The Reversal

“That’s right. He sneaks in and picks up the same trail that takes him to the picnic area.”

“I wonder why he doesn’t go in the other entrance. It would be easier for him to get to.”

“Maybe he likes driving on Mulholland and seeing the lights.”

That was a good point and Bosch needed to consider it.

“Lieutenant, can you have your people call me the next time he goes there? I don’t care what time it is.”

“I can have them call you but you’re not going to be able to get in there and get close. It’s too risky. We don’t want to expose the surveillance.”

“I understand, but have them call me. I just want to know. Now, what about these logs? Is there a way for me to get them a little quicker?”

“You can come by SIS and pick one up every morning if you want. As you probably noticed, the logs run six P.M. to six P.M. Each daily log is posted by seven the following morning.”

“Okay, LT, I’ll do that. Thanks for the info.”

“Have a good one.”

Bosch closed the phone, wondering about Jessup in Franklin Canyon and what he was doing on his visits there.

“What did he say?” Maddie asked.

Bosch hesitated, wondering for the hundredth time whether he should be telling her as much as he did about his cases.

“He said my guy’s gone back to that park the last two nights. Each time, he just sits there and waits.”

“For what?”

“Nobody knows.”

“Maybe he just wants to be somewhere where he’s completely by himself and away from everybody.”

“Maybe.”

But Bosch doubted it. He believed there was a plan to almost everything Jessup did. Bosch just had to figure out what it was.

“I’m finished with my homework,” Maddie said. “You want to watch Lost?”

They had been slowly going through the DVDs of the television show, catching up on five years’ worth of episodes. The show was about several people who survived a plane crash on an uncharted island in the South Pacific. Bosch had trouble keeping track of things from show to show but watched because his daughter had been completely taken in by the story.

He had no time to watch television right now.

“Okay, one episode,” he said. “Then you have to go to bed and I have to get back to work.”

She smiled. This made her happy and for the moment Bosch’s grammatical and parental transgressions seemed forgotten.

“Set it up,” Bosch said. “And be prepared to remind me what’s happening.”

Five hours later, Bosch was on a jet that was shaking with wild turbulence. His daughter was sitting across the aisle from him rather than in the open seat next to him. They reached across the aisle to each other to hold hands but the bouncing of the plane kept knocking them apart. He couldn’t grab her hand.

Just as he turned in his seat to see the tail section break off and fall away, he was awakened by a buzzing sound. He reached to the bed table and grabbed his phone. He struggled to find his voice as he answered.

“This is Bosch.”

“This is Shipley, SIS. I was told to call.”

“Jessup’s at the park?”

“He’s in a park, yeah, but tonight it’s a different one.”

“Where?”

“ Fryman Canyon off Mulholland.”

Bosch knew Fryman Canyon. It was about ten minutes away from Franklin Canyon.

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s just sort of walking on one of the trails. Just like at the other park. He walks the trail and then he sits down. He doesn’t do anything after that. He just sits for a while and then leaves.”

“Okay.”

Bosch looked at the glowing numbers on the clock. It was two o’clock exactly.

“Are you coming out?” Shipley asked.

Bosch thought about his daughter asleep in her bedroom. He knew he could leave and be back before she woke up.

“Uh… no, I have my daughter here and I can’t leave her.”

“Suit yourself.”

“When does your shift end?”

“About seven.”

“Can you call me then?”

“If you want.”

“I’d like you to call me every morning when you are getting off. To tell me where he’s been.”

“Uh… all right, I guess. Can I ask you something? This guy killed a girl, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re sure about that? I mean, no doubt, right?”

Bosch thought about the interview with Sarah Gleason.

“I have no doubt.”

“Okay, well, that’s good to know.”

Bosch understood what he was saying. He was looking for assurance. If circumstances dictated the use of deadly force against Jessup, it was good to know who and what they would be shooting at. Nothing else needed to be said about it.

“Thanks, Shipley,” Bosch said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Bosch disconnected and put his head back on the pillow. He remembered the dream about the plane. About reaching out to his daughter but being unable to grab her hand.

Fifteen

Wednesday, February 24, 8:15 A.M.

Judge Diane Breitman welcomed us into her chambers and offered a pot of coffee and a plate of shortbread cookies, an unusual move for a criminal courts judge. In attendance were myself and my second chair, Maggie McPherson, and Clive Royce, who was without his second but not without his temerity. He asked the judge if he could have hot tea instead.