The Reversal

by Michael Connelly

  "And were you ever arrested?"

  "Yes, a bunch of times."

  "For what?"

  "Drugs mostly. I got arrested once for soliciting an undercover, too. And for stealing."

  "You were arrested six times as a juvenile and five more times as an adult, is that correct?"

  "I didn't keep count."

  "What drugs were you taking?"

  "Crystal meth mostly. But if there was something else available, I would probably take it. That was the way I was."

  "Did you ever receive counseling and rehabilitation?"

  "A lot of times. It didn't work at first and then it did. I got clean."

  "When was that?"

  "About seven years ago. When I was thirty."

  "You've been clean for seven years?"

  "Yes, totally. My life is different now."

  "I want to show you People's exhibit thirteen, which is an intake and evaluation form from a private rehab center in Los Angeles called the Pines. Do you remember going there?"

  "Yes, my mother sent me there when I was sixteen."

  "Was that when you first started getting into trouble?"

  "Yes."

  McPherson distributed copies of the evaluation form to the judge, clerk and defense table.

  "Okay, Sarah, I want to draw your attention to the paragraph I have outlined in yellow in the evaluation section of the intake form. Can you please read it out loud to the jury?"

  "Candidate reports PTSD in regard to the murder of her younger sister three years ago. Suffers unresolved guilt associated with murder and also evinces behavior typical of sexual abuse. Full psych and physical evaluation is recommended."

  "Thank you, Sarah. Do you know what PTSD means?"

  "Posttraumatic stress disorder."

  "Did you undergo these recommended evaluations at the Pines?"

  "Yes."

  "Did discussion of your stepfather's sexual abuse come up?"

  "No, because I lied."

  "How so?"

  "By then I'd had sex with other men, so I never mentioned my stepfather."

  "Before revealing what you have today in court, did you ever talk about your stepfather and his having sex with you with anyone?"

  "Just you and Detective Bosch. Nobody else."

  "Have you been married?"

  "Yes."

  "More than once?"

  "Yes."

  "And you didn't even tell your husbands about this?"

  "No. It's not the kind of thing you want to tell anybody. You keep it to yourself."

  "Thank you, Sarah. I have no further questions."

  McPherson took her pad and returned to her seat, where she was greeted with a squeeze on the arm by Haller. It was a gesture designed for the jury to see but by then all eyes were on Royce. It was his turn and Bosch's measure of the room was that Sarah Gleason had everybody riding with her. Any effort by Royce to destroy her ran the strong risk of backfiring against his client.

  Royce did the smart thing. He decided to let emotions cool for a night. He stood and told the judge that he reserved the right to recall Gleason as a witness during the defense phase of the trial. In effect he put off her cross-examination. He then retook his seat.

  Bosch checked his watch. It was four-fifteen. The judge told Haller to call his next witness but Bosch knew there were no more witnesses. Haller looked at McPherson and in unison they nodded. Haller then stood up.

  "Your Honor," he said. "The People rest."

  Thirty-five

  Wednesday, April 7, 7:20 P.M.

  The prosecution team convened for dinner at Casa Haller. I made a thick Bolognese using a store-bought sauce for a base and boiled a box of bow tie pasta. Maggie chipped in with her own recipe for Caesar salad that I had always loved when we were married but hadn't had in years. Bosch and his daughter were the last to arrive, as Harry first took Sarah Ann Gleason back to her hotel room following court and made sure she was secure for the night.

  Our daughters were shy upon meeting and embarrassed by how obvious their parents were about watching the long-awaited moment. They instinctively knew to move away from us and convened in the back office, ostensibly to do their homework. Pretty soon after, we started to hear laughter from down the hall.

  I put the pasta and sauce into a big bowl and mixed it all together. I then called the girls out first to serve themselves and take their dishes back to the office.

  "How's it going back there, anyway?" I asked them while they were making their plates. "Any homework getting done?"

  "Dad," Hayley said dismissively, as if my question were a great invasion of privacy.

  So I tried the cousin.

  "Maddie?"

  "Um, I'm almost finished with mine."

  Both girls looked at each other and laughed, as if either the question or its answer were cause for great glee. They scurried out of the kitchen then and back to the office.

  I put everything out on the table, where the adults were sitting. The last thing I did was make sure the door to the office was closed so the girls would not hear our conversation and we would not hear theirs.

  "Well," I said as I passed the pasta to Bosch. "We're finished with our part. Now comes the hard part."

  "The defense," Maggie said. "What do we think they have in store for Sarah?"

  I thought for a moment before answering and tried my first bow tie. It was good. I was proud of my dish.

  "We know they'll throw everything they can at her," I finally said. "She's the case."

  Bosch reached inside his jacket and brought out a folded piece of paper. He opened it on the table. I could see that it was the defense's witness list.

  "At the end of court today Royce told the judge he would complete the defense's case in one day," he said. "He said he's calling only four witnesses but he's got twenty-three listed on here."

  "Well, we knew all along that most of that list was subterfuge," Maggie said. "He was hiding his case."

  "Okay, so we have Sarah coming back," I said, holding up one finger. "Then we have Jessup himself. My guess is that Royce knows he has to put him on. That's two. Who else?"

  Maggie waited until she finished a mouthful of food before speaking.

  "Hey, this is good, Haller. When did you learn to make this?"

  "It's a little thing I like to call Newman's Own."

  "No, you added to it. You made it better. How come you never cooked like this when we were married?"

  "I guess it came out of necessity. Being a single father. What about you, Harry? What do you cook?"

  Bosch looked at us both like we were crazy.

  "I can fry an egg," he said. "That's about it."

  "Let's get back to the trial," Maggie said. "I think Royce has got Jessup and Sarah. Then I think he's got the secret witness we haven't found. The guy from the last rehab center."

  "Edward Roman," Bosch said.

  "Right. Roman. That makes three and the fourth one could be his investigator or maybe his meth expert but is probably just bullshit. There is no fourth. So much of what Royce does is misdirection. He doesn't want anybody's eyes on the prize. Wants them looking anywhere but right at the truth."

  "What about Roman?" I said. "We haven't found him, but have we figured out his testimony?"

  "Not by a long shot," Maggie said. "I've gone over and over this with Sarah and she has no idea what he's going to say. She couldn't remember ever talking about her sister with him."

  "The summary Royce provided in discovery says he will testify about Sarah's 'revelations' about her childhood," Bosch said. "Nothing more specific than that and, of course, Royce claims he didn't take any notes during the interview."

  "Look," I said, "we have his record and we know exactly what kind of guy we're dealing with here. He's going to say whatever Royce wants him to say. It's that simple. Whatever works for the defense. So we should be less concerned by what he says--because we know it will be lies--and more concerned with knocking him out of the box. What
do we have that can help us there?"

  Maggie and I both looked at Bosch and he was ready for us.

  "I think I might have something. I'm going to go see somebody tonight. If it pans out we'll have it in the morning. I'll tell you then."

  My frustrations with Bosch's methods of investigation and communication boiled over at that point.

  "Harry, come on. We're part of a team here. This secret agent stuff doesn't really work when we're in that courtroom every day with our asses on the line."

  Bosch looked down at his plate and I saw the slow burn. His face grew as dark as the sauce.

  "Your asses on the line?" he said. "I didn't see anywhere in the surveillance reports that Jessup was hanging around outside your house, Haller, so don't tell me about your ass being on the line. Your job is in that courtroom. It's nice and safe and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. But no matter what happens, you're back in court the next day. You want your ass on the line, try working out there."

  He pointed out the window toward the view of the city.

  "Hey, guys, let's just calm down here," Maggie said quickly. "Harry, what's the matter? Has Jessup gone back to Woodrow Wilson? Maybe we should just revoke this guy and put him back in lockup."

  Bosch shook his head.

  "Not to my street. He hasn't been back there since that first night and he hasn't been up to Mulholland in more than a week."

  "Then what is it?"

  Bosch put his fork down and pushed his plate back.

  "We already know there's a good chance that Jessup has a gun from that meeting the SIS saw him have with a convicted gun dealer. They didn't see what he got from the guy, but since it came wrapped in a towel, it doesn't take a lot to figure it out. And then, you want to know what happened last night? Some bright guy on the surveillance decides to leave his post to use the john without telling anybody and Jessup walked right out of the net."

  "They lost him?" Maggie asked.

  "Yeah, until I found him right before he found me, which might not have turned out so well. And you know what he's up to? He's building a dungeon for somebody and for all I know--"

  He leaned forward over the table and finished in an urgent whisper.

  "--might be for my kid!"

  "Whoa, wait, Harry," Maggie said. "Back up. He's building a dungeon? Where?"

  "Under the pier. There's like a storage room. He put a lock on the door and dropped canned food off there last night. Like he's getting it ready for somebody."

  "Okay, that's scary," Maggie said. "But your daughter? We don't know that. You said he went by your place only the one time. What makes you think--?"

  "Because I can't afford not to think it. You understand?"

  She nodded.

  "Yes, I do. Then I come back to what I just said. We violate him for associating with a known criminal--the gun dealer--and pull his OR release. There's only a few days left in the trial and he obviously didn't act out or make the mistake we thought he would. Let's be safe and put him back inside until this is over."

  "And what if we don't get the conviction?" Bosch said. "What happens then? This guy walks and that'll also be the end of the surveillance. He'll be out there without any eyes on him."

  That brought a silence to the table. I stared at Bosch and understood the pressure he was under. The case, the threat to his daughter, and no wife or ex-wife to help him out at home.

  Bosch finally broke the uneasy silence.

  "Maggie, are you taking Hayley home with you tonight?"

  Maggie nodded.

  "Yes, when we're finished here."

  "Can Maddie stay with you two tonight? She brought a change of clothes in her backpack. I'd come by in the morning in time to take her to school."

  The request seemed to take Maggie by surprise, especially since the girls had just met. Bosch pressed her.

  "I need to meet somebody tonight and I don't know where it will take me," Bosch said. "It might even lead to Roman. I need to be able to move without worrying about Maddie."

  She nodded.

  "Okay, that's fine. It sounds like they're becoming fast friends. I just hope they don't stay up all night."

  "Thank you, Maggie."

  About thirty seconds of silence went by before I spoke.

  "Tell us about this dungeon, Harry."

  "I was standing in it last night."

  "Why the Santa Monica pier?"

  "My guess is that it's because of the proximity to what's on top of the pier."

  "Prey."

  Bosch nodded.

  "But what about noise? You're saying this place is directly below the pier?"

  "There are ways of controlling human sound. And last night the sound of waves crashing against the pilings under there was so loud you could've screamed all night and nobody would've heard you. You probably wouldn't even hear a gunshot from down there."

  Bosch spoke with a certain authority of the dark places of the world and the evil they held. I lost my appetite then and pushed my plate away. I felt dread come inside me.

  Dread for Melissa Landy and all the other victims in the world.

  Thirty-six

  Wednesday, April 7, 11:00 P.M.

  Gilbert and Sullivan were waiting for him in a car parked on Lankershim Boulevard near its northern terminus at San Fernando Road. It was a blighted area populated primarily with used-car lots and repair shops. In the midst of all of this low-rent industry was a run-down motel advertising rooms for fifty dollars a week. The motel had no name on display. Just the lighted sign that said MOTEL.

  Gilbert and Sullivan were Gilberto Reyes and John Sullivan, a pair of narcs assigned to the Valley Enforcement Team, a street-level drug unit. When Bosch was looking for Edward Roman he put the word out in all such units in the department. His assumption from Roman's record was that he had never gotten away from the life as Sarah Gleason had. There had to be somebody in the department's narco units with a line on him.

  It paid off with a call from Reyes. He and his partner didn't have a bead on Roman but they knew him from past interactions on the street and knew where his current trick partner was holed up and apparently awaiting his return. Long-term drug addicts often partnered with a prostitute, offering her protection in exchange for a share of the drugs her earnings bought.

  Bosch pulled his car up behind the narcs' UC car and parked. He got out and moved up to their car, getting in the back after checking the seat to make sure it was clean of vomit and any other detritus from the people they had transported lately.

  "Detective Bosch, I presume?" said the driver, whom Bosch guessed was Reyes.

  "Yeah, how are you guys?"

  He offered his fist over the seat and they both gave him a bump while identifying themselves. Bosch had it wrong. The one who looked to be of Latin origin was Sullivan and the one who looked like a bag of white bread was Reyes.

  "Gilbert and Sullivan, huh?"

  "That's what they called us when we got partnered," Sullivan said. "Kind of stuck."

  Bosch nodded. That was enough for the meet-and-greet. Everybody had a nickname and a story to go with it. These guys together didn't add up to how old Bosch was and they probably had no clue who Gilbert and Sullivan were, anyway.

  "So you know Eddie Roman?"

  "We've had the pleasure," Reyes said. "Just another piece of human shit that floats around out here."

  "But like I told you on the phone, we ain't seen him in a month or so," Sullivan added. "So we got you his next best thing. His onion. She's over there in room three."

  "What's her name?"

  Sullivan laughed and Bosch didn't get it.

  "Her name is Sonia Reyes," said Reyes. "No relation."

  "That he knows of," Sullivan added.

  He burst into laughter, which Bosch ignored.

  "Spell it for me," he said.

  He took out his notebook and wrote it down.

  "And you're sure she's in the room?"

  "We're sure," Reyes said.
/>   "Okay, anything else I should know before I go in?"

  "No," Reyes said, "but we were planning on goin' in with you. She might get squirrelly with you."

  Bosch reached forward and clapped him on the shoulder.

  "No, I got this. I don't want a crowd in the room."

  Reyes nodded. Message delivered. Bosch did not want any witnesses to what he might need to do here.

  "But thanks for the help. It will be noted."

  "An important case, huh?" Sullivan said.

  Bosch opened the door and got out.

  "They all are," he said.

  He closed the door, slapped the roof twice and walked away.

  The hotel had an eight-foot security fence around it. Bosch had to press a buzzer and hold his badge up to a camera. He was buzzed into the compound but walked right by the office and down a breezeway leading to the rooms.

  "Hey!" a voice called from behind.

  Bosch turned and saw a man with an unbuttoned shirt leaning out the door of the motel's office.

  "Where the fuck you goin', dude?"

  "Go back inside and shut the door. This is police business."

  "Don't matter, man. I let you in but this is private property. You can't just come through the--"

  Bosch started quickly moving back up the breezeway toward the man. The man took his measure and backed down without Bosch saying a word.

  "Never mind, man. You're good."

  He quickly stepped back inside and closed the door. Bosch turned back and found room three without a further problem. He leaned close to the jamb to see if he could pick up any sound. He heard nothing.

  There was a peephole. He put his finger over it and knocked. He waited and then knocked again.

  "Sonia, open up. Eddie sent me."

  "Who are you?"

  The voice was female, ragged and suspicious. Bosch used the universal pass code.

  "Doesn't matter. Eddie sent me with somethin' to hold you over till he's done."

  No response.

  "Okay, Sonia, I'll tell him you weren't interested. I've got someone else who wants it."

  He took his finger off the peep and started walking away. Almost immediately the door opened behind him.

  "Wait."