The crossing was slowed by the thick blanket of fog and it was an hour before I heard and felt the boat’s big engines thrum down as we slowly approached the harbor. I had not heard back from Jennifer and didn’t know if I would be met at the dock by police who had tracked my monitor. I got up and moved to a forward-viewing window. If I was about to be arrested, I needed to prep Kendall on what to do and whom to call.
The fog started to thin as we entered the harbor, and I saw the green span of the Vincent Thomas Bridge appear in the mist. Soon I saw the ferry terminal, but I noticed no sign of law enforcement on the dock. The parking lot where I had left the Lincoln was not in view because of the terminal building. I returned to Kendall and handed her the keys to the Lincoln.
“In case they’re waiting for me,” I said.
“Oh my god, Mickey! Do you think they are?” she said.
“Take it easy. I didn’t see anybody on the dock and that’s where they’d most likely be waiting. It’ll probably be fine, but just in case, you have the keys and can drive back. But before you go anywhere, you call Jennifer and tell her what’s happening. She’ll know what to do. I’m going to text you her contact.”
“Okay.”
“Then call Hayley and tell her too.”
“Okay. I can’t believe they’re doing this.”
She started to cry and I hugged her and assured her that everything would be okay. Privately I wasn’t as certain as I sounded.
We got off the boat and to the Lincoln without being stopped. My phone buzzed as we were getting in the car. It was Jennifer but I didn’t answer. I was paranoid and felt like a sitting duck. I wanted to get out of the parking lot and onto the freeway. A moving target was always harder to get a bead on.
Once we were on the 110 going north, I called Jennifer back.
“We’re on the calendar for three o’clock.”
“Good. And they aren’t going to try to grab me in the meantime?”
“That’s what Berg told the judge. You’ll be allowed to surrender in her courtroom following a hearing at three.”
“Did Berg object to the hearing?”
“I don’t know, but probably. But Warfield’s clerk tipped me that the judge is a bit upset about this — about the bail part, since she set bail and now the D.A.’s trying to take it away. So we’ll have that going for us when we go in.”
“Good. When and where do you want to meet beforehand?”
“I need time to work on points for your argument. How about one? We could meet in the cafeteria at the courthouse.”
I checked the dashboard clock. It was already ten thirty.
“One is good but not the courthouse. Too many badges around there, and somebody might try to be a hero and hook me up. Let’s not get to the courthouse till it’s time for the hearing.”
“Got it. Where, then?”
“How about Rossoblu? Since I might be back on a baloney diet after today, I’m going to eat some pasta for lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“One more thing if you have time. Get a message to the twins who have been covering this for the papers. Make sure they know about the hearing. I’d do it but I want to be able to say I didn’t if Berg accuses me of it again. Still, the media should be there to see this bullshit.”
“I’ll call them.”
We disconnected and Kendall immediately spoke.
“I want to be with you in court.”
“That would be nice. And I’ll call Hayley when we get home. I need to put on a suit and work a little bit on what I’m going to say to the judge, and then we’ll go to lunch.”
I knew it was going to be a working lunch and Kendall shouldn’t be there because she was outside the privilege circle. But I also knew that my freedom could be down to these last few hours. I didn’t want to exclude her.
It took us almost an hour to get to the house. I parked at the curb next to the stairs, still not wanting to use the garage. Bishop was sitting on the stairs, waiting. I had told him Friday we would start at ten on Tuesday, and he had been waiting. I had forgotten about him.
Kendall went up the stairs while I got our suitcase out of the trunk.
“Let me help you with that,” Bishop said.
“You’re my driver, not my valet, Bishop,” I said. “You been waiting long?”
“Not too long.”
“Sorry about that. But you’re going to have to wait another hour while I get ready and do some work inside. Then we’ll head downtown. You might be driving Kendall back by herself.”
“What about you? I go back for you?”
“I don’t think so. They’re going to try to put me back in jail today, Bishop.”
“They can do that? You got bail.”
“They can try. They’re the government. The beast. And the game is always rigged in the beast’s favor.”
I lugged the suitcase up the stairs and through the front door. Kendall was standing in the living room, holding an envelope out to me.
“Somebody slid this under the door,” she said.
I took the envelope and studied it while rolling the suitcase to the bedroom. It was a plain white envelope with nothing written on either side of it. The flap was not sealed.
After putting the suitcase on the bed for unpacking, I opened the envelope. It contained a single folded document. It was a photocopy of the face sheet of a Ventura County Sheriff’s Department arrest report dated December 1, 2018. The suspect arrested on suspicion of fraud was identified on the form as Sam Scales. The summary stated that Scales had used the name Walter Lennon to set up a funding site to raise money for the families of victims killed in a mass shooting the month before in a bar in Thousand Oaks. I didn’t need the arrest report to remember the incident at the Borderline Bar & Grill. A sheriff’s deputy and twelve customers were killed. The money-raising scam appeared to be very similar to the one Scales went to prison in Nevada for.
I walked into the home office to the desk, where I had left my case files. I was sure that the Ventura County arrest was not on the rap sheet we had received in discovery from the District Attorney’s Office. I opened the victim folder and found the arrest record. There was no listing of the arrest in December 2018.
Kendall followed me into the office.
“What is it?” she asked.
“An arrest report for Sam Scales,” I said. “A case over a year ago in Ventura County.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well, it’s not on the rap sheet the prosecution gave us in discovery.”
The face sheet of the arrest report was a form with various windows and boxes below the handwritten summary. Under the box where fraud had been checked off was another checklist where the box marked interstate had a slash through it. At the bottom of the list was a line where the author of the form had written “FBI–LA.”
“Were they trying to hide it from you?” Kendall asked.
I looked up at her.
“What?”
“Was the prosecutor trying to hide that arrest from you?”
“I think they didn’t know about it. I think the FBI came and scooped Sam up.”
Kendall looked confused but I did not explain further. My mind was racing ahead to the possibilities of what the arrest report could mean.
“I have to make a call,” I said.
I pulled my phone and called Harry Bosch. He answered right away.
“Harry, it’s me. I’m meeting Jennifer for lunch downtown, then I have to go to court. Can you meet us? I have something you need to see.”
“Where?”
“Rossoblu at one.”