Courtland did as he was told and after a moment came up with an improved but still sketchy description.
“He’s about the same height as Mr. Elias. But he had his head shaved. It was slick. He got one of them soul chips, too.”
“Soul chip?”
“You know, like a little beard under his lip.”
He opened his eyes.
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?” Bosch said in a friendly, cajoling tone. “Robert, how’re you going to make it into the cops. We need more than that. How old was this guy?”
“I don’t know. Thirty or forty.”
“That’s a help. Only ten years difference. Was he thin? Fat?”
“Thin but with muscles. You know, the guy was built.”
“I think he’s describing Michael Harris,” Rider said. Bosch looked at her. Harris was the plaintiff in the Black Warrior case.
“It fits,” Rider said. “The case starts Monday. They were probably working late, getting ready for court.”
Bosch nodded and was about to dismiss Courtland when Langwiser suddenly spoke while still reading the last page of the search warrant.
“I think we have a problem with the warrant.”
Now everyone looked at her.
“Okay, Robert,” Bosch said to Courtland. “We’ll be all right from here. Thanks for your help.”
“You sure? You want me to go up with you, unlock the door or something?”
“No, we have a key. We’ll be all right.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be in the security office around behind the stairs if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
Courtland started walking back the way he had come but then stopped and turned around.
“Oh, you know, all five of you better not take the elevator up at once. That’s probably too much weight on that old thing.”
“Thanks, Robert,” Bosch said.
He waited until the guard had gone around the staircase and was out of sight before turning back to Langwiser.
“Miss Langwiser, you probably haven’t gone out on too many crime scenes before,” he said. “But here’s a tip, never announce that there is a problem with a search warrant in front of somebody who isn’t a cop.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t – ”
“What’s wrong with the warrant?” Dellacroce said, his voice showing he was upset by the apparent challenge to his work. “The judge didn’t see anything wrong with it. The judge said it was fine.”
Langwiser looked down at the three-page warrant in her hand and waved it, its pages fluttering like a falling pigeon.
“I just think that with a case like this we better be damn sure of what we’re doing before we go in there and start opening up files.”
“We have to go into the files,” Bosch said. “That’s where most of the suspects will be.”
“I understand that. But these are confidential files relating to lawsuits against the police department. They contain privileged information that only an attorney and his client should have. Don’t you see? It could be argued that by opening a single file you’ve violated the rights of Elias’s clients.”
“All we want is to find the man’s killer. We don’t care about his pending cases. I hope to Christ that the killer’s name isn’t in those files and that it isn’t a cop. But what if it is and what if in those files Elias kept copies or notes on threats? What if through his own investigations he learned something about somebody that could be a motive for his killing? You see, we need to look at the files.”
“All of that is understandable. But if a judge later rules the search was inappropriate you won’t be able to use anything you find up there. You want to run that risk?”
She turned away from them and looked toward the door.
“I have to find a phone and make a call about this,” she said. “I can’t let you open that office yet. Not in good conscience.”
Bosch blew out his breath in exasperation. He silently chastised himself for calling in a lawyer too soon. He should have just done what he knew he had to do and dealt with the consequences later.
“Here.”
He opened his briefcase and handed her his cell phone. He listened as she called the DA’s office switchboard and asked to be connected to a prosecutor named David Sheiman, who Bosch knew was the supervisor of the major crimes unit. After she had Sheiman on the line she began summarizing the situation and Bosch continued to listen to make sure she had the details right.
“We’re wasting a lot of time standing around, Harry,” Rider whispered to him. “You want me to go pick up Harris and have a talk with him about last night?”