The Night Fire (Harry Bosch #22) - Michael Connelly Page 0,110

the key back to its original position.

He checked his watch. Three and a half minutes had gone by. Bosch had given Manley over a hundred pages to copy, and had placed in the middle of the package two pages that were stapled together and would cause a delay if they jammed a copier. But Bosch couldn’t count on that. He thought he had two minutes more at the most.

He went back to the computer and pulled up Manley’s e-mail account. Bosch’s eyes ran down the list of senders and then the words in the subject boxes. Nothing was of interest. He did an e-mail search of the name Montgomery by subject but no messages came up.

He then closed the e-mail page and went back to the home screen. In the Finder application he searched the name Montgomery again, this time coming up with a folder. He quickly opened it and found it contained nine files. He checked his watch. There was no way he could risk looking through them all. Most were simply labeled MONTGOMERY plus a date. All the dates were before the date of the defamation suit, so Bosch took these to be prep files. But one file was titled differently: it said simply TRANSFER.

Bosch opened TRANSFER and it contained only a thirteen-digit number, followed by the initials G.C. and nothing else. The mystery of it intrigued him. He took a photo of it as well.

As Bosch closed the folder, he heard the ding of a new e-mail from the computer. He opened Manley’s e-mail account and saw that the new message had an address that included the name Michaelson and the subject header Your new “client.”

Bosch knew he was out of time, and that if he opened the e-mail it would be marked as read. It could tip Manley to what he had been doing. But the quote marks around the word client got the best of him. He opened the e-mail. It was from Manley’s boss, William Michaelson.

You fool. Your client is working on the Montgomery case. Stop all activity with him. Now.

Bosch was stunned. Without thinking more than a second about it, he deleted the message. He then went to the Trash folder and deleted it from there as well. He closed the e-mail account, moved the desk chair back into place, and crossed to the door to reopen it. Just as he swung the door in a foot, Manley arrived with the file and his copies of the documents.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Yeah, to look for you,” Bosch said.

“Sorry, the machine jammed. Took longer than I thought. Here are your originals.”

He handed Bosch a stack of documents. He held the copies in his other hand and headed toward his desk.

“Did you sign the contract?”

“Just about to.”

“Everything in order?”

“Seems so.”

Bosch came back to the desk but didn’t sit down. He took the pen off the table and scribbled a signature on the contract. It wasn’t his name but it was hard to tell what name it was.

Manley moved around behind his desk and was about to sit down.

“Have a seat,” he said.

“Actually, I have another appointment, so I need to go,” Bosch said. “After you’ve looked at all of that stuff, why don’t you just give me a call and let’s discuss next steps?”

“Oh, I thought we had more time. I wanted to talk about bringing in a video team and going through the story with you.”

“You mean in case I die before we get to court?”

“Actually, it’s just the latest vogue in negotiations: have the victim tell his own story instead of the lawyer. When you have a good story—like you do—it gives them a real taste of what to expect in court. But we’ll set that up for next time. Let me walk you out.”

“No worries,” Bosch said. “I know my way out.”

A few moments later Bosch was headed down the hallway. As he passed the door that said WILLIAM MICHAELSON on the frosted glass, it opened and a man was standing there. He looked to be about sixty years old, with a graying fringe of hair and the paunch of a relaxed and successful businessman. He stared at Bosch as he went by. And Bosch stared right back at him.

45

The Musso & Frank Grill had outlasted them all in Hollywood and still packed them in for lunch and dinner every day in its two high-ceilinged rooms. It had an old-world elegance and charm that never changed, and a menu that kept that spirit