The Closers

by Michael Connelly

  He closed the phone before she could respond and then he turned it off. He followed Rider through the door being held open by a woman Bosch assumed was Kathy Chrzanowski.

  The shades were drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room. A single desk lamp lit the chambers. Behind the desk Bosch saw a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties. She looked small behind the large dark wood desk. She had a kind face, which gave Bosch hope that they would get out of the office with her approval for the phone taps.

  "Detectives, come in and sit down," she said. "I am sorry to have held you out there waiting."

  "No problem, Your Honor," Rider said. "We appreciate your taking a thorough look at this."

  Bosch and Rider sat in chairs in front of the desk. The judge was not wearing her black robe. Bosch noticed it hanging on a hat rack in the corner. Next to it on the wall was a framed photograph of Demchak with a notoriously liberal state supreme court justice. Bosch felt his stomach tighten. Then on the desk he saw two framed photographs. One was of an older man and a young boy holding golf clubs. Her husband and a grandson maybe. The other photo showed a young girl of maybe nine or ten riding on a swing. But the colors were fading. It was an old photo. Maybe it was her daughter. Bosch started to think that the connection to children might make the difference.

  "You seem to be in quite a hurry with this," the judge said. "Is there a reason for that?"

  Bosch looked at Rider and she leaned forward to answer. This was her show. He was just there as a backup and to send the message to the judge that this one was important. Cops had to be lobbyists on occasion.

  "Yes, Your Honor, a couple reasons," Rider began. "The main one is that we believe there is a newspaper article that will be in the Daily News tomorrow. It may cause our primary suspect, Roland Mackey, to contact other suspects-one of whom is listed in the warrant-and talk about the murder. As you can see from the warrant, we believe more than one individual was involved in this crime but we have only directly linked Mackey to it. If we are up and running our taps when the newspaper story hits, we might be able to identify the others involved through his calls and conversations."

  The judge nodded but she wasn't looking at them. Her eyes were cast down on the application and authorization forms. She had a serious look on her face and Bosch began to get a bad feeling. After a few moments of silence, she said, "And the other reason for your hurry?"

  "Oh, yes," Rider said, having apparently forgotten. "The other reason is we believe Roland Mackey still may be engaged in criminal activities. We don't know exactly what they are at this time, but we believe that the quicker we can start listening in on his conversations the sooner we will ascertain that and be able to stop someone from becoming a victim. As you can see from the application, we know he has been involved in at least one murder before. We didn't think we should waste time."

  Bosch admired Rider's response. It was a carefully designed answer that would put a lot of pressure on the judge to sign the authorization. After all, she was an elected official. She had to consider the ramifications of her turning down the application. If Mackey committed a crime that could have been stopped had the police been listening to his phone calls, the judge could be held responsible by an electorate that wouldn't care much about whether she had been trying to safeguard Mackey's personal rights.

  "I see," Demchak said coldly in response to Rider. "And what is your probable cause to believe he is engaged in current criminal activities since you cannot cite a specific crime."

  "A variety of things, Judge. Mr. Mackey cleared probation for a sex crime twelve months ago and immediately moved to a new address where his name is not listed on a deed or rental agreement. He left no forwarding address with his former landlord or the post office. He is living on the same property as an ex-convict with whom he has previously engaged in documented criminal activity. That is William Burkhart, also listed in the application. And, as you can see from the application, he is using a phone not registered in his name. He is clearly flying below radar, Your Honor. All of these things together paint a picture of someone taking precautions to hide involvement in criminal activity."

  "Or maybe he just wants to avoid government intrusion," the judge said. "It is still very thin, Detective. Do you have anything else? I could use something else."

  Rider glanced sideways at Bosch, her eyes wide. Her confidence in the waiting room was leaving her. Bosch knew she had put everything into the application and her comments in chambers. What was left? Bosch cleared his throat and leaned forward to speak for the first time.

  "The previous criminal activity he took part in with the man he now lives with were hate crimes, Judge. These guys hurt and threatened a lot of people. A lot of people."

  He settled back in his seat, hoping he had just ratcheted the pressure up at least another notch.

  "And how long ago were these crimes?" the judge asked.

  "They were prosecuted in the late eighties," Bosch said. "But who knows how long they have continued? The association of these two men has obviously continued."

  The judge said nothing for another minute as she seemed to be reading and rereading the summation section of Rider's application. A small red light at the side of the desk went on. Bosch knew it meant that whatever was scheduled in her courtroom was ready to begin. All attorneys and parties were present.

  Finally, Judge Demchak shook her head.

  "I just don't think you have it here, Detectives. You have him with the gun but not at the murder scene. He could have handled the gun days or weeks before the killing."

  She waved dismissively at the papers spread in front of her.

  "This bit about him burglarizing a drive-in movie theater where the victim and her friends liked to go is tenuous at best. You really put me on the spot here by asking me to sign off on something that just isn't there."

  "It is there," Bosch said. "We know it is there."

  Rider put a hand on his arm, a warning not to lose it.

  "I'm not seeing it, Detective," Demchak said. "You are asking me to bail you out here. You don't have enough probable cause and you are asking me to make up the difference. I can't do it. Not as is."

  "Your Honor," Rider said. "If we don't get this signed we will lose the opportunity with the newspaper story."

  The judge smiled at her.

  "That has nothing to do with me and what I must do here, Detective. You know that. I am not an arm of the police department. I am independent and I have to deal with the facts of the case as presented."

  "The victim was biracial," Bosch said. "This guy is a documented hater. He stole that gun and it was used to kill a girl of mixed race. The connection is right there."

  "Not a connection of evidence, Detective. A circumstantial connection of inference."

  Bosch stared at the judge for a moment and the judge stared right back.

  "Do you have children, Judge?" he asked.

  The color immediately rose in the judge's cheeks.

  "What does that have to do with this?"

  "Your Honor," Rider broke in. "We'll come back to you with this."

  "No," Bosch said. "No, we're not coming back. We need this now, Judge. This guy has been out there free for seventeen years. What if it had been your daughter? Could you look away then? Rebecca Verloren was an only child."

  Judge Demchak's eyes grew darker. When she spoke it was with measures of both calm and anger.

  "I am not looking away from anything, Detective. I happen to be the only one in this room that is looking closely at this. And I might add that if you continue to insult and question the court, then I will remand you to the lockup for contempt. I could have a bailiff in here in five seconds. Perhaps you could use the downtime to contemplate the deficiencies of your presentation."

  Bosch pressed on undaunted.

  "Her mother still lives in the house," Bosch said. "The bedroom she was taken from is still the same as the day she was killed. Same bedspread, same pillows,
same everything. The room-and the mother-are frozen in time."

  "But those facts are not germane to this."

  "Her father became a drunk. He lost his business, then his wife and home. I visited with him on Fifth Street this morning. That's where he lives now. I know that's not germane either, but I thought you might want to know. I guess we don't have enough facts for you but we have a lot of the ripples, Your Honor."

  The judge held his eyes and Bosch knew he was either about to go to jail or walk out with a signed warrant. No in-between. After a moment he saw the glimmer of pain in her eyes. Anybody who spends time in the trenches of the criminal justice system-either side-gets that look after a while.

  "Very well, Detective," she finally said.

  She looked down and scribbled a signature at the bottom of the last page and started to fill in the spaces that dictated the length of the wiretaps.

  "But I am still not convinced," she said sternly. "So I am giving you seventy-two hours."

  "Your Honor," Bosch said.

  But Rider put her hand on Bosch's arm again, trying to stop him from turning a yes into a no. Then she spoke.

  "Your Honor, seventy-two hours is a very short time period for this. We were hoping that we would have at least a week."

  "You said the newspaper article is coming out tomorrow," the judge responded.

  "Yes, Judge, it is supposed to, but -"

  "You will know something pretty quick then. If you feel you need to extend it then come back and see me on Friday and try to convince me. Seventy-two hours, and I want daily summaries delivered each morning. If I don't get them I am going to hold you both in contempt. I am not going to allow you to go fishing. If what is on the summaries is not on point then I will shut you down early. Is all of that clear?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," Bosch and Rider said in unison.

  "Good. Now, I have a status conference in my courtroom. It is time for you to go and for me to go back to work."

  Rider collected the paperwork and they said their thanks. As they headed to the door, Judge Demchak called out to their backs.

  "Detective Bosch?"

  Bosch turned around and looked at her.

  "Yes, Judge?"

  "You saw the picture, didn't you?" she said. "Of my daughter. You guessed I have only one child."

  Bosch looked at her for a moment and then nodded.

  "I only have one myself," he said. "I know what it's like."

  She held his eyes for a moment before speaking.

  "You can go now," she said.

  Bosch nodded and followed Rider through the door.

  24

  THEY DIDN'T SPEAK to each other as they left the courthouse. It was as if they wanted to get out of there without putting the jinx on it, as if their saying one word about what had happened might echo back through the building and make the judge change her mind and recall them. Now that they had the judge's signature on the authorization forms, all they cared about was getting out.

  Once on the sidewalk in front of the monolithic courthouse Bosch looked at Rider and smiled.

  "That was close," he said.

  She smiled and nodded her approval.

  "Ripples, huh? You took it right up to the red line with her. I thought I was going to have to go downstairs and post a bond for you."

  They started walking toward Parker Center. Bosch pulled his phone out and turned it back on.

  "Yeah, it was close," he said. "But we got it. You want to tell Abel to set up the meeting with the others?"

  "Yeah, I'll tell him. I was just going to wait until we got over there."

  Bosch checked his phone and saw he had missed a call and had a message. He didn't recognize the number but it had an 818 area code-the Valley. He checked the message and heard a voice he didn't want to hear.

  "Detective Bosch, it's McKenzie Ward at the News. I need to talk to you about Roland Mackey as soon as possible. I need to hear from you or I may have to hold the story. Call me."

  "Shit," Bosch said as he deleted the message.

  "What?" Rider asked.

  "It's the reporter. I told Muriel Verloren not to mention Mackey to her. But it sounds like she let it slip. Either that or the reporter is talking to somebody else."

  "Shit."

  "That's what I said."

  They walked a little further without speaking. Bosch was thinking of a way to deal with the reporter. They had to keep Mackey out of the story or else he'd probably just cut and run without bothering to call anyone else.

  "What are you going to do?" Rider finally asked.

  "I don't know. Try to talk her out of it. Lie to her if I have to. She can't put his name in the story."

  "But she has to run the story, Harry. We only have seventy-two hours."

  "I know. Let me think."

  He opened his phone and called Muriel Verloren. She answered and he asked her how the interview went. She said it was fine and she was glad it was over.

  "Did they take photos?"

  "Yes, they wanted pictures of the bedroom. I didn't feel good, opening it up like that to them. But I did."

  "I understand. Thank you for doing that. Just remember, the story is going to help us. We're getting close, Muriel, and the newspaper story will push things. We appreciate your doing it."

  "If it helps, then I am glad to do it."

  "Good. Let me ask you something else. Did you mention the name Roland Mackey to the reporter?"

  "No, you told me not to. So I didn't."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm more than sure. She asked me what you people were telling me but I didn't say anything about him. Why?"

  "No reason. I just wanted to make sure, that's all. Thank you, Muriel. I'll call you as soon as I have some news."

  He closed the phone. He didn't think Muriel Verloren would lie to him. The reporter had to have another source.

  "What?" Rider asked.

  "She didn't tell her."

  "Then who did?"

  "Good question."

  The phone started to vibrate and chirp while he was still holding it. He looked at the screen and recognized the number.

  "It's her-the reporter. I have to take this."

  He answered the call.

  "Detective Bosch, it's McKenzie Ward. I'm on deadline and we need to talk."

  "Right. I just got your message. My phone was off because I was in court."

  "Why didn't you tell me about Roland Mackey?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Roland Mackey. I was told you already have a suspect named Roland Mackey."

  "Who told you that?"

  "That doesn't matter. What matters is that you withheld a key piece of information from me. Is Roland Mackey your prime suspect? Let me guess. You are playing both sides and giving that to the Times."

  Bosch had to think quickly. The reporter was sounding pressed and upset. A reporter who goes off angry could be a problem. He had to calm the situation and at the same time take Mackey out of the mix. The one thing he had going for him was that she had not mentioned a DNA link between Mackey and the gun. This made Bosch think that her source of information was outside the department. Someone with limited information.

  "First of all, I'm not talking to the Times on this. As long as it runs tomorrow, you are the only one with this story. Secondly, it does matter where you got that name from because your information is wrong. I am trying to help you here, McKenzie. You would be making a big mistake if you put that name in the article. You might even get sued."

  "Then who is he?"

  "Who is your source?"

  "You know I can't give you that."

  "Why not?"

  Bosch was stalling for time while he thought it out. While the reporter rattled off a standard response about shield laws and protecting sources, Bosch was ticking off the names of people outside the department whom he and Rider had talked to about Mackey. They included Rebecca Verloren's three friends-Tara Wood, Bailey Sable and Grace Tanaka. T
here was also Robert Verloren, Danny Kotchof, Thelma Kibble, the parole agent, and Gordon Stoddard, the school principal, as well as Mrs. Atkins, the secretary who looked for Mackey's name in the school's rolls.

  There was also Judge Demchak but Bosch dismissed that as a long shot. Ward's message had been left on his line while he and Rider were with the judge. The idea that the judge would have picked up the phone and called the reporter while she had been alone in chambers studying the search warrant application seemed out of the question. She hadn't even known of the pending newspaper story let alone the reporter assigned to it.