The bus exited the garage beneath the courts building and trundled up the steep grade to Spring Street. As it turned left, City Hall was on the right side, and several prisoners followed the tradition of flipping the finger at the seat of power. This of course could not be seen by anyone on the marble steps or behind the windows of the iconic building. The bus’s “windows” were actually slotted metal that allowed a confined view out but no view in.
I watched the man I was curious about hold his hand up and extend the fuck-you finger. He did it so routinely, without even looking out through the slots himself, that I knew he was a regular guest of the system. And that was when I recognized him. He was the client of a colleague whom I had once filled in for during a hearing before a judge. It had been a babysitting job, a minor hearing that involved a court appearance. Dan Daly had been stuck in a trial and asked me to handle it and I did.
Satisfied that I had answered the question and that the man posed no special threat, I relaxed and leaned back in my seat, tilting my head up to look at the ceiling. I started counting the days until the start of my trial and how soon I could reasonably expect to walk free after a not-guilty verdict.
It was the last thing I remembered.
36
Thursday, February 6
I could only open my eyes to narrow slices of light. It wasn’t the harshness of the light that prevented me from opening them wider. It was physical impediment. I simply could not do it.
I was disoriented at first, not sure where I was.
“Mickey?”
I turned at the voice, recognized it. “Jennifer?”
The one word set fire to my throat, the pain so sharp I grimaced.
“Yes, I’m here. How do you feel?”
“I can’t see. What—”
“Your eyes are swollen. You burst a lot of blood vessels.”
I burst blood vessels? This didn’t make sense.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “How did I — ahh, it hurts to talk.”
“Don’t talk,” Jennifer said. “Just listen. We went over this an hour ago and then the sedation hit and you went out again. You were attacked, Mickey. On the jail bus after court yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Don’t talk. Yes, you’ve lost a day. But if you can stay awake, I can get them in here to do the testing. They need to check your brain function to see if there was anything... so we’ll know if there is any... anything permanent.”
“What happened on the bus?”
The pain.
“I don’t know all the details and the sheriff’s investigator wants to talk to you about it — he’s waiting outside but I told him I was going to talk to you first. Basically, another man on the bus got his chain free and used it to choke you. He was behind you and wrapped it around your neck. They thought you were dead but paramedics revived you, Mickey. They say it’s a miracle you’re alive.”
“It doesn’t feel like a miracle. Where am I?”
I was beginning to be able to manage the pain. Talking in a monotone, turning my head slightly to the left seemed to lessen it.
“County-USC — the jail ward. Hayley and Lorna and everybody wanted to come in to see you but you’re on lockdown and they’d only let me in. I don’t think you want them seeing you like this anyway. Better to wait till the swelling goes down.”
I felt her hand grip my shoulder.
“Are we alone in here?” I asked.
“Yes,” Jennifer said. “This is an attorney-client meeting. There’s a deputy outside the door but it’s closed. Also, the investigator’s out there, waiting to talk to you.”
“Okay, listen, don’t let them use this to delay the trial.”
“Well, we’ll see, Mickey. You need to be tested to make sure you—”
“No, I’m fine, I can tell. I’m already thinking about the case and I don’t want to delay it. We have them where we want them and I don’t want to give them time to catch up to us. That’s it.”
“Okay, I’ll object if they try.”
“Who was the guy?”
“What guy?”
“The one who choked me with the chain.”
“I don’t know, I only got his name. Mason Maddox. Lorna put it through the conflict-of-interest app, and there were no hits. You have no prior history with him. He was convicted last month of three murders — I haven’t gotten the case details yet. He was in court for a motions hearing.”
“Who’s his lawyer? The PD?”
“I don’t have that information yet.”
“Why’d he do it? Who put him up to it?”
“If the Sheriff’s Department knows, they’re not sharing it with me. I have Cisco looking into it and a call in to Harry Bosch.”
“I don’t want to pull Cisco off trial prep. That could be the whole motive behind it.”
“No, because he tried to kill you and probably thought he did. You don’t kill a guy to distract his investigators. I filed a motion with Warfield today asking her to issue an order reinstituting bail or ordering the sheriff to transport you by car to and from court. No more buses. Too dangerous.”
“That’s good thinking.”
“I hope to get a hearing on it this afternoon. We’ll see.”
“Is there like a hand mirror around here or something?”
“Why?”
“I want to see myself.”
“Mickey, I don’t think you—”
“It’s all right. I just want to take a quick look and I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t see a mirror, but hold on, I have something.”
I heard her unzip her purse and then she put a small square object in my hand. A mirror from a makeup case. I held it up to my face and managed to get a glimpse. I looked like a boxer on the morning after a fight — and a losing bout at that. My eyes were swollen and the rash of exploded blood vessels extended from the corners of my eyes and across both cheeks.
“Jesus,” I said.
“Yeah, not a good look,” Jennifer said. “I still think you should let the doctor test you.”
“I’m going to be fine.”
“Mickey, there could be something and you should know.”
“But then the prosecution could know and they’ll use it to ask for a delay.”
There was a brief silence as Jennifer considered that and realized I was right.
“Okay, I’m getting tired,” I said. “Send in the investigator, let’s see what he says.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes. And don’t pull Cisco off trial prep. When you hear from Bosch, put him on Mason Maddox. I want to know everything. There’s got to be a link somewhere.”
“A link to what, Mickey?”
“A link to the case. Or the sheriff’s wiretap investigation. Something. We have to look at everybody. The sheriffs, Opparizio, the FBI, everybody.”
“Okay, I’ll tell the guys.”
“You think I’m paranoid, don’t you?”
“I just think it’s kind of far-fetched.”
I nodded. Maybe it was.
“Did they let you bring your phone in here?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Okay, take a picture of me. You might want to show it to the judge when you make your argument for protection.”