“North on Main. Same as usual.”
Wright redirected his units and the carefully orchestrated mobile surveillance began moving with Jessup as he took Main Street to Pico and then made his way to the entrance of the 10 Freeway.
Jessup headed east and then merged onto the northbound 405, which was crowded with cars even at the late hour. As expected, he was heading toward the Santa Monica Mountains. The surveillance vehicles ranged from Wright’s SUV to a black Mercedes convertible to a Volvo station wagon with two bikes on a rear rack to a pair of generic Japanese sedans. The only thing missing for a surveillance in the Hollywood Hills was a hybrid. The teams employed a surveillance procedure called the floating box. Two outriders on either side of the target car, another car up front and one behind, all moving in a choreographed rotation. Wright’s SUV was the floater, running backup behind the box.
The whole way Jessup stayed at or below the speed limit. As the freeway rose to the crest of the mountains Bosch looked out his window and saw the Getty Museum rising in the mist at the top like a castle, the sky black behind it.
Anticipating that Jessup was heading to his usual destinations on Mulholland Drive, Wright told two teams to break off from the box and move ahead. He wanted them already up and on Mulholland ahead of Jessup. He wanted a ground team with night vision goggles in Franklin Canyon Park before Jessup went in.
True to form, Jessup took the Mulholland exit and was soon heading east on the winding, two-lane snake that runs the spine of the mountain chain. Wright explained that this was when the surveillance was most vulnerable to exposure.
“You need a bee to properly do this up here but that’s not in the budget,” he said.
“A bee?” McPherson asked.
“Part of our code. Means helicopter. We could sure use one.”
The first surprise of the night came five minutes later when Jessup drove by Franklin Canyon Park without stopping. Wright quickly recalled his ground team from the park as Jessup continued east.
Jessup passed Coldwater Canyon Boulevard without slowing and next drove by the overlook above Fryman Canyon. When he passed through the intersection of Mulholland and Laurel Canyon Boulevard he was taking the surveillance team into new territory.
“What are the chances he’s made us?” Bosch asked.
“None,” Wright said. “We’re too good. He’s got something new on his mind.”
For the next ten minutes the follow continued east toward the Cahuenga Pass. The command car was well behind the surveillance, and Wright and his two passengers had to rely on radio reports to know what was happening.
One car was moving in front of Jessup while all the rest were behind. The rear cars followed a continual rotation of turning off and moving up so the headlight configurations would keep changing in Jessup’s rearview. Finally, a radio report came in that made Bosch move forward in his seat, as if closer proximity to the source of the information would make things clearer.
“There’s a stop sign up here and Retro turned north. It’s too dark to see the street sign but I had to stay on Mulholland. Too risky. Next up turn left at the stop.”
“Roger that. We got the left.”
“Wait!” Bosch said urgently. “Tell him to wait.”
Wright checked him in the mirror.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked.
“There’s only one stop on Mulholland. Woodrow Wilson Drive. I know it. It winds down and reconnects with Mulholland at the light down at Highland. The lead car can pick him up there. But Woodrow Wilson is too tight. If you send a car down there he may know he’s being followed.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I live on Woodrow Wilson.”
Wright thought for a moment and then went on the radio.
“Cancel that left. Where’s the Volvo?”
“We’re holding up until further command.”
“Okay, go on up and make the left on the two wheelers. Watch for oncoming. And watch for our guy.”
“Roger that.”
Soon Wright’s SUV got to the intersection. Bosch saw the Volvo pulled off to the side. The bike rack was empty. Wright pulled over to wait, checking the teams on the radio.
“One, are you in position?”
“That’s a roger. We’re at the light at the bottom. No sign of Retro yet.”
“Three, you up?”
There was no response.
“Okay, everybody hold till we hear.”
“What do you mean?” Bosch asked. “What about the bikes?”
“They must’ve gone down deaf. We’ll hear when they—”
“This is Three,” a voice said in a whisper. “We came up on him. He’d closed his eyes and went to sleep.”
Wright translated for his passengers.
“He killed his lights and stopped moving.”
Bosch felt his chest start to tighten.
“Are they sure he’s in the car?”
Wright communicated the question over the radio.
“Yeah, we can see him. He’s got a candle burning on the dashboard.”
“Where exactly are you, Three?”
“About halfway down. We can hear the freeway.”
Bosch leaned all the way forward between the two front seats.
“Ask him if he can pick a number off the curb,” he said. “Get me an address.”
Wright relayed the request and almost a minute went by before the whisper came back.
“It’s too dark to see the curbs here without using a flash. But we got a light next to the door of the house he’s parked in front of. It’s one of those cantilever jobs hanging its ass out over the pass. From here it looks like seventy-two-oh-three.”
Bosch slid back and leaned heavily against the seat. McPherson turned to look at him. Wright used the mirror to look back.
“You know that address?” Wright asked.
Bosch nodded in the darkness.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s my house.”
Twenty-three
Sunday, March 21, 6:40 A.M.
My daughter liked to sleep in on Sundays. Normally I hated losing the time with her. I only had her every other weekend and Wednesdays. But this Sunday was different. I was happy to let her sleep while I got up early to go back to work on the motion to save my chief witness’s testimony. I was in the kitchen pouring the first cup of coffee of the day when I heard knocking on my front door. It was still dark out. I checked the peep before opening it and was relieved to see it was my ex-wife with Harry Bosch standing right behind her.
But that relief was short-lived. The moment I turned the knob they pushed in and I could immediately feel a bad energy enter with them.
“We’ve got a problem,” Maggie said.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“What’s wrong is that Jessup camped outside my house this morning,” Bosch said. “And I want to know how he found it and what the hell he’s doing.”
He came up too close to me when he said it. I didn’t know which was worse, his breath or the accusatory tone of his words. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking but I realized all the bad energy was coming from him.
I stepped back from him.
“Hayley’s still asleep. Let me just go close her bedroom door. There’s fresh decaf in the kitchen and I can brew some fully leaded if you need it.”
I went down the hall and checked on my daughter. She was still down. I closed the door and hoped the voices that were bound to get loud would not wake her.
My two visitors were still standing when I got back to the living room. Neither had gone for coffee. Bosch was silhouetted by the big picture window that looked out upon the city—the view that made me buy the house. I could see streaks of light entering the sky behind his shoulders.
“No coffee?”
They just stared at me.
“Okay, let’s sit down and talk about this.”
I gestured toward the couch and chairs but Bosch seemed frozen in his stance.
“Come on, let’s figure it out.”
I walked past them and sat down in the chair by the window. Finally, Bosch started to move. He sat down on the couch next to Hayley’s school backpack. Maggie took the other chair. She spoke first.
“I’ve been trying to convince Harry that we didn’t put his home address on the witness list.”
“Absolutely not. We gave no personal addresses in discovery. For you, I listed two addresses. Your office and mine. I even gave the general number for the PAB. Didn’t even give a direct line.”
“Then how did he find my house?” Bosch asked, the accusatory tone still in his voice.
“Look, Harry, you’re blaming me for something I had nothing to do with. I don’t know how he found your house but it couldn’t have been that hard. I mean, come on. Anybody can find anybody on the Internet. You own your house, right? You pay property taxes, have utility accounts, and I bet you’re even registered to vote—Republican, I’m sure.”
“Independent.”
“Fine. The point is, people can find you if they want. Added to that, you have a singular name. All anybody would have to do is punch in—”
“You gave them my full name?”
“I had to. It’s what’s required and what’s been given in discovery for every trial you’ve ever testified in. It doesn’t matter. All Jessup needed was access to the Internet and he could’ve—”
“Jessup’s been in prison for twenty-four years. He knows less about the Internet than I do. He had to have help and I’m betting it came from Royce.”
“Look, we don’t know that.”
Bosch looked pointedly at me, a darkness crossing his eyes.
“You’re defending him now?”
“No, I’m not defending anybody. I’m just saying we shouldn’t rush to any conclusions here. Jessup’s got a roommate and is a minor celebrity. Celebrities get people to do things for them, okay? So why don’t you calm down and let’s back up a little bit. Tell me what happened at your house.”
Bosch seemed to take it down a notch but he was still anything but calm. I half expected him to get up and take a swing at a lamp or punch a hole in a wall. Thankfully, Maggie was the one who told the story.
“We were with the SIS, watching him. We thought he was going to go up to one of the parks he’s been visiting. Instead, he drove right by them all and kept going on Mulholland. When we got to Harry’s street we had to hang back so he wouldn’t see us. The SIS has a bike car. Two of them saddled up and rode down. They found Jessup sitting in his car in front of Harry’s house.”
“Goddamn it!” Bosch said. “I have my daughter living with me. If this prick is—”
“Harry, not so loud and watch what you say,” I said. “My daughter’s on the other side of that wall. Now, please, go back to the story. What did Jessup do?”
Bosch hesitated. Maggie didn’t.
“He just sat there,” Maggie said. “For about a half hour. And he lit a candle.”
“A candle? In the car?”
“Yeah, on the dashboard.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Who knows?”
Bosch couldn’t remain sitting. He jumped up from the couch and started pacing.
“And after a half hour he drove off and went home,” Maggie said. “That was it. We just came from Venice.”
Now I stood up and started to pace, but in a pattern clear of Bosch’s orbit.
“Okay, let’s think about this. Let’s think about what he was doing.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Bosch said. “That’s the question.”
I nodded. I had that coming.
“Is there any reason to think that he knows or suspects he’s being followed?” I asked.
“No, no way,” Bosch said immediately.
“Wait a minute, not so fast on that,” Maggie said. “I’ve been thinking about it. There was a near-miss earlier in the night. You remember, Harry? On Breeze Avenue?”
Bosch nodded. Maggie explained it to me.
“They thought they lost him on a walk street in Venice. The lieutenant sent a guy in with a pizza box. Jessup came out from between two houses after taking a leak. It was a close call.”
I spread my hands.
“Well, maybe that was it. Maybe that planted suspicion and he decided to see if he was being followed. You show up outside the lead investigator’s house and it’s a good way to draw out the flies if you’ve got them on you.”
“You mean like a test?” Bosch asked.
“Exactly. Nobody approached him out there, right?”
“No, we left him alone,” Maggie said. “If he had gotten out of his car I think it would’ve been a different story.”
I nodded.
“Okay, so it was either a test or he’s got something planned. In that case, it would’ve been a reconnaissance mission. He wanted to see where you live.”
Bosch stopped and stared out the window. The sky was fully lit now.
“But one thing you have to keep in mind is that what he did was not illegal,” I said. “It’s a public street and the OR put no restrictions on travel within Los Angeles County. So no matter what he was up to, it’s a good thing you didn’t stop him and reveal yourself.”
Bosch stayed at the window, his back to us. I didn’t know what he was thinking.
“Harry,” I said. “I know your concerns and I agree with them. But we can’t let this be a distraction. The trial is coming up quick and we have work to do. If we convict this guy, he goes away forever and it won’t matter if he knows where you live.”
“So what do I do till then, sit on my front porch every night with a shotgun?”
“The SIS is on him twenty-four/seven, right?” Maggie said. “Do you trust them?”
Bosch didn’t answer for a long moment.
“They won’t lose him,” he finally said.
Maggie looked at me and I could see the concern in her eyes. Each of us had a daughter. It would be hard to put your trust in anybody else, even an elite surveillance squad. I thought for a moment about something I had been considering since the conversation began.
“What about you moving in here? With your daughter. She can use Hayley’s room because Hayley’s going back to her mother’s today. And you can use the office. It’s got a sleeper sofa that I’ve spent more than a few nights on. It’s actually comfortable.”
Bosch turned from the window and looked at me.
“What, stay here through the whole trial?”
“Why not? Our daughters will finally get a chance to meet when Hayley comes over.”
“It’s a good idea,” Maggie said.
I didn’t know if she was referring to the daughters meeting or the idea of Bosch and child staying with me.
“And look, I’m here every night,” I said. “If you have to go out with the SIS, I got you covered with your daughter, especially when Hayley’s here.”
Bosch thought about it for a few moments but then shook his head.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it’s my house. My home. I’m not going to run from this guy. He’s going to run from me.”
“What about your daughter?” Maggie asked.
“I’ll take care of my daughter.”
“Harry, think about it,” she said. “Think about your daughter. You don’t want her in harm’s way.”
“Look, if Jessup has my address, then he probably has this address, too. Moving in here isn’t the answer. It’s just… just running from him. Maybe that’s his test—to see what I do. So I’m not doing anything. I’m not moving. I’ve got the SIS, and if he comes back and so much as crosses the curb out front, I’ll be waiting for him.”
“I don’t like this,” Maggie said.
I thought about what Bosch had said about Jessup having my address.
“Neither do I,” I said.
Twenty-four
Wednesday, March 31, 9:00
A.M.
Bosch didn’t need to be in court. In fact, he wouldn’t be needed until after jury selection and the actual trial began. But he wanted to get a close look at the man he had been shadowing from a distance with the SIS. He wanted to see if Jessup would show any reaction to seeing him in return. It had been a month and a half since they had spent the long day in the car driving down from San Quentin. Bosch felt the need to get closer than the surveillance allowed him to. It would help him keep the fire burning.
It was billed as a status conference. The judge wanted to deal with all final motions and issues before beginning jury selection the next day and then moving seamlessly into the trial. There were scheduling and jury issues to discuss and each side’s list of exhibits were to be handed in as well.
The prosecution team was locked and loaded. In the last two weeks Haller and McPherson had sharpened and streamlined the case, run through mock witness examinations and reconsidered every piece of evidence. They had carefully choreographed the ways in which they would bring the twenty-four-year-old evidence forward. They were ready. The bow had been pulled taut and the arrow was ready to fly.
Even the decision on the death penalty had been made—or rather, announced. Haller had officially withdrawn it, even though Bosch assumed all along that his use of it to threaten Jessup had merely been a pose. He was a defense attorney by nature, and there was no getting him across that line. A conviction on the charges would bring Jessup a sentence of life in prison without the possibility of parole, and that would have to be enough justice for Melissa Landy.
Bosch was ready as well. He had diligently reinvestigated the case and located the witnesses who would be called to testify. All the while, he was still out riding with the SIS as often as possible—nights that his daughter stayed at the homes of friends or with Sue Bambrough, the assistant principal. He was prepared for his part and had helped Haller and McPherson get ready for theirs. Confidence was high and that was another reason for Bosch to be in the courtroom. He wanted to see this thing get started.
Judge Breitman entered and the courtroom was brought to order at a few minutes after nine. Bosch was in a chair against the railing directly behind the prosecution table where Haller and McPherson sat side by side. They had told him to pull the chair up to the table but Harry wanted to hang back. He wanted to be able to watch Jessup from behind, and besides, there was too much anxiety coming from the two prosecutors. The judge was going to make a ruling on whether Sarah Ann Gleason would be allowed to testify against Jessup. As Haller had said the night before, nothing else mattered. If they lost Sarah as a witness, they would surely lose the case.
The Lincoln Lawyer Collection Page 95
