“Okay, let’s go.”
“Except there’s one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If I bring you in on this, then you stay back. My people take him down.”
Bosch studied him for a moment, trying to read everything hidden in what he was saying.
“There are questions,” Bosch said. “About Franklin Canyon and the other places. I need to talk to Jessup.”
Wright looked over Bosch’s shoulder and back toward the front door of Royce and Associates.
“Detective, one of my best people is dead on the floor in there. I’m not guaranteeing you anything. You understand?”
Bosch paused and then nodded.
“I understand.”
Forty-one
Thursday, April 8, 1:50 P.M.
There was more media in the courtroom than there had been at any other point of the trial. The first two rows of the gallery were shoulder-to-shoulder with reporters and cameramen. The rest of the rows were filled with courthouse personnel and lawyers who had heard what had happened to Clive Royce.
Sarah Gleason sat in a row by the courtroom deputy’s desk. It was marked as reserved for law enforcement officers but the deputy put her there so the reporters couldn’t get to her. Meantime, I sat at the prosecution table waiting for the judge like a man on a desert island. No Maggie. No Bosch. Nobody at the defense table. I was alone.
“Mickey,” someone whispered from behind me.
I turned to see Kate Salters from the Times leaning across the railing.
“I can’t talk now. I have to figure out what to say here.”
“But do you think your total destruction of this morning’s witness is what could have—?”
I was saved by the judge. Breitman entered the courtroom and bounded up to the bench and took her seat. Salters took hers and the question I wanted to avoid for the rest of my life remained unasked—at least for the moment.
“We are back on the record in California versus Jessup. Michael Haller is present for the People. But the jury is not present, nor is defense counsel or the defendant. I am aware through unconfirmed media reports of what has transpired in the last ninety minutes at Mr. Royce’s office. Can you add anything to what I have seen and heard on television, Mr. Haller?”
I stood up to address the court.
“Your Honor, I don’t know what they are putting out to the media at the moment, but I can confirm that Mr. Royce and his cocounsel on this case, Ms. Graydon, were shot and killed in their offices at lunchtime. Karen Revelle is also dead, as well as a police officer who responded to the shooting. The suspect in the shooting has been identified as Jason Jessup. He remains at large.”
Judging by the murmur from the gallery behind me, those basic facts had probably been speculated upon but not yet confirmed to the media.
“This is, indeed, very sad news,” Breitman said.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “Very sad.”
“But I think at this moment we need to put aside our emotions and act carefully here. The issue is, how do we proceed with this case? I am pretty sure I know the answer to that question but am willing to listen to counsel before ruling. Do you wish to be heard, Mr. Haller?”
“Yes, I do, Judge. I ask the court to recess the trial for the remainder of the day and sequester the jury while we await further information. I also ask that you revoke Mr. Jessup’s pretrial release and issue a capias for his arrest.”
The judge considered these requests for a long moment before responding.
“I will grant the motion revoking the defendant’s release and issue the capias. But I don’t see the need to sequester the jury. Regrettably, I see no alternative to a mistrial here, Mr. Haller.”
I knew that would be her first thought. I had been considering my response since the moment I had returned to the courthouse.
“The People object to a mistrial, Judge. The law is clear that Mr. Jessup waives his right to be present at these proceedings by voluntarily absenting himself from them. According to what the defense represented earlier, he was scheduled to be the last witness today. But he has obviously decided not to testify. So, taking all of this into—”
“Mr. Haller, I am going to have to stop you right there. I think you are missing one part of the equation and I am afraid the horse is already out of the barn. You may recall that Deputy Solantz was assigned lunch duty with our jurors after we had the issue of tardiness on Monday.”
“Yes.”
“Well, lunch for eighteen in downtown Los Angeles is a tall order. Deputy Solantz arranged for the group to travel by bus together and eat each day at Clifton’s Cafeteria. There are TVs in the restaurant but Deputy Solantz always keeps them off the local channels. Unfortunately, one TV was on CNN today when the network chose to go live with what was occurring at Mr. Royce’s office. Several jurors saw the live report and got the gist of what was happening before Deputy Solantz managed to kill the feed. As you can imagine, Deputy Solantz is not very happy with himself at the moment, and neither am I.”
I turned and looked over at the courtroom deputy’s desk. Solantz had his eyes down in humiliation. I looked back at the judge and I knew I was dead in the water.
“Needless to say, your suggestion of sequestering the jury was a good one, just a little late. Therefore, and after taking all things into consideration, I find that the jury in this trial has been prejudiced by events which have occurred outside of the court. I intend to declare a mistrial and continue this case until such time as Mr. Jessup has been brought again before this court.”
She paused for a moment to see if I had an objection but I had nothing. I knew what she was doing was right and inevitable.
“Let’s bring in the jury now,” she said.
Soon the jurors were filing into the box, many of them glancing over at the empty defense table.
When everyone was in place, the judge went on the record and turned her chair directly to the jurors. In a subdued tone she addressed them.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I must inform you that because of factors that are not fully clear to you but will soon become so, I have declared a mistrial in the case of California versus Jason Jessup. I do this with great regret because all of us here have invested a great deal of time and effort in these proceedings.”
She paused and studied the confused faces in front of her.
“No one likes to invest so much time without seeing the case through to a result. I am sorry for this. But I do thank you for your duty. You were all dependable and for the most part on time every day. I also watched you closely during the testimony and you were all attentive. The court cannot thank you enough. You are dismissed now from this courtroom and discharged from jury duty. You may all go home.”
The jurors slowly filed back into the jury room, many taking a last look back at the courtroom. Once they were gone the judge turned back to me.
“Mr. Haller, for what it’s worth, I thought you acquitted yourself quite well as a prosecutor. I am sorry it ended this way but you are welcome back to this court anytime and on either side of the aisle.”
“Thank you, Judge. I appreciate that. I had a lot of help.”
“Then I commend your whole team as well.”
With that, the judge stood and left the bench. I sat there for a long time, listening to the gallery clear out behind me and thinking about what Breitman had said at the end. I wondered how and why such a good job in court had resulted in such a horrible thing happening in Clive Royce’s office.
“Mr. Haller?”
I turned, expecting it to be a reporter. But it was two uniformed police officers.
“Detective Bosch sent us. We are here to take you and Ms. Gleason into protective custody.”
“Only Ms. Gleason and she’s right here.”
Sarah was waiting on the bench next to Deputy Solantz’s desk.
“Sarah, these officers are going to take care of you until Jason Jessup is in custody or…”
I didn’t need to finish. Sarah got up and walked over to us.
“So there’s no more trial?” she asked.
“Right. The judge declared a mistrial. That means if Jessup is caught, we would have to start over. With a new jury.”
She nodded and looked a little dumbfounded. I had seen the look on the faces of many people who venture naively into the justice system. They leave the courthouse wondering what just happened. Sarah Gleason would be no different.
“You should go with these men now, Sarah. We’ll be in touch as soon as we know what happens next.”
She just nodded and they headed for the door.
I waited a while, alone in the courtroom, and then headed out to the hallway myself. I saw several of the jurors being interviewed by the reporters. I could’ve watched but at the moment I wasn’t interested in what anybody had to say about the case. Not anymore.
Kate Salters saw me and broke away from one of the clusters.
“Mickey, can we talk now?”
“I don’t feel like talking. Call me tomorrow.”
“The story’s today, Mick.”
“I don’t care.”
I pushed by her in the direction of the elevators.
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. I got to the elevators and jumped through the open doors of a waiting car. I moved into the rear corner and saw a woman standing by the panel. She asked me the same question as Salters.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” I said.
She pushed the button marked G and we went down.
PART FIVE
—The Takedown
Forty-two
Thursday, April 8, 4:40 P.M.
Bosch was stationed with Wright in a borrowed office across the street from the Checkers Hotel. It was the command post, and although no one thought Jessup would be stupid enough to walk in the front door of the hotel, the position gave them a good view of the entire property as well as two of the other surveillance positions.
“I don’t know,” Wright said, staring out the window. “This guy is smart, right?”
“I guess so,” Bosch said.
“Then I don’t see him making this move, you know? He’d have already been here if he was. He’s probably halfway to Mexico by now and we’re sitting here watching a hotel.”
“Maybe.”
“If I were him, I’d get down there and lie low. Try to spend as many days on the beach as I could before they found me and put me back in the Q.”
Bosch’s phone began to buzz and he saw that it was his daughter.
“I’m going to step out to take this,” he said to Wright. “You got it covered here?”
“I’ve got it.”
Bosch answered the phone as he left the office for the hallway.
“Hey, Mads. Everything all right?”
“There’s a police car outside now.”
“Yeah, I know. I sent it there. Just an added precaution.”
They had talked an hour earlier after Maggie McPherson had gotten them safely to a friend’s home in Porter Ranch. He had told his daughter about Jessup being out there and what had happened at Royce’s office. She didn’t know about Jessup’s nocturnal visit to their house two weeks earlier.
“So they didn’t catch that guy yet?”
“We’re working on it and I’m in the middle of stuff here. Stay close to Aunt Maggie and stay safe. I’ll come get you as soon as this is over.”
“Okay. Here, Aunt Maggie wants to talk to you.”
McPherson took the phone.
“Harry, what’s the latest?”
“Same as before. We’re out looking for him and sitting on all the known locations. I’m with Wright at Sarah’s hotel.”
“Be careful.”
“Speaking of that, where’s Mickey? He turned down protection.”
“He’s at home right now but said he’s coming up here.”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Keep us posted.”
“I will.”
Bosch closed the phone and went back into the office. Wright was still at the window.
“I think we’re wasting our time and should shut this down,” he said.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Just came over the radio. They found the car Jessup was using. In Venice. He’s nowhere near here, Bosch.”
Bosch knew that dumping the car in Venice could merely be a misdirection. Drive out to the beach, leave the car and then double back in a cab to downtown. Nonetheless, he found himself reluctantly agreeing with Wright. They were spinning their wheels here.
“Damn it,” he said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get him. I’m keeping one team here and one on your house. Everybody else I’m moving down into Venice.”
“And the Santa Monica Pier?”
“Already covered. Got a couple teams on the beach and nobody’s gone in or out of that location.”
Wright went on the SIS band on the radio and started redeploying his men. As Bosch listened he paced the room, trying to figure Jessup out. After a while he stepped back out to the hallway so as not to disturb Wright’s radio choreography and called Larry Gandle, his boss at RHD.
“It’s Bosch. Just checking in.”
“You still at the hotel?”
“Yeah, but we’re about to clear and head to the beach. I guess you heard they found the car.”
“Yeah, I was just there.”
Bosch was surprised. With four victims at Royce’s office, he thought Gandle would still be at the murder scene.
“The car’s clean,” Gandle said. “Jessup still has the weapon.”
“Where are you now?” Bosch asked.
“On Speedway,” Gandle said. “We just hit the room Jessup was using. Took a while to get the search warrant.”
“Anything there?”
“Not so far. This fucking guy, you see him in court wearing a suit and you think… I don’t know what you think, but the reality was, he was living like an animal.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are empty cans all over the place, food still rotting in them. Food rotting on the counter, trash everywhere. He hung blankets over the windows to black it out like a cave. He made it like a prison cell. He was even writing on the walls.”
All at once it hit him. Bosch knew who Jessup had prepared the dungeon under the pier for.
“What kind of food?” he asked.
“What?” Gandle asked.
“The canned food. What kind of food?”
“I don’t know, fruits and peaches—all kinds of stuff you can get fresh in any store you walk into. But he had it in cans. Like prison.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
Bosch closed the phone and walked quickly back into the office. Wright was off the radio now.
“Did your people go under the pier and check the storage room or just set up surveillance?”
“It’s a loose surveillance.”
“Meaning they didn’t check it out?”
“They checked the perimeter. There was no sign that anybody went under the wall. So they backed out and set up.”
“Jessup’s there. They missed him.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know. Let’s go.”
Forty-three
Thursday, April 8, 6:35 P.M.
I stood at the picture window at the end of my living room and looked out at the city with the sun dropping behind it. Jessup was out there someplace. Like a rabid animal he would be hunted, cornered and, I had no doubt, put down. It was the inevitable conclusion to his play.
Jessup was legally to blame but I couldn’t help but think about my own culpability in these dark matters. Not in any legal sense, but in a private, internal sense. I had to question whether consciously or not I had set all of this in motion on the day I sat with Gabriel Williams and agreed to cross a line in the courtroom as well as within myse
lf. Maybe by allowing Jessup his freedom I had determined his fate as well as that of Royce and the others. I was a defense attorney, not a prosecutor. I stood for the underdog, not for the state. Maybe I had taken the steps and made the maneuvers so that there would never be a verdict and I would not have to live with it on my record and conscience.
Such were the musings of a guilty man. But they didn’t last long. My phone buzzed and I pulled it from my pocket without looking away from my view of the city.
“Haller.”
“It’s me. I thought you were coming up here.”
Maggie McFierce.
“Soon. I’m just finishing up here. Everything all right?”
“For me, yes. But probably not for Jessup. Are you watching the TV news?”
“No, what are they showing?”
“They’ve evacuated the Santa Monica Pier. Channel Five has a chopper over it. They’re not confirming that it’s related to Jessup but they said that LAPD’s SIS unit sought an okay from SMPD to conduct a fugitive apprehension. They’re on the beach moving in.”
“The dungeon? Did Jessup grab somebody?”
“If he did, they’re not saying.”
“Did you call Harry?”
“I just tried but he didn’t pick up. I think he’s probably down there on the beach.”
I broke away from the window and grabbed the television remote off the coffee table. I snapped on the TV and punched in Channel 5.
“I have it on here,” I told Maggie.
On the screen was an aerial view of the pier and the surrounding beach. It looked like there were men on the beach and they were advancing on the pier’s underside from both the north and south.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “It’s gotta be him. The dungeon he made down there was actually for himself. Like a safe house he could run to.”
“Like the prison cell he was used to. I wonder if he knows they’re coming in on him. Maybe he hears the helicopters.”
“Harry said the waves under there are so loud you couldn’t even hear a gunshot.”
“Well, we might be about to find that out.”
We watched in silence for a few moments before I spoke.
The Lincoln Lawyer Collection Page 110