“Okay.”
Bosch didn’t think that would go over well.
“I told her what you said about it being change-the-world money,” he said. “I think that’s what pulled her in.”
“Does every time.”
Haller bent down to look through the windows and see if his driver was waiting to get back behind the wheel. There was no sign of him.
“I heard in the CCB that you filed on the dungeon master,” Haller said.
“Don’t call him that,” Bosch said. “Makes it sound like a joke, and I know the woman he had down there in that place. She’s going to be dealing with the aftermath for a long time.”
“Sorry, I’m just a callous defense attorney. Did he lawyer up yet?”
“I don’t know. But I told you, you don’t want that case. Guy’s a soulless psychopath. You don’t want to get near that.”
“True.”
“This guy, he should get the death penalty, you ask me. But he didn’t kill anyone—that we know about yet.”
Out his window Bosch saw the driver standing in front of the coffee shop. He was holding two coffee cups and waiting to be called back to the Lincoln. He appeared to Bosch to be looking across the street at something. He then made a slight nod.
“Did he just…”
Bosch turned and peered out the back window of the Lincoln to try to see what the driver was looking at.
“What?” Haller said.
“Your driver,” Bosch said. “How long have you had him?”
“Who, Boyd? About two months now.”
“He one of your reformation projects?”
Bosch now leaned forward to look past Haller and out his window. Haller had a history of taking on his clients as drivers in order to help them pay off their legal fees—to him.
“I’ve helped him through a couple of scrapes,” Haller said. “What’s going on?”
“Did you mention CellRight in his presence?” Bosch asked in response. “Does he know where you’re taking the samples?”
Bosch had put two and two together. He had forgotten that morning to check his house and the street out front for cameras, but he remembered Creighton mentioning Haller during the confrontation in the lobby of the police station. If they knew about Haller, then they might also have him under surveillance. There could be a plan to intercept the DNA samples either before they reached CellRight or once they had been turned in.
“Uh, no, I haven’t told him where we’re going,” Haller said. “I haven’t spoken about it in the car. What’s going on?”
“You are probably under surveillance,” Bosch said. “And he might be in on it. I just saw him nod to somebody.”
“Fucking A. Then his ass is grass. I’ll—”
“Hold on a second. Let’s think about this. Do you—”
“Wait.”
Haller put his hand up to stop Bosch from speaking. He then moved his laptop and folded up the desk. He got up and leaned over the seat toward the steering wheel. Bosch heard the air compression thump of the car’s trunk opening.
Haller got out of the car and went to the trunk. Soon Bosch heard it slammed shut and Haller got back into the car with a briefcase. He opened the case and then opened a secret compartment inside it. There was an electronic device secreted in the space and he turned on a switch, then put the case down on the seat between them.
“It’s an RF jammer,” he said. “I take this baby in with me to every client meeting I have in the jail – you never know who’s listening. If anybody’s listening to us now, they’re getting an earful of white noise.”
Bosch was impressed.
“I just bought one of those,” he said. “But it wasn’t in a fancy briefcase.”
“Took it as a partial fee payment from a former client. A cartel courier. He wasn’t going to need it where he was going. So what’s your plan?”
“Do you know of another place to take the swabs?”
Haller nodded.
“California Coding up in Burbank,” he said. “It was down to them or CellRight and CellRight agreed to the push.”
“Give me back the package,” Bosch said. “I’ll take the tubes to CellRight. You take a phony package to California Coding. Make them think that’s where we’re doing the analysis.”
Bosch took the extra tubes containing swabs from Vibiana and Gabriela out of his coat pocket. He didn’t have an extra from Whitney Vance, so, to sell the misdirection in case the tubes fell into the wrong hands, he used the Sharpie to change the initials marked on the tubes. He turned V-V into W-V and G-L to the randomly chosen G-E. He then signaled for the padded envelope. He removed the tubes containing swabs from Vance, Lida, and Veracruz and put them into his coat pocket. He then put the two altered tubes into the envelope and handed it back.
“You take that to California Coding and ask for a blind comparison,” he said. “Don’t let on to your driver or anybody else you think you’re being followed. I’ll go to CellRight.”
“Got it. I still want to kick his ass. Look at him over there.”
Bosch checked the driver again. He was no longer looking across the street.
“There will be time for that later. And I’ll help.”
Haller was writing something on a legal pad. He finished, tore the page off the pad, and handed it to Bosch.
“That’s CellRight and my contact there,” Haller said. “He’s expecting the package.”
Bosch recognized the address. CellRight was out near Cal State L.A., where the LAPD lab was located. He could get there in ten minutes but would take thirty to make sure he wasn’t followed.
He opened his door and turned to look back at Haller.
“Keep that cartel briefcase close,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” Haller said. “I will.”
Bosch nodded.
“After I drop this I’m going up to see Ida Townes Forsythe,” he said.
“Good,” Haller said. “We want her on our side.”
Bosch got out just as Boyd came around to the driver’s door. Bosch said nothing to him. He went back to his own car and sat behind the wheel and watched the intersection as Haller’s Lincoln pulled onto Cesar Chavez and headed west. There was a lot of traffic moving through the intersection, but Bosch saw no vehicle that he thought was suspicious or that might be tailing the Lincoln.
38
The drop-off at CellRight went down without incident after Bosch took antisurveillance measures that included driving completely around Dodger Stadium in Chavez Ravine. After hand delivering the three tubes to Haller’s contact, Bosch made his way over to the 5 freeway and headed north. Along the way he diverted at the Magnolia exit in Burbank to continue his circuitous driving patterns and to grab a submarine sandwich at Giamela’s. He ate in the car and kept his eyes on the comings and goings in the parking lot.
He was putting the empty sandwich wrap back in the bag when his phone chirped and he took a call from Lucia Soto, his former partner at LAPD.
“How is Bella Lourdes?” she asked.
Word had spread fast for a name not released publicly.
“You know Bella?” he asked.
“A little. From Las Hermanas.”
Bosch remembered that Soto was part of an informal group made up of Latina police detectives from all of the departments in the county. There weren’t many, so the group forged some tight bonds.
“She never told me she knew you,” he said.
“She didn’t want you to know she was checking you out with me,” Soto said.
“Well, she went through a lot. But she’s tough. I think she’ll be okay.”
“I hope so. It’s an awful story.”
She waited a beat for him to start telling her the details but Bosch kept quiet. She finally got the picture.
“I heard you filed on the guy today,” she said. “I hope you’ve got him dead to rights.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Bosch said.
“Good to hear. So, Harry, when are we going to have lunch and catch up? I miss you.”
“Damn, I just ate. But we’ll do it soon—next time I’m downtown. I miss you too.”