in the f
irst row. I could not remember her name but I knew she worked for the Times. Williams knew his priorities.

  "Kate Salters from the Times," she said helpfully. "Can you tell us how you came to the decision to prosecute Jason Jessup again after DNA evidence cleared him of the crime?"

  Before coming into the room, Williams had told me that he would handle the announcement and all questions unless specifically addressed to me. He made it clear that this was going to be his show. But I decided to make it clear from the outset that it was going to be my case.

  "I'll answer that," I said as I leaned toward the lectern and the microphones. "The DNA test conducted by the Genetic Justice Project only concluded that the bodily fluid found on the victim's clothing did not come from Jason Jessup. It did not clear him of involvement in the crime. There is a difference. The DNA test only provides additional information for a jury to consider."

  I straightened back up and caught Williams giving me a don't-fuck-with-me stare.

  "Whose DNA was it?" someone called out.

  Williams quickly leaned forward to answer.

  "We're not answering questions about evidence at this time."

  "Mickey, why are you taking the case?"

  The question came from the back of the room, from behind the lights, and I could not see the owner of the voice. I moved back to the microphones, angling my body so Williams had to step back.

  "Good question," I said. "It's certainly unusual for me to be on the other side of the aisle, so to speak. But I think this is the case to cross over for. I'm an officer of the court and a proud member of the California bar. We take an oath to seek justice and fairness while upholding the Constitution and laws of this nation and state. One of the duties of a lawyer is to take a just cause without personal consideration to himself. This is such a cause. Someone has to speak for Melissa Landy. I have reviewed the evidence in this case and I think I'm on the right side of this one. The measure is proof beyond a reasonable doubt. I think that such proof exists here."

  Williams moved in and put a hand on my arm to gently move me off the microphone stand.

  "We do not want to go any further than that in regard to the evidence," he said quickly.

  "Jessup's already spent twenty-four years in prison," Salters said. "Anything less than a conviction for first-degree murder and he will probably walk on time served. Mr. Williams, is it really worth the expense and effort of retrying this man?"

  Before she was finished asking the question, I knew she and Williams had a deal working. She lobbed softballs and he hit them out of the park, looking good and righteous on the eleven o'clock news and in the morning paper. Her end of the deal would come with inside scoops on the evidence and trial strategy. I decided in that moment that it was my case, my trial, my deal.

  "None of that matters," I said loudly from my position to the side.

  All eyes turned to me. Even Williams turned.

  "Can you talk into the microphones, Mickey?"

  It was the same voice from behind the line of lights. He knew to call me Mickey. I once again moved to the microphones, boxing Williams out like a power forward going for the rebound.

  "The murder of a child is a crime that must be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, no matter what the possibilities or risks are. There is no guarantee of victory here. But that was not part of the decision. The measure is reasonable doubt and I believe we surpass that. We believe that the totality of evidence shows that this man committed this horrible crime and it doesn't matter how much time has gone by or how long he has been incarcerated. He must be prosecuted.

  "I have a daughter only a little older than Melissa was.... You know, people forget that in the original trial, the state sought the death penalty but the jury recommended against it and the judge imposed a life sentence. That was then and this is now. We will once again be seeking the death penalty on this case."

  Williams put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me away from the microphones.

  "Uh, let's not get ahead of ourselves here," he said quickly. "My office has not yet made a determination in regard to whether we will be seeking the death penalty. That will come at a later time. But Mr. Haller makes a very valid and sad point. There can be no worse crime in our society than the murder of a child. We must do all that is within our power and our reach to seek justice for Melissa Landy. Thank you for being here today."

  "Wait a minute," called a reporter from one of the middle seats. "What about Jessup? When will he be brought here for trial?"

  Williams put his hands on both sides of the lectern in a casual move designed to keep me from the microphones.

  "Earlier this morning Mr. Jessup was taken into custody by the Los Angeles police and is being transported from San Quentin. He will be booked into the downtown jail and the case will proceed. His conviction was reversed but the charges against him remain in place. We have nothing further at this time."

  Williams stepped back and signaled me toward the door. He waited until I started moving and was clear of the microphones. He then followed, coming up behind me and whispering into my ear as we went through the door.

  "You do that again and I'll fire you on the spot."

  I turned to look back at him while I walked.

  "Do what? Answer one of your setup questions?"

  We moved into the hallway. Ridell was waiting there with the office's media spokesman, a guy named Fernandez. But Williams turned me down the hall away from them. He was still whispering when he spoke.

  "You went off the script. Do it again and we're done."

  I stopped and turned and Williams almost walked into me.

  "Look, I'm not your puppet," I said. "I'm an independent contractor, remember? You treat me otherwise and you're going to be holding this hot potato without an oven mitt."

  Williams just glared at me. I obviously wasn't getting through.

  "And what was this shit about the death penalty?" he asked. "We haven't even gotten there and you didn't have the go-ahead to say it."

  He was bigger than me, taller. He had used his body to crowd my space and back me up against the wall.

  "It will get back to Jessup and keep him thinking," I said. "And if we're lucky, he comes in for a deal and this whole thing goes away, including the civil action. It'll save you all that money. That's really what this is about, right? The money. We get a conviction and he's got no civil case. You and the city save a few million bucks."

  "That's got nothing to do with this. This is about justice and you still should have told me what you were doing. You don't sandbag your own boss."

  The physical intimidation got old real fast. I put my palm on his chest and backed him off me.

  "Yeah, well, you're not my boss. I don't have a boss."

  "Is that right? Like I said, I could fire your ass right here right now."

  I pointed down the hall to the door to the press conference room.

  "Yeah, that'll look good. Firing the independent prosecutor you just hired. Didn't Nixon do that during the Watergate mess? Worked real well for him. Why don't we go back in and tell them? I'm sure there are still a few cameras in there."

  Williams hesitated, realizing his predicament. I had backed him against the wall without even moving. He would look like a complete and unelectable fool if he fired me, and he knew it. He leaned in closer and his whisper dropped lower as he used the oldest threat in the mano a mano handbook. I was ready for it.

  "Do not fuck with me, Haller."

  "Then don't fuck with my case. This isn't a campaign stop and it's not about money. This is murder, boss. You want me to get a conviction, then get out of my way."

  I threw him the bone of calling him boss. Williams pressed his mouth into a tight line and stared at me for a long moment.

  "Just so we understand each other," he finally said.

  I nodded.

  "Yeah, I think we do."

  "Before you talk to the media about this case, you get it approved by my office first. Unders
tand?"

  "Got it."

  He turned and headed down the hall. His entourage followed. I remained in the hallway and watched them go. The truth was, there was nothing in the law that I objected to more than the death penalty. It was not that I had ever had a client executed or even tried such a case. It was simply a belief in the idea that an enlightened society did not kill its own.

  But somehow that didn't stop me from using the threat of the death penalty as an edge in the case. As I stood there alone in the hallway, I thought that maybe that made me a better prosecutor than I had imagined I could be.

  Four

  Tuesday, February 16, 2:43 P.M.

  It usually was the best moment of a case. The drive downtown with a suspect handcuffed in the backseat. There was nothing better. Sure there was the eventual payoff of a conviction down the line. Being in the courtroom when the verdict is read--watching the reality shock and then deaden the eyes of the convicted. But the drive in was always better, more immediate and personal. It was always the moment Bosch savored. The chase was over and the case was about to morph from the relentless momentum of the investigation to the measured pace of the prosecution.

  But this time was different. It had been a long two days and Bosch wasn't savoring anything. He and his partner, David Chu, had driven up to Corta Madera the day before, checking into a motel off the 101 and spending the night. In the morning they drove over to San Quentin, presented a court order that transferred custody of Jason Jessup to them, and then collected their prisoner for the drive back to Los Angeles. Seven hours each way with a partner who talked too much. Seven hours on the return with a suspect who didn't talk enough.

  They were now at the top of the San Fernando Valley and an hour from the City Jail in downtown L.A. Bosch's back hurt from so many hours behind the wheel. His right calf muscle ached from applying pressure to the gas pedal. The city car did not have cruise control.