“But think of Bosch in that situation. Can you imagine being there? Alone? Afraid? It is a unique individual who faces that kind of situation without flinching. It is what our society calls a hero. I think when you return to the jury room and carefully weigh the facts, not the accusations, of this case you will come to that same conclusion. Thank you very much.”
Bosch couldn’t believe Belk had used the word hero in a closing argument but decided not to bring that up with the portly lawyer as he returned to the defense table.
Instead, he whispered, “You did good. Thanks.”
• • •
Chandler went to the lectern for her last shot and promised to be brief. She was.
“You can easily see the disparity of the beliefs the lawyers have in this case. The same disparity between the meanings of the words hero and monster. I suspect, as we all probably do, that the truth of this case and Detective Bosch is somewhere in between.
“Two last things before you begin deliberations. First, I want you to remember that both sides had the opportunity here to present full and complete cases. In Norman Church’s behalf, we had a wife, a coworker, a friend, stand up and testify to his character, to what kind of man he was. Yet, the defense chose to have only one witness testify before you. Detective Bosch. No one else stood up for Detective—”
“Objection!” Belk yelled.
“—Bosch.”
“Hold it right there, Ms. Chandler,” Judge Keyes boomed.
The judge’s face became very red as he thought about how to proceed.
“I should clear the jury out of here to do what I am going to do but I think if you’re going to play with fire you have to accept the burns. Ms. Chandler, I’m holding you in contempt of this court for that grievous display of poor judgment. We’ll talk about sanctions at a later date. But I guarantee that it won’t be a pleasant date to look forward to.”
The judge then swiveled in his chair toward the jury and leaned forward.
“Folks, this lady should never have said that. You see, the defense is not obligated to put anybody up as a witness and whether they do or don’t, that cannot be seen as a reflection on their guilt or innocence on the matter before you. Ms. Chandler darn well knew this. She’s an experienced trial lawyer and you better believe she knew this. The fact that she went and said it anyway, knowing Mr. Belk over there and myself would practically hit the ceiling, I think shows a cunning on her behalf that I find very distasteful and troubling in a court of law. I’m going to complain about that to the state law board but—”
“Your Honor,” Chandler cut in. “I object to you tell—”
“Don’t interrupt, Counselor. You stand there and keep quiet until I am through.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I said keep quiet.” He turned back to the jury. “As I was saying, what happens to Ms. Chandler is not for you to worry about. See, she’s taking a gamble that no matter what I say to you now, you will still think about what she said about Detective Bosch not bringing any supporters to testify. I tell you now with the sternest admonition I can offer, do not think about that. What she said means nothing. In fact, I suspect that if he wanted to, Detective Bosch and Mr. Belk could muster a line of police officers ready to testify that would stretch out that door all the way to Parker Center if they thought they wanted it. But they don’t. That’s the strategy they chose and it is not your duty to question it in any way. Any way at all. Any questions?”
No one in the jury box even moved. The judge turned his chair back and looked at Belk.
“Anything you want to say, Mr. Belk?”
“One moment, Your Honor.”
Belk turned to Bosch and whispered, “What do you think? He’s primed to grant a mistrial. I’ve never seen him so mad. We’d get a new trial, maybe by then this copycat thing will be wrapped up.”
Bosch thought a moment. He wanted this over and did not like the prospect of going through another trial with Chandler.
“Mr. Belk?” the judge said.
“I think we go with what we’ve got,” Bosch whispered. “What do you think?”
Belk nodded and said, “I think he might have just given us the verdict.”
Then he stood in his place and said, “Nothing at this time, Your Honor.”
“You sure now?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Okay, Ms. Chandler, like I said, we’ll deal with this at a later time but we will deal with it. You can proceed now, but be very careful.”
“Your Honor, thank you. I want to say before going on that I apologize for my line of argument. I meant no disrespect to you. I, uh, was speaking extemporaneously and got carried away.”
“You did. Apology accepted, but we will still deal with the contempt order later. Let’s proceed. I want the jury to begin their work right after lunch.”
Chandler adjusted her position at the lectern so that she was looking at the jury.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you heard Detective Bosch on the stand yourself. I ask you, lastly, to remember what he said. He said Norman Church got what he deserved. Think about that statement coming from a police officer and what it means. ‘Norman Church got what he deserved.’ We have seen in this courtroom how the justice system works. The checks and balances. The judge to referee, the jury to decide. By his own admission, Detective Bosch decided that was not necessary. He decided there was no need for a judge. No need for a jury. He robbed Norman Church of his chance for justice. And so, ultimately, he robbed you. Think about that.”
She picked her yellow pad up off the lectern and sat down.
23
The jury began its deliberations at 11:15 and Judge Keyes ordered the federal marshals to arrange for lunch to be sent in. He said the twelve would not be interrupted until 4:30, unless they came up with a verdict first.
After the jury had filed out, the judge ordered that all parties be able to appear for a reading of the verdict within fifteen minutes of notification by the clerk. That meant Chandler and Belk could go back to their respective offices to wait. Norman Church’s family was from Burbank so the wife and two daughters opted to go to Chandler’s office. For Bosch, the Hollywood station would have been more than a fifteen-minute commute, but Parker Center was a five-minute walk. He gave the clerk his pager number and told her he’d be there.
The last piece of business the judge brought up was the contempt order against Chandler. He set a hearing for it to be discussed for two weeks later and then banged his gavel down.
Before leaving the courtroom, Belk took Bosch aside and said, “I think we’re in pretty good shape but I’m nervous. You want to spin the dice?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I could try to low-ball Chandler one last time.”
“Offer to settle?”
“Yeah. I have carte blanche from the office for anything up to fifty. After that, I’d have to get approval. But I could throw the fifty at her and see if they’d take it to walk away now.”
“What about legal fees?”
“On a settlement, she’d have to take the cut from the fifty. Someone like her, she’s probably going forty percent. That’d be twenty grand for a week in trial and a week picking a jury. Not bad.”
“You think we’re going to lose?”
“I don’t know. I’m just thinking of all the angles. You never know what a jury will do. Fifty grand would be a cheap way out. She might take it, the way the judge came down on her there at the end. She’s the one who’s probably scared of losing now.”
Belk didn’t get it, Bosch knew. Maybe it had been too subtle for him. The whole contempt thing had been Chandler’s last scam. She had purposely committed the infraction so the jury would see her being slapped down by the judge. She was showing them the justice system at work: a bad deed met with stern enforcement and punishment. She was saying to them, do you see? This is what Bosch escaped. This is what Norman Church faced, but Bosch decided to take the judge and jury’s role ins
tead.
It was clever, maybe too clever. The more Bosch thought about it, the more he wondered how much the judge had been a willing and knowing player in it. He looked at Belk and saw the young assistant city attorney apparently suspected none of this. Instead, he thought of it as a stroke on his side of the page. Probably in two weeks, when Keyes lets her go with a hundred-dollar fine and a lecture during the contempt hearing, he’ll get it.
“You can do whatever you want,” he told Belk. “But she isn’t going to take it. She’s in on this one until the end.”
• • •
At Parker Center Bosch went into Irving’s conference room through the door that opened directly off the hallway. Irving had decided the day before that the now-called Follower Task Force would work out of the conference room so the assistant chief could be kept up on developments to the minute. What wasn’t said about the move but was known was that keeping the group out of one of the squad rooms improved the chance that word of what was happening would remain secure—for at least a few days.
When Bosch walked in only Rollenberger and Edgar were in the room. Bosch noticed that four phones had been installed and were on the round meeting table. There were also six rovers—Motorola two-way radios—and a main communications console on the table, ready to be used as needed. When Edgar looked up and saw Bosch he immediately looked away and picked up a phone to make a call.
“Bosch,” Rollenberger said. “Welcome to our operations center. Are you free from the trial? No smoking in here, by the way.”
“I’m free until a verdict but I’ve got a fifteen-minute leash on me. Anything going on? What’s Mora doing?”
“Not much is happening. Been quiet. Mora spent the morning in the Valley. Went to an attorney’s office in Sherman Oaks and then to a couple of casting agencies, also in Sherman Oaks.”
Rollenberger was looking at a logbook in front of him on the table.
“After that he went to a couple houses in Studio City. There were vans outside of these houses and Sheehan and Opelt said they thought they might be making movies at these locations. He didn’t stay long at either place. Anyway, he’s back over at Ad-Vice now. Sheehan called in a couple minutes ago.”
“Did we get the extra people?”
“Yeah, Mayfield and Yde will take the watch at four from the first team. Then we’ve got two other teams after that.”
“Two?”
“Chief Irving changed his mind and wants an around-the-clock watch. So we’ll be on him through the night, even if he just stays at home and sleeps. Personally, I think it’s a good idea that we go ’round the clock.”
Yeah, especially since Irving decided to do it, Bosch thought but didn’t say. He looked at the radios on the table.
“What’s our freek?”
“Uh, we’re on . . . frequency, frequency—oh, yeah, we’re on five. Symplex five. It’s a DWP communications freek that they only use during a public emergency. Earthquake, flooding, stuff like that. Chief thought it be best to keep off our own freeks. If Mora is our man, then he might be keeping an ear to the radio.”
Bosch thought Rollenberger probably thought it was a good idea, but didn’t ask him.
“I think it’s a good idea to play it safe this way,” the lieutenant said.
“Right. Anything else I should know?” He looked at Edgar, who was still on the phone. “What’s Edgar got?”
“Still trying to locate the survivor from four years ago. He already pulled a copy of Mora’s divorce file. It was uncontested.”
Edgar hung up, finished writing something in a notebook and then stood up without looking at Bosch. He said, “I’m going down to get a cup.”
“Okay,” Rollenberger said. “We should have our own coffeemaker in here by this afternoon. I talked it over with the chief and he was going to requisition one.”
Bosch said, “Good idea. I think I’m going down with Edgar.”
Edgar walked quickly down the hallway so that he could stay ahead of Bosch. At the elevator he pushed the button but then without breaking stride walked past the elevator and into the stairwell to go down. Bosch followed and after they had gone down one floor, Edgar stopped and whipped around.
“What are you following me for?”
“Coffee.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
“Did—”
“No, I didn’t talk to Pounds yet. I’ve been busy, remember?”
“Good, then don’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you haven’t talked to Pounds about it, then don’t. Forget about it.”
“Serious?”
“Yeah.”
He stood there looking at Bosch, still skeptical.
“Learn from it. So will I. I already have. Okay?”
“Thanks, Harry.”
“No, don’t ‘Thanks, Harry’ me. Just say ‘okay.’”
“Okay.”
They walked down to the next floor and to the cafeteria. Rather than sit in front of Rollenberger and talk, Bosch suggested they take their coffee to one of the tables.
“Hans Off, what a trip, man,” Edgar said. “I keep picturing this cuckoo clock, only it’s him that comes out and says, ‘Great idea, Chief! Great idea, Chief!’”
Bosch smiled and Edgar laughed. Harry could tell a great burden had been lifted off the man and so he was heartened by what he had done. He felt good about it.
“So, nothing on the survivor yet?” he said.
“She’s out there somewhere. But the four years since she escaped from the Follower have not been good to Georgia Stern.”
“What happened?”
“Well, by reading her sheet and talking to some guys in street vice, it looks like she got on the needle. After that, she probably got too skaggy-looking to make movies. I mean, who wants to watch a film like that and the girl’s got track marks up her arms or her thighs or her neck. That’s the problem with the porno business if you’re a hype. You’re naked, man, you can’t hide that shit.
“Anyway, I talked to Mora, just to make a routine contact and to tell him I was looking for her. He kinda gave me that rundown on how needle marks are the quickest way out of the business. But he had nothing else. You think that was cool, talking to him?”
Bosch considered it a few moments and then said, “Yeah, I do. Best way to keep him from being suspicious is to act like he knows as much as we do. If you hadn’t asked him and then he heard from a source or somebody else in vice that you were looking for her, then he’d probably tumble to us.”
“Yeah, that’s the way I figured it, so I called him this morning and asked a few questions and then went on. Far as he knows, you and me are the only ones working this new case. He doesn’t know anything about our task force. So far.”
“Only problem with asking him about the survivor is that if he knows you’re looking, he may go looking for her. We’ll have to be careful about that. Let the surveillance teams know.”
“Yeah, I will. Maybe Hans Off can tell ’em. You ought to hear this guy on the rovers, sounds like a fuckin’ Eagle Scout.”
Bosch smiled. He imagined Hans Off cut no slack in the use of radio code designations.
“Anyway, so that’s why she isn’t in the porno biz anymore,” Edgar said, getting back to the survivor. “In the last three years, we got check charges, a couple of possessions, a couple prostitution rousts and many, many under-the-influence beefs. She’s been in and out. Always time served, never anything serious. Two, three days at a time. Not enough to help her kick, either.”
“So where’s she work?”
“The Valley. I’ve been on the phone with Valley Vice all morning. They say she usually works the Sepulveda corridor with the other street pros.”
Bosch remembered the young women he had seen the other afternoon while tracing down Cerrone, Rebecca Kaminski’s manager/pimp. He wondered if he had seen or even talked to Georgia Stern and not known it.
“What is it?”
“
Nothing. I was out there the other day and was wondering if I’d seen her. You know, not knowing who she was. Did the vice guys say whether she had protection?”
“Nah, no pimp that they know of. I got the idea she’s bottom drawer stuff. Most pimps have better ponies.”
“So, is Vice up there looking for her?”
“Not yet,” Edgar said. “They have training today, but they’ll be out on Sepulveda tomorrow night.”
“Any recent photos?”
“Yeah.”
Edgar reached into his sport coat and pulled out a stack of photos. They were copies of a booking photo. Georgia Stern certainly looked used up. Her bleached-blonde hair showed at least an inch of dark roots. There were circles under her eyes so deep they looked as though they had been cut into her face with a knife. Her cheeks were gaunt and she was glassy-eyed. Lucky for her she had fixed before she was busted. It meant less time in the cage hurting, waiting and craving the next fix.
“This is three months old. Under the influence. She did two in Sybil and out.”
Sybil Brand Institute was the county’s holding jail for women. Half of it was equipped to handle narcotics addicts.
“Get this,” Edgar said. “I forgot about this. This guy Dean up in Valley Vice says he was the one who made this bust on her and when he was booking her he found a bottle of powder and was just about ready to run her ticket up to possession when he realized the bottle was a legit scrip. He said the powder was AZT. You know, for AIDS. She’s got the virus, man, and she’s out there on the street. On Sepulveda. He asked her if she makes ’em use rubbers and her answer was, ‘Not if they don’t want to.’”
Bosch just nodded. The story was not unusual. It had been Bosch’s experience that most prostitutes despised the men they waved down and serviced for money. Those who became sick got it either from their customers or from dirty needles, which also sometimes came from customers. Either way, he believed it was part of the psychology to not care about passing it on to the population that may have given it to you. It was the belief that what goes around comes around.
The Concrete Blonde Page 27
