The market was crowded with people buying groceries or in line to order from the many different food stalls. Bosch entered and at first did not see the man in black. Then he appeared on the stairs at the midway point of the split-level market. At the top of the stairs he looked back but did not focus on Bosch in the sea of shoppers. Bosch guessed that he was looking for uniforms, not an old man in a suit.
Bosch noted that the man was no longer carrying the gun in his hand but his shirt was now out of his pants. That told Bosch he had not ditched the gun. It was tucked into his pants under his shirt.
The gunman went through the block-long market, emerged on Hill Street, and without hesitation waded out into traffic and crossed the road. Bosch came out of the market in time to see the man go through the turnstile at Angels Flight and climb into the waiting train car.
Bosch knew he had to hold back. He could not get into the train car without exposing himself to the killer. He stayed across the street and watched as the door closed and the car started to move slowly up the tracks toward the terminus at the top of Bunker Hill.
Angels Flight was a funicular that was billed as the shortest train route in the world. It had twin antique railcars that went up and down 150 feet of elevated track. They were counterbalanced, with one going up while the other came down, passing each other at the midpoint of the tracks. Bosch crossed Hill Street as the second car arrived at the lower turnstile. He got on along with a handful of other passengers and sat on one of the wooden bench seats. He waited anxiously as the train car rumbled up the tracks.
At the top of the tracks was a plaza surrounded by the towering glass buildings of the financial district. Bosch had moved to the upper door of the train car so he could be the first one off when it reached its terminus. The Angels Flight ticket booth was there and he had to pay a dollar before he could get through the upper turnstile. He pulled his money out and saw that the smallest bill he had was a twenty. He pushed it through the opening in the booth’s glass.
“Keep the change,” he said. “Just let me through.”
He went through the turnstile and once out in the open plaza did a 360-degree sweep with his eyes but did not spot the man in black.
Bosch saw an opening between one of the towers and the contemporary art museum to his right. He headed that way, breaking into a trot. When he reached Grand Avenue he did another 360 but there was still no sign of the man in black. He was gone.
“Shit,” he said.
He was panting. He bent over and put his hands on his knees so he could catch his breath. He was sweating badly.
“You okay, sir?”
Bosch looked up. It was a woman carrying a bag from the museum store.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said. “Just a little winded. But thanks.”
She moved on and Bosch straightened up and scanned the street a final time in both directions, once more looking for the man in black. Nothing caught his attention. No pedestrian, no car. The gunman could have gone a dozen different ways after getting off Angels Flight.
Bosch’s phone buzzed and he saw that it was Haller calling.
“Mick.”
“Harry, where the fuck are you? I need you back here. Something’s going on. The clerk got a call and—”
“Sanger’s dead.”
“What?”
“She’s dead. Somebody shot her with her own gun when she was on the smoking patio outside.”
“Oh, shit.”
“I followed him but I lost him on Bunker Hill.”
“You saw it happen?”
“From a distance. I’ll need to talk to the police and give them what I know.”
“Absolutely.”
“What happens now? With the case.”
“I have no clue. I assume the judge will adjourn for the day. This is unbelievable.”
“Did she kick out the DNA again?”
“No, it’s in. She ruled for us. But I don’t know what will happen without Sanger.”
Bosch realized that Haller would not have been allowed to use his phone in the courtroom.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“The hall outside the courtroom,” Haller said. “The judge sent me out to find you and Sanger. Who was the shooter?”
“I don’t know but he was in the courtroom today. Back row. I saw him.”
“A Latino guy?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw him too. I don’t remember him from previous days.”
“I don’t either. I’m heading back but I’ll probably be tied up with the police for a while.”
“Got it. I’ll go see what the judge wants to do.”
Bosch disconnected and walked north on Grand, turned right on First, and headed to the Civic Center. He was thankful it was downhill most of the way. By the time he got back to the federal courthouse, the entire Spring Street side of the building was cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the area was overrun with officers from the LAPD, the sheriff’s department, and the U.S. Marshals Service.
Bosch walked up to an LAPD officer standing at the yellow tape. His name tag said FRENCH.
“The courthouse is closed, sir,” French said.
“I’m a witness,” Bosch said. “Who do I talk to?”
“A witness to what?”
“To the deputy getting shot. I followed the shooter but lost him.”
The officer suddenly looked alert.
“All right, you need to stay here.”
“Fine.”
Officer French took a step back and started talking into his radio.
As Bosch waited, he saw a van from Channel 5 pull to the curb. A woman with perfectly coiffed hair jumped out of the passenger side with a microphone already in her hand.
Part Fourteen
El Capitan
48
Late Friday morning I was summoned to Judge Coelho’s courtroom. It had been three days since she had adjourned the habeas hearing in the wake of Stephanie Sanger’s murder. I had spent most of that time watching and reading news reports on the killing, waiting for the media to connect the dots. Finally, there was a story this morning in the Times by their veteran crime reporter James Queally that delved deeply into Sanger’s background and activities, and most likely that had prompted the summons from the judge.
Queally reported that Sanger was a member of a sheriff’s clique called Los Cucos and that investigators of her murder had found connections between her and a Mexican cartel that had compromised her and forced her to do its bidding, which may have included a series of contract killings of cartel rivals in California. The story also detailed the Roberto Sanz case from his murder to his ex-wife’s current bid to be exonerated. The Times report was the first to reveal that Sanger had been testifying in that habeas case just minutes before she was killed outside the courthouse.
Unnamed sources told the newspaper that the working theory of the investigation was that Sanger had been killed to prevent her from testifying further and being pushed to cooperate with authorities.
I had talked to Queally off the record, telling him both what I knew as fact and what I believed. Without naming Agent MacIsaac, I reported what MacIsaac had told me at my house earlier in the week: that on the day of his murder, Roberto Sanz had informed the FBI agent that Sanger and other deputies in the Cucos were controlled by members of the Sinaloa cartel operating in Los Angeles. I also told Queally my own working theory, based on the fact that she had followed Roberto Sanz and had seen him with the FBI, that Sanger had killed him. The reporter had taken it from there, confirming the facts and ferreting out new ones, and the story was on the front page above the fold of the print edition and was the lead in the newspaper’s digital edition.