A Darkness More Than Night

by Michael Connelly

  Bosch stepped around the defense table and stood in front of it so he could look equally at Fowkkes and Storey. Fowkkes was writing something on a legal pad. Bosch cleared his throat and after a few moments the defense attorney slowly looked up.

  “Yes, Detective? Shouldn’t you be at your table preparing for —”

  “Where’s Rudy Tafero?”

  Bosch looked at Storey as he asked it.

  Fowkkes looked behind him to the seat against the rail where Tafero normally sat during court sessions.

  “I’m sure he’s on his way,” he said. “We have a few minutes.”

  Bosch smiled.

  “On his way? Yeah, he’s on his way. Up to super max at Corcoran, maybe Pelican Cove if he’s lucky. I really wouldn’t want to be a former cop doing my time in Corcoran.”

  Fowkkes seemed unimpressed.

  “Detective, I don’t know what you are talking about. I am trying to prepare a defense strategy here because I think the prosecution is going to fold its tent today. So, if you don’t mind.”

  Bosch looked at Storey when he responded.

  “There is no strategy. There is no defense. Rudy Tafero was arrested this morning. He’s been charged with murder and attempted murder. I’m sure your client can tell you all about it, Counselor. That is, if you didn’t know already.”

  Fowkkes stood up abruptly as though he were making an objection.

  “Sir, it is highly irregular for you to come to the defense table and —”

  “He cut a deal about two hours ago. He’s laying it all out.”

  Again Bosch ignored Fowkkes and looked at Storey.

  “So here’s the deal. You’ve got about five minutes to go over there to Langwiser and Kretzler and agree to plead to murder one on Krementz and Lopez.”

  “This is preposterous. I am going to complain to the judge about this.”

  Bosch now looked at Fowkkes.

  “You do that. But it doesn’t change things. Five minutes.”

  Bosch stepped away but went to the clerk’s desk in front of the judge’s bench. The exhibits were lying stacked on a side table. Bosch looked through them until he found the poster he wanted. He slid it out and carried it with him back to the defense table. Fowkkes was still standing but bending down so Storey could whisper in his ear. Bosch dropped the poster, containing the blowup photo of the bookcase in Storey’s house, on the table. He tapped his finger on two of the books on an upper shelf. The titles on the spines were clearly readable. One title was The Art of Darkness and the other book was merely titled Bosch.

  “There’s your prior knowledge right there.”

  He left the exhibit on the defense table and started to walk back to the prosecution table. But after two steps he came back and put his palms down flat on the defense table. He looked directly at Storey. He spoke in a voice that he knew would be loud enough for McEvoy to hear in the media gallery.

  “You know what your big mistake was, David?”

  “No,” Storey said, a sneer in his voice. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Fowkkes immediately grabbed his client’s arm in a silencing gesture.

  “Drawing out the scene for Tafero,” Bosch said. “What he did was, he went and put those pretty pictures you made right into his safe deposit box at City National. He knew they might come in handy and they sure did. He used them this morning to buy his way out of a death sentence. What are you going to use?”

  Bosch saw the falter in Storey’s eyes, the tell. For just a moment his eyes blinked without really blinking. But in that moment Bosch knew it was over because Storey knew it was over.

  Bosch straightened up and casually looked at his watch, then at Fowkkes.

  “About three minutes now, Mr. Fowkkes. Your client’s life is on the line.”

  He returned to the defense table and sat down. Kretzler and Langwiser leaned toward him and urgently whispered questions but Bosch ignored them.

  “Let’s just see what happens.”

  Over the next five minutes he never once looked over at the defense table. He could hear muffled words and whispers but couldn’t make out any of it. The courtroom filled with spectators and members of the media.

  Nothing came from the defense table.

  At precisely 9 A.M. the door behind the bench opened and Judge Houghton bounded up the steps to his spot. He took his seat and glanced at both the prosecution and defense tables.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, are we ready for the jury?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Kretzler said.

  Nothing came from the defense table. Houghton looked over, a curious smile on his face.

  “Mr. Fowkkes? Can I bring in our jury?”

  Now Bosch leaned back so he could look past Langwiser and Kretzler at the defense table. Fowkkes sat slouched in his chair, a posture he had never exhibited in the courtroom before. He had an elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand up. He was wagging a pen in his fingers and seemed to be lost in deep, depressing thought. His client sat rigid next to him, face forward.

  “Mr. Fowkkes? I’m waiting for an answer.”

  Fowkkes finally looked up at the judge. Very slowly he rose from the seat and went to the lectern.

  “Your Honor, may we approach at sidebar for a moment?”

  The judge looked both curious and annoyed. It had been the routine of the trial to submit all nonpublic conference requests by 8 : 30 A.M. so that they could be considered and argued in chambers without cutting into court time.

  “This can’t be handled in open court, Mr. Fowkkes?”

  “No, Your Honor. Not at this time.”

  “Very well. Come on up.”

  Houghton signaled the lawyers forward with both hands as though he were giving signals to a truck backing up.

  The attorneys approached the side of the bench and huddled with the judge. From his angle Bosch could see all of their faces and he didn’t need to hear what was being whispered. Fowkkes looked ashen and after a few words Kretzler and Langwiser seemed to grow in stature. Langwiser even glanced over at Bosch and he could read the victory message in her eyes.

  He turned and looked over at the defendant. He waited and David Storey slowly turned and their eyes locked one final time. Bosch didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He didn’t do anything but hold the stare. Eventually, it was Storey who looked away and down at his hands lying in his lap. Bosch felt a trilling sensation move over his scalp. He’d felt it before, times when he had glimpsed the normally hidden face of the monster.

  The sidebar conference broke up and the two prosecutors came back quickly to the table, excitement clearly showing in their strides and on their faces. By contrast J. Reason Fowkkes moved slowly to the defense table.

  “That’s all, Fowkkes,” Bosch said under his breath. Langwiser grabbed Bosch by the shoulder as she sat down.

  “He’s going to plead,” she whispered excitedly. “Krementz and Lopez. When you went over there, did you say consecutive or concurrent sentencing?”

  “I didn’t say either.”

  “Okay. We just agreed on concurrent but we’re going into chambers to work it out. We need to formally charge Storey with Lopez first. You want to come in and make the arrest?”

  “Whatever. If you want me to.”

  Bosch knew it was just a legal formality. Storey was already in custody.

  “You deserve it, Harry. We want you to be there.”

  “Fine.”

  The judge tapped his gavel once and drew the courtroom’s attention. The reporters in the media gallery were all leaning forward in their seats. They knew something big was going on.

  “We’ll stand in recess until ten o’clock,” the judge announced. “I’ll see all parties in chambers now.”

  He stood up and quickly went down the three stairs to the rear door before the deputy had time to call, “All rise.”

  46

  McCaleb stayed away from The Following Sea, even after the last detective and forensic technician had finished with
it. From early afternoon until dark the boat was staked out by reporters and television news crews. The coupling of the shooting aboard the boat plus the arrest of Tafero and abrupt guilty pleas from David Storey had turned the boat into the central image of a story that had developed quickly through the day. Every local channel plus the networks shot their stand-up reports from the marina, The Following Sea serving as the backdrop with its yellow police tape strung across the salon door.

  McCaleb hid out for most of the afternoon in Buddy Lockridge’s boat, staying below decks and donning one of Buddy’s floppy fishing hats if he poked his head up through a hatch to see what was going on outside. The two were talking again. Soon after leaving the Sheriff’s Department and getting to the marina ahead of the media, McCaleb had sought out Buddy and apologized for assuming that his charter partner had leaked the story. Buddy in turn apologized for using The Following Sea — and McCaleb’s cabin — as a rendezvous point for encounters with erotic masseuses. McCaleb agreed to tell Graciela he had been wrong about Buddy being the leak. He also agreed not to tell her about the masseuses. Buddy had explained that he didn’t want Graciela thinking less of him than she probably already did.

  While they hid out in the boat, they watched Buddy’s little twelve-inch TV and remained up-to-the-minute with the day’s developments. Channel 9 , which had been carrying the Storey trial live, remained most current, staying on live and continuously reporting from the Van Nuys courthouse and the sheriff’s Star Center.

  McCaleb was left stunned and in awe by the day’s events. David Storey abruptly filed guilty pleas in Van Nuys to two murders as he was simultaneously charged in the downtown Los Angeles courthouse with being a conspirator in the Gunn case. The movie director had avoided the death penalty in the first cases but still would face it in the Gunn case if he did not make another plea arrangement with prosecutors.

  A televised news conference at the Star Center had featured Jaye Winston prominently. She answered questions from reporters after the sheriff, flanked by LAPD and FBI brass, read a statement announcing the day’s events from an investigative standpoint. McCaleb’s name was mentioned numerous times in the discussion of the investigation and subsequent shooting aboard The Following Sea. Winston also mentioned it at the end of the news conference when she expressed her thanks to him, saying it was his volunteer work on the case that broke it open.

  Bosch was also prominently mentioned but took no part in any press conferences. After Storey’s guilty verdicts were entered in the Van Nuys court, Bosch and the lawyers involved in the case were mobbed outside the doors to the courtroom. But McCaleb had seen video on one channel of Bosch pushing his way though the reporters and cameras and refusing to comment as he moved to a fire escape and disappeared down the stairs.

  The only reporter who got to McCaleb was Jack McEvoy, who still had his cell phone number. McCaleb talked to him briefly but declined to comment on what had happened in the master cabin of The Following Sea and how close he had come to death. His thoughts about that were too personal and he would never share them with any reporter.

  McCaleb had also talked to Graciela, calling her and filling her in on the events before she saw them on the news. He told her he probably wouldn’t get home until the next day because he was sure the media pack would be watching the boat until well after dark. She said she was glad it was over and that he’d be coming home. He sensed there was still a high level of stress in her voice and knew it was something he would have to address when he got back to the island.

  Late in the day McCaleb was able to slip out of Buddy’s boat unnoticed when the media pack was distracted by activity in the marina parking lot. The LAPD was towing off the old Lincoln Continental that the Tafero brothers had been using the night before when they had come to the marina to kill McCaleb. While the news crews filmed and watched the mundane task of a car being hooked up and towed away, McCaleb was able to get to his Cherokee without being spotted. He started the car and drove out of the lot ahead of the tow truck. Not a single reporter followed.

  • • •

  It was fully dark by the time he got to Bosch’s house. The front door was open as it had been the time before, the screen door in place. McCaleb rapped on the wooden frame and peered through the mesh into the darkness of the house. There was a single light — a reading light — on in the living room. He could hear music and thought it was the same Art Pepper CD that had been playing during his last visit. But he didn’t see Bosch.

  McCaleb looked away from the door to check the street and when he looked back Bosch was standing at the screen and it startled him. Bosch unhooked a latch and opened the screen. He was wearing the same suit McCaleb had seen him in on the news. He was holding a bottle of Anchor Steam down at his side.

  “Terry. Come on in. I thought maybe you were a reporter. Bugs the hell out of me when they come to your house. Seems like there should be one place they can’t go.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. They’re all over the boat. I had to get away.”

  McCaleb passed by Bosch in the entrance hallway and stepped into the living room.

  “So reporters aside, how’s it going, Harry?”

  “Never better. A good day for our side. How’s your neck doing?”

  “Sore as hell. But I’m alive.”

  “Yeah, that’s what’s important. Want a beer?”

  “Uh, that would be good.”

  While Bosch got the beer McCaleb went out to the rear deck.

  Bosch had the deck lights off, making the lights of the city more brilliant in the distance. McCaleb could hear the ever present sound of the freeway at the bottom of the pass. Searchlights cut across the sky from three different locations on the Valley floor. Bosch came out and handed him a beer.

  “No glass, right?”

  “No glass.”

  They looked out into the night and drank their beers silently for a little while. McCaleb thought about how he should say what he wanted to say. He was still working on it.

  “The last thing they were doing before I left was hooking up Tafero’s car,” he said after some time.

  Bosch nodded.

  “What about the boat? They finished with it?”

  “Yeah, they’re done.”

  “Is it a mess? They always leave things a mess.”

  “Probably. I haven’t been inside. I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

  Bosch nodded. McCaleb took a long draw on his beer and put the bottle down on the railing. He had taken too much. It backed up in his throat and burned his sinuses.

  “Okay?” Bosch asked.

  “Yeah, fine.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Harry, I came up to tell you I’m not going to be your friend anymore.”

  Bosch started to laugh but then stopped.

  “What?”

  McCaleb looked at him. Bosch’s eyes were still piercing in the darkness. They had caught a speck of reflected light from somewhere and McCaleb could see the two pinpoints holding on him.

  “You should’ve hung around a little longer this morning while Jaye interviewed Tafero.”

  “I didn’t have the time.”

  “She asked him about the Lincoln and he said it was his undercover car. He said he used it on jobs when he didn’t want there to be any chance of a trace. It has stolen plates on it. And the registration is phony.”

  “Makes sense, a guy like that, having a car for the wet work.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  Bosch had finished his beer. He was leaning with his elbows on the railing. He was peeling the label off the bottle and dropping the little pieces into the darkness below.

  “No, I don’t get it, Terry. Why don’t you tell me what you’re talking about?”

  McCaleb picked up his beer but then put it back down without drinking any more.

  “His real car, the one he used every day, is a Mercedes Four-thirty C-L-K. That was the one he caught the ticket with. For parking at the post office when h
e sent the money order.”

  “Okay, the guy had two cars. His secret car and his show car. What does it mean?”

  “It means you knew something you shouldn’t have known.”

  “What are you talking about? Knew what?”

  “Last night I asked you why you came onto my boat. You said you saw Tafero’s Lincoln and knew there was something wrong. How did you know that Lincoln was his?”

  Bosch was silent for a long moment. He looked out into the night and nodded.