The Reversal

“Do you think if I showed you a photo lineup, you would be able to identify the man who took your sister?”

“You mean the way he looks now? I doubt it.”

“No, not now,” McPherson said. “What we would need to do in trial is confirm the identification you made back then. We would show you photos from back then.”

Gleason hesitated and then nodded.

“Sure. Through everything I’ve done to myself over the years, I’ve never been able to forget that man’s face.”

“Well, let’s see.”

While Bosch opened the file on the table, Gleason lit a new cigarette off the end of her old one.

The file contained a lineup of six black-and-white booking photos of men of the same age, build and coloring. A 1986 photo of Jessup was included in the spread. Harry knew that this was the make-or-break moment of the case.

The photos were displayed in two rows of three. Jessup’s shot was in the middle window on the bottom row. The five hole. It had always been the lucky spot for Bosch.

“Take your time,” he said.

Gleason drank some water and then put the bottle to the side. She leaned over the table, bringing her face within twelve inches of the photos. It didn’t take her long. She pointed to the photo of Jessup without hesitation.

“I wish I could forget him,” she said. “But I can’t. He’s always there in the back of my mind. In the shadows.”

“Do you have any doubt about the photo you have chosen?” Bosch asked.

Gleason leaned down and looked again, then shook her head.

“No. He was the man.”

Bosch glanced at McPherson, who made a slight nod. It was a good ID and they had handled it right. The only thing that was missing was a show of emotion on Gleason’s part. But maybe twenty-four years had drained her of everything. Harry took out a pen and handed it to Gleason.

“Would you put your initials and the date below the photo you chose, please?”

“Why?”

“It confirms your ID. It just helps make it more solid when it comes up in court.”

Bosch noted that she had not asked if she had chosen the right photo. She didn’t have to and that was a secondary confirmation of her recall. Another good sign. After she handed the pen back to Bosch he closed the file and slid it to the side. He glanced at McPherson again. Now came the hard part. By prior agreement, Maggie was going to make the call here on whether to bring up the DNA now or to wait until Gleason was more firmly onboard as a witness.

McPherson decided not to wait.

“Sarah, there is a second issue to discuss now. We told you about the DNA that allowed this man to get this new trial and what we hope is only his temporary freedom.”

“Yes.”

“We took the DNA profile and checked it against the California data bank. We got a match. The semen on the dress your sister was wearing came from your stepfather.”

Bosch watched Sarah closely. Not even a flicker of surprise showed on her face or in her eyes. This information was not news to her.

“In two thousand four the state started taking DNA swabs from all suspects in felony arrests. That same year your father was arrested for a felony hit-and-run with injuries. He ran a stop sign and hit-”

“Stepfather.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said ‘your father.’ He wasn’t my father. He was my stepfather.”

“My mistake. I’m sorry. The bottom line is Kensington Landy’s DNA was in the data bank and it’s a match with the sample from the dress. What could not be determined is how long that sample was on the dress at the time of its discovery. It could have been deposited on the dress the day of the murder or the week before or maybe even a month before.”

Sarah started flying on autopilot. She was there but not there. Her eyes were fixed on a distance that was far beyond the room they were in.

“We have a theory, Sarah. The autopsy that was conducted on your sister determined that she had not been sexually abused by her killer or anyone else prior to that day. We also know the dress she wore happened to be yours and Melissa was borrowing it that morning because she liked it.”

McPherson paused but Sarah said nothing.

“When we get to trial we’re going to have to explain the semen found on the dress. If we can’t explain it, the assumption will be that it came from the killer and that killer was your stepfather. We will lose the case and Jessup, the real killer, will walk away free. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you, Sarah? There are some people out there who think twenty-four years in prison is enough time served for the murder of a twelve-year-old girl. They don’t know why we’re doing this. But I want you to know that I don’t think that, Sarah. Not by a long shot.”

Sarah Gleason didn’t answer at first. Bosch expected tears but none came and he began to wonder if her emotions had been cauterized by the traumas and depravities of her life. Or maybe she simply had an internal toughness that her diminutive stature camouflaged. Either way, when she finally responded, it was in a flat, emotionless voice that belied the heartfelt words she spoke.

“You know what I always thought?” she said.

McPherson leaned forward.

“What, Sarah?”