Resurrection Walk

He closed the car door and walked to the spot by the milk crate, pulling out his phone as he approached. He crouched at the spot, his knees sending stress signals to his brain. He surveyed the area and saw the cigarette butt on the loose gravel. He opened his camera app and took a photo of the cigarette butt in situ — as it had been found — just in case the evidence collection was challenged in any way. He put the phone away and pulled a ziplock bag out of his coat pocket. Using the bag as a glove, he picked up the discarded butt and sealed it inside.

He got up, turned, and headed back to the Navigator. The homeless man was still standing there, a puzzled look on his face.

“Hey, man, that cigarette is mine,” he said. “This is my spot. I own it.”

“It’s just a butt,” Bosch said. “She smoked it down to the filter.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s mine. You want to buy it?”

“How much?”

“Ten dollars.”

“For a cigarette butt?”

“Ten dollars, man. That’s the price.”

Bosch reached into his pocket and pulled out his money. He had a twenty and a ten. He held the ten out to the man.

“Do you mind stepping back so I can get back in the car?” Bosch said.

“Sure thing, boss.”

He grabbed the ten and backed away.

Bosch got in the Navigator and closed the door. He handed the ziplock to Arslanian as he checked the rearview to see if it was clear to enter the traffic lane. She examined the contents of the bag without opening it.

“This is going to be perfect,” she said. “We got lucky.”

“About time,” Bosch said.

“I thought we’d be following her all the way to the Antelope Valley and then some. Then have to look through her trash.”

“Me too. So, Applied Forensics?”

“Absolutely. I’ll call ahead so they’re ready for us. If we get this in now, we could have what we need by tomorrow.”

The light turned green and Bosch muscled the Navigator into the traffic lane in front of a car, garnering another angry horn rebuke from the driver. Bosch held his hand up, waved his thanks, and drove on.

As they headed toward Van Nuys, Bosch put things together.

“She broke into my house,” he said.

“Who did?” Arslanian asked.

“Sanger.”

“When was this?”

“Like seven months ago. I wasn’t sure till now. I smelled cigarette smoke when I came home and found the place open.”

“Did she take anything?”

“No. She just wanted me to know. It was an intimidation tactic.”

Bosch smiled and shook his head.

“But it didn’t work, because I wasn’t sure if I had left the door open and was just losing my mind,” he said. “You know, like dementia or something. I thought the cigarette smell might have been a side effect from the isotope they were putting in me.”

“Then I guess it must be nice to know there really was a break-in, which sounds weird said out loud.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Bosch thought about the police report that Maggie McFierce had used to embarrass him in court and suggest he was losing his mind. He now felt vindicated.

Part Twelve The Proving Ground

44

In the morning the marshals moved me back to the federal courthouse on the seven o’clock jail bus. I then spent the next two hours in the main courthouse jail with other detainees awaiting transfer to specific courtrooms and their holding cells. I was wearing federal blues and was unsure what had happened to my clothes, wallet, and phone. I was eventually moved to the cell off Judge Coelho’s courtroom. Lucinda Sanz was already in the cell next to mine. We couldn’t see each other but we could hear each other.

“Mickey, are you okay?” she whispered.

“I’m fine,” I said. “How are you feeling, Cindi?”

“I’m good. I can’t believe they made you stay the whole night.”

“The judge wanted to make a point.”

Marshal Nate came into the holding area, unlocked my cell, and handed me a brown paper bag.

“Your clothes,” he said. “Get dressed. The judge wants to see you.”

I dug through the bag. My suit was crumpled into a ball on top of my shoes.

“Where’s my phone?” I said. “And my wallet and keys?”

“Locked in my desk,” Nate said. “You get it back when the judge tells me to give it back. You’ve got five minutes. Get dressed.”

“No, I’m not getting dressed in this stuff. The suit’s wrinkled. If you’re going to take me to see the judge, I’ll go like this.”

“Suit yourself — no pun intended.”

“Good one, Nate.”

“Do I need to put the belly chain and cuffs back on or are you going to behave?”

“No need.”

He walked me out of the cell and past Lucinda’s on the way to the courtroom door.

“Hang in there, Lucinda,” I said.

I was walked through the courtroom, which was dark except for the single light over Gian Brown’s corral.

“All right to take him back?” Nate asked.

“She’s waiting for him,” Brown said.

He gave me and my attire the once-over.

“Are you sure you don’t want to change into your clothes?” Brown asked.

“I’m sure,” I said.

The marshal opened the half door to the corral and we walked through to the hall that led to the judge’s chambers. Nate knocked on the judge’s door and we heard her call to enter.