Authors: Michael Connelly
“I thought you didn’t want to talk, Jessup. You invoked.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’ll just shut the fuck up and wait for my lawyer.”
“He’s in San Francisco, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“He’s calling somebody. The GJP’s got people all over the country. We were ready for this.”
“Really? You were ready? You mean you packed your cell up because you thought you were being transferred? Or was it because you thought you were going home?”
Jessup didn’t have an answer for that one.
Bosch merged onto the 101, which would take them through the Cahuenga Pass and into Hollywood before they reached downtown.
“How’d you get hooked up with the Genetic Justice Project, Jessup?” he asked, trying once again to get something going. “You go to them or they come to you?”
“Website, man. I sent in my appeal and they saw the bullshit going on in my case. They took it over and here I am. You people are totally fucked if you think you’re going to win this. I was railroaded by you motherfuckers once before. Ain’t gonna happen again. In two months, this’ll all be over. I’ve been in twenty-four years. What’s two more months? Just makes my book rights more valuable. I guess I should be thanking you and the district attorney for that.”
Bosch glanced at the mirror again. Normally, he would love a talkative suspect. Most times they talked themselves right into prison. But Jessup was too smart and too cagey. He chose his words carefully, stayed away from talking about the crime itself, and wouldn’t be making a mistake that Bosch could use.
In the mirror now, Bosch could see Jessup staring out the window. No telling what he was thinking about. His eyes looked dead. Bosch could see the top of a prison ink tattoo on his neck, just breaking the collar line. It looked like part of a word but he couldn’t tell for sure.
“Welcome to L.A., Jessup,” Chu said without turning around. “Guess it’s been a while, huh?”
“Fuck you, you chink motherfucker,” Jessup retorted. “This’ll all be over soon and then I’ll be out and on the beach. I’m going to get a longboard and ride some tasty waves.”
“Don’t count on it, killer,” Chu said. “You’re going down. We got you by the balls.”
Bosch knew Chu was trying to provoke a response, a slip of the tongue. But he was coming off as an amateur and Jessup was too wise for him.
Harry grew tired of the back-and-forth, even after six hours of almost complete silence. He turned on the car’s radio and caught the tail end of a report on the DA’s press conference. He turned it up so Jessup would hear, and Chu would keep quiet.
“Williams and Haller refused to comment on the evidence but indicated they were not as impressed with the DNA analysis as the state’s supreme court was. Haller acknowledged that the DNA found on the victim’s dress did not come from Jessup. But he said the findings did not clear him of involvement in the crime. Haller is a well-known defense attorney and will be prosecuting a murder case for the first time. It did not sound this morning as though he has any hesitation. ‘We will once again be seeking the death penalty on this case.’ ”
Bosch flicked the volume down and checked the mirror. Jessup was still looking out the window.
“How about that, Jessup? He’s going for the Jesus juice.”
Jessup responded tiredly.
“Asshole’s posturing. Besides, they don’t execute anybody in this state anymore. You know what
death row
means? It means you get a cell all to yourself and you control what’s on the TV. It means better access to phone, food and visitors. Fuck it, I hope he does go for it, man. But it won’t matter. This is bullshit. This whole thing is bullshit. It’s all about the money.”
The last line floated out there for a long moment before Bosch finally bit.
“What money?”
“My money. You watch, man, they’ll come at me with a deal. My lawyer told me. They’ll want me to take a deal and plead to time served so they don’t have to pay me the money. That’s all this fucking is and you two are just the deliverymen. Fuckin’ FedEx.”
Bosch was silent. He wondered if it could be true. Jessup was suing the city and county for millions. Could it be that the retrial was simply a political move designed to save money? Both government entities were self-insured. Juries loved hitting faceless corporations and bureaucracies with obscenely large judgments. A jury believing prosecutors and police had corruptly imprisoned an innocent man for twenty-four years would be beyond generous. A hit from an eight-figure judgment could be devastating to both city and county coffers, even if they were splitting the bill.
But if they jammed Jessup and maneuvered him into a deal in which he acknowledged guilt to gain his freedom, then the lawsuit would go away. So would all the book and movie money he was counting on.
“Makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?” Jessup said.
Bosch checked the mirror and realized that now Jessup was studying him. He turned his eyes back to the road. He felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his jacket.
“You want me to take it, Harry?” Chu asked.
A reminder that it was illegal to talk on a phone while driving an automobile. Bosch ignored him and took the call. It was Lieutenant Gandle.
“Harry, you close?”
“Getting off the one-oh-one.”
“Good. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. They’re lining up at intake. Comb your hair.”
“Got it, but maybe I’ll give my partner the airtime.”
Bosch glanced over at Chu but didn’t explain.
“Either way,” Gandle said. “What’s next?”
“He invoked so we just book him. Then I have to go back to the war room and meet with the prosecutors. I’ve got questions.”
“Harry, do they have this guy or not?”
Bosch checked Jessup in the mirror. He was back to looking out the window.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. When I know, you’ll know.”
A few minutes later they pulled into the rear lot of the jail. There were several television cameras and their operators lined up on a ramp leading to the intake door. Chu sat up straight.
“Perp walk, Harry.”
“Yeah. You take him in.”
“Let’s both do it.”
“Nah, I’ll hang back.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Just don’t forget my cuffs.”
“Okay, Harry.”
The lot was clogged with media vans with their transmitters cranked to full height. But they had left the space in front of the ramp open. Bosch pulled in and parked.
“Okay, you ready back there, Jessup?” Chu asked. “Time to sell tickets.”
Jessup didn’t respond. Chu opened the door and got out, then opened the rear door for Jessup.
Bosch watched the ensuing spectacle from the confines of the car.
Tuesday, February 16, 4:14
P.M
.
O
ne of the very best things about having previously been married to Maggie McPherson was that I never had to face her in court. The marital split created a conflict of interest that saved me professional defeat and humiliation at her hands on more than one occasion. She was truly the best prosecutor I’d ever seen step into the well and they didn’t call her Maggie McFierce for no reason.
Now, for the first time, we would be on the same team in court, sitting side by side at the same table. But what had seemed like such a good idea—not to mention such a positive potential payoff for Maggie—was already manifesting itself as something jagged and rusty. Maggie was having issues with being second chair. And for good reason. She was a professional prosecutor. From drug dealers and petty thieves to rapists and murderers, she had put dozens of criminals behind bars. I had appeared in dozens of trials myself but never as a prosecutor. Maggie would have to play backup to a novice and that realization wasn’t sitting well with her.
We sat in conference room A with the case files spread out before us on the big table. Though Williams had said I could run the case from my own independent office, the truth was, that wasn’t practical at the moment. I didn’t have an office outside my home. I primarily used the backseat of my Lincoln Town Car as my office and that wouldn’t do for
The People versus Jason Jessup
. I had my case manager setting up a temporary office in downtown but we were at least a few days away from that. So temporarily there we sat, eyes down and tensions up.
“Maggie,” I said, “when it comes to prosecuting bad guys, I will readily admit that I couldn’t carry your lunch. But the thing is, when it comes to politics
and
prosecuting bad guys, the powers that be have put me in the first chair. That’s the way it is and we can either accept it or not. I took this job and asked for you. If you don’t think we—”
“I just don’t like the idea of carrying your briefcase through this whole thing,” Maggie said.
“You won’t be. Look, press conferences and outward appearances are one thing, but I fully assume that we’ll be working as a tag team. You’ll be conducting just as much of the investigation as I will be, probably more. The trial should be no different. We’ll come up with a strategy and choreograph it together. But you have to give me a little credit. I know my way around a courtroom. I’ll just be sitting at the other table this time.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mickey. On the defense side you have a responsibility to one person. Your client. When you are a prosecutor, you represent the people and that is a lot more responsibility. That’s why they call it the
burden of proof.
”
“Whatever. If you’re saying I shouldn’t be doing this, then I’m not the guy you should be complaining to. Go down the hall and talk to your boss. But if he kicks me off the case, you get kicked as well, and then you go back to Van Nuys for the rest of your career. Is that what you want?”
She didn’t answer and that was an answer in itself.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s just try to get through this without pulling each other’s hair out, okay? Remember, I’m not here to count convictions and advance my career. For me, it’s one and done. So we both want the same thing. Yes, you will have to help me. But you will also be helping—”
My phone started vibrating. I had left it out on the table. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen but took the call, just to get away from the conversation with Maggie.
“Haller.”
“Hey, Mick, how’d I do?”
“Who is this?”
“Sticks.”
Sticks was a freelance videographer who fed footage to the local news channels and sometimes even the bigs. I had known him so long I didn’t even remember his real name.
“How’d you do at what, Sticks? I’m busy here.”
“At the press conference. I set you up, man.”
I realized that it had been Sticks behind the lights, throwing the questions to me.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, you did good. Thanks for that.”
“Now you’re going to take care of me on the case, right? Give me the heads-up if there’s something for me, right? Something exclusive.”
“Yeah, no need to worry, Sticks. I got you covered. But I gotta go.”
I ended the call and put the phone back on the table. Maggie was typing something into her laptop. It looked like the momentary discontent had passed and I was hesitant to touch it again.
“That was a guy who works for the news stations. He might be useful to us at some point.”
“We don’t want to do anything underhanded. The prosecution is held to a much higher standard of ethics than the defense.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t win.
“That’s bullshit and I am not talking about doing anything un—”
The door opened and Harry Bosch stepped in, pushing the door with his back because he was carrying two large boxes in his hands.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he said.
He put the boxes down on the table. I could tell the larger one was a carton from evidence archives. I guessed that the smaller one contained the police file on the original investigation.
“It took them three days to find the murder box. It was on the ’eighty-five aisle instead of ’eighty-six.”
He looked at me and then at Maggie and then back at me.
“So what’d I miss? War break out in the war room?”
“We were talking about prosecutorial tactics and it turns out we have opposing views.”
“Imagine that.”
He took the chair at the end of the table. I could tell he was going to have more to say. He lifted the top off the murder box and pulled out three accordion files and put them on the table. He then moved the box to the floor.
“You know, Mick, while we’re airing out our differences… I think before you pulled me into this little soap opera, you should’ve told me a few things up front.”
“Like what, Harry?”
“Like that this whole goddamn thing is about money and not murder.”
“What are you talking about? What money?”
Bosch just stared at me without responding.
“You’re talking about Jessup’s lawsuit?” I asked.
“That’s right,” he said. “I had an interesting discussion with Jessup today on the drive down. Got me thinking and it crossed my mind that if we jam this guy into a deal, the lawsuit against the city and county goes away because a guy who admits to murder isn’t going to be able to sue and claim he was railroaded. So I guess what I want to know is what we’re really doing here. Are we trying to put a murder suspect on trial or are we just trying to save the city and county a few million bucks?”
I noticed Maggie’s posture straighten as she considered the same thing.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she said. “If that—”
“Hold on, hold on,” I interjected. “Let’s be cool about this. I don’t think that’s the case here, okay? It’s not that I haven’t thought about it but Williams didn’t say one word about going for a dispo on this case. He told me to take it to trial. In fact, he assumes it will go to trial for the same reason you just mentioned. Jessup will never take a dispo for time served or anything else because there is no pot of gold in that. No book, no movie, no payout from the city. If he wants the money, he’s got to go to trial and win.”
Maggie nodded slowly as if weighing a valid supposition. Bosch didn’t seem appeased at all.