“Christ, we’re only two blocks from the PAB.”
“They weren’t there. They were at lunch up in Hollywood. But don’t worry, they’ll get here. It’s not like these people are going anywhere.”
Bosch looked at the bodies. Clive Royce sat dead in a chair at the head of a long board table. His head was snapped back as if he were looking at the ceiling. There was a bloodless bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Blood from the exit wound at the back of his head had poured down the back of his jacket and chair.
The investigator, Karen Revelle, was on the floor on the other side of the room near the other door. It appeared that she had tried to make a run for it before being hit by gunfire. She was facedown and Bosch could not see where or how many times she had been hit.
Royce’s pretty associate counsel, whose name Bosch could not remember, was no longer pretty. Her body was in a seat diagonal to Royce, her upper body down on the table, an entry wound at the back of her head. The bullet had exited below her right eye and destroyed her face. There was always more damage coming out than going in.
“What do you think?” asked one of the Central guys.
“Looks like he came in shooting. Hit these two first and then tagged the other as she made a run for the door. Then backed into the hall and opened up on the SIS guys as they came in.”
“Yeah. Looks that way.”
“I’m going to check the rest of the place out.”
Bosch continued down the hall and looked through open doors into empty offices. There were nameplates on the wall outside the doors and he was reminded that Royce’s associate was named Denise Graydon.
The hallway ended at a break room, where there was a kitchenette with a refrigerator and a microwave. There was another communal table here. And an exit door that was three inches ajar.
Bosch used his elbow to push the door open. He stepped into an alley lined with trash bins. He looked both ways and saw a pay parking lot a half block down to his right. He assumed it was the lot where Jessup had parked his car and had gone to retrieve the gun.
He went back inside and this time took a longer look in each of the offices. He knew from experience that he was treading in a gray area here. This was a law office, and whether the lawyers were dead or not, their clients were still entitled to privacy and attorney-client privilege. Bosch touched nothing and opened no drawer or file. He simply moved his eyes over the surface of things, seeing and reading what was in plain sight.
When he was in Revelle’s office he was joined by McPherson.
“What are you doing?”
“Just looking.”
“We might have a problem going into any of their offices. As an officer of the court I can’t-”
“Then wait outside. Like I said, I’m just looking. I am making sure the premises are secure.”
“Whatever. I’ll be out front. The media’s all over the place out there now. It’s a circus.”
Bosch was leaning over Revelle’s desk. He didn’t look up.
“Good for them.”
McPherson left the room at the same moment Bosch read something off a legal pad that was on top of a stack of files on the side of the desk near the phone.
“Maggie? Come back here.”
She returned.
“Take a look at this.”
McPherson came around the desk and bent over to read the notes on the top page of the pad. The page was covered with what looked like random notes, phone numbers and names. Some were circled, others scratched out. It looked like a pad Revelle jotted on while on the phone.
“What?” McPherson asked.
Without touching the pad, Bosch pointed to a notation in the bottom right corner. All it said was Checkers-804. But that was enough.
“Shit!” McPherson said. “Sarah isn’t even registered under her name. How did Revelle get this?”
“She must’ve followed us back after court, paid somebody for the room number. We have to assume that Jessup has this information.”
Bosch pulled his phone and called Mickey Haller on speed dial.
“It’s Bosch. You still have Sarah with you?”
“Yes, she’s here in court. We’re waiting for the judge.”
“Look, don’t scare her but she can’t go back to the hotel.”
“All right. How come?”
“Because there’s an indication here that Jessup has that location. We’ll be setting up on it.”
“What do I do, then?”
“I’ll be sending a protection team to the court-for both of you. They’ll know what to do.”
“They can cover her. I don’t need it.”
“That’ll be your choice. My advice is you take it.”
He closed the phone and looked at McPherson.
“I gotta get a protection team over there. I want you to take my car and get my daughter and your daughter and go somewhere safe. You call me then and I’ll send a team to you, too.”
“My car’s two blocks from here. I can just-”
“That’ll waste too much time. Take mine and go now. I’ll call the school and tell them you’re coming for Maddie.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you. Call me when you have-”
They heard shouting from the front of the office suite. Angry male voices. Bosch knew they came from the friends of Manny Branson. They were seeing their fallen comrade on the floor and getting fueled with outrage and the scent of blood for the hunt.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They moved back through the suite to the front. Bosch saw Wright standing just outside the front door, consoling two SIS men with angry, tear-streaked faces. Bosch made his way around Branson’s body and out the door. He tapped Wright on the elbow.
“I need a moment, Lieutenant.”
Wright broke away from his two men and followed. Bosch walked a few yards to where they could speak privately. But he need not have worried about being overheard. In the sky above, there were at least four media choppers circling over the crime scene and laying down a layer of camouflage sound that would make any conversation on the block private.
“I need two of your best men,” Bosch said, leaning toward Wright’s ear.
“Okay. What do you have going?”
“There’s a note on the desk of one of the victims. It’s the hotel and room number of our prime witness. We have to assume our shooter has that information. The slaughter inside there indicates he’s taking out the people associated with the trial. The people he thinks did him wrong. That’s a long list but I think our witness would be at the top of it.”
“Got it. You want to set up at the hotel.”
Bosch nodded.
“Yeah. One man outside, one inside and me in the room. We wait and see if he shows.”
Wright shook his head.
“We use four. Two inside and two outside. But forget waiting in the room, because Jessup will never get by the surveillance. Instead, you and I find a viewpoint up high and set up the command post. That’s the right way to do it.”
Bosch nodded.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Except there’s one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If I bring you in on this, then you stay back. My people take him down.”
Bosch studied him for a moment, trying to read everything hidden in what he was saying.
“There are questions,” Bosch said. “About Franklin Canyon and the other places. I need to talk to Jessup.”
Wright looked over Bosch’s shoulder and back toward the front door of Royce and Associates.
“Detective, one of my best people is dead on the floor in there. I’m not guaranteeing you anything. You understand?”
Bosch paused and then nodded.
“I understand.”
Forty-one
Thursday, April 8, 1:50 P.M .
There was more media in the courtroom than there had been at any other point of the trial. The first two rows of the gallery were shoulder-to-shoulder with reporters and cameramen. The rest of the rows were filled with courthouse personnel and lawyers who had heard what had happened to Clive Royce.