The Reversal

But Bosch wasn’t really on his way. After the call, he put the phone away and went back down the steps to the beach. He returned to the hole he had dug under the storage area wall. He crawled back under and this time used his flashlight to find his way to the locked storage room. He used his picks again on the padlock and the whole time he worked he was distracted by thoughts of Jessup’s escape from the surveillance. Had it just been a coincidence that he had left his apartment at the same time the SIS watcher had left his post, or was he aware of the surveillance and did he break free when he saw the opportunity?

At the moment, there was no way to know.

Finally, he got the lock open, taking longer than he had the first time. He entered the storage room and moved the light to the blanket and pillow on the ground. The bag Jessup had carried was there. It said Ralphs on its side. Bosch dropped to his knees and was about to open it when his phone buzzed. It was Jacquez.

“We got him. He’s on Nielson at Ocean Park. It looks like he’s walking home.”

“Then try not to lose him this time, Jacquez. I gotta go.”

He disconnected before Jacquez could reply. He quickly called his daughter’s cell. She was in the car with Sue Bambrough. Bosch told her they could turn around and go back home. This news was not received with a thankful release of tension. His daughter was left upset and angry over the scare. Bosch couldn’t blame her but he couldn’t stay on the line.

“I’ll be home in less than an hour. We can talk about it then if you’re still awake. I’ll see you soon.”

He disconnected the call and focused on the bag. He opened it without moving it from its spot next to the blanket.

The bag contained a dozen single-serving-size cans of fruit. There were diced peaches in heavy syrup, chopped pineapple and something called fruit medley. Also in the bag was a package of plastic spoons. Bosch stared at the contents for a long moment and then his eyes moved up the wall to the crossbeams and the locked trapdoor above.

“Who are you bringing here, Jessup?” he whispered.

Thirty-three

Wednesday, April 7, 1:05 P.M.

All eyes were on the back of the courtroom. It was time for the main event, and while I had ringside seats, I was still going to be just a spectator like everybody else. That didn’t sit very well with me but it was a choice I could live with and trust. The door opened and Harry Bosch led our main witness into the courtroom. Sarah Ann Gleason told us she didn’t own any dresses and didn’t want to buy one to testify in. She wore black jeans and a purple silk blouse. She looked pretty and she looked confident. We didn’t need a dress.

Bosch stayed on her right side and when opening the gate for her positioned his body between her and Jessup, who sat at the defense table, turned like everybody else toward his main accuser’s entrance.

Bosch let her go the rest of the way by herself. Maggie McFierce was already at the lectern and she smiled warmly at her witness as she went by. This was Maggie’s moment, too, and I read her smile as one of hope for both women.

We’d had a good morning, with testimony from Bill Clinton, the former tow truck driver, and then Bosch taking the case through to lunch. Clinton told his story about the day of the murder and Jessup borrowing his Dodgers cap just before they became part of the impromptu lineup outside the house on Windsor Boulevard. He also testified to the Aardvark drivers’ frequent use of and familiarity with the parking lot behind the El Rey Theatre, and Jessup’s claim to Windsor Boulevard on the morning of the murder. These were good, solid points for the prosecution, and Clinton gave no quarter to Royce on cross.

Then Bosch took the stand for a third time in the trial. Rather than read previous testimony, this time he testified about his own recent investigation of the case and produced the Dodgers cap-with the initials BC under the brim-from property that had been seized from Jessup during his arrest twenty-four years earlier. We were forced to dance around the fact that the hat as well as Jessup’s other belongings had been in the property room at San Quentin for the past twenty-four years. To bring that information out would be to reveal that Jessup had previously been convicted of Melissa Landy’s murder.

And now Sarah Gleason would be the prosecution’s final witness. Through her the case would come together in the emotional crescendo I was counting on. One sister standing for a long-lost sister. I leaned back in my seat to watch my ex-wife-the best prosecutor I had ever encountered-take us home.

Gleason was sworn in and then took her seat on the stand. She was small and required the microphone to be lowered by the courtroom deputy. Maggie cleared her voice and began.

“Good morning, Ms. Gleason. How are you today?”

“I’m doing pretty good.”

“Can you please tell the jury a little bit about yourself?”