The concrete blonde - By Michael Connelly Page 0,143
to his chambers.
Bosch was up quickly and out the door of the courtroom. He went to the pay phones and dialed the communications center. After giving his name and badge number, he asked the phone clerk to run a code-three DMV search on the name Honey Chandler. He said he needed the address and would hold.
The rover would not work until he was out of the courthouse underground garage. Once he was out on Los Angeles Street he tried again and got hold of Edgar, who had his rover on. He gave him the Carmelina Street address in Brentwood he had gotten for Chandler.
“Meet me there.”
“On my way.”
He drove down to Third and took it up through the tunnel and onto the Harbor Freeway. He was just hitting the Santa Monica Freeway when his pager sounded. He looked at the number while driving and didn't recognize it. He exited the freeway and pulled over at a Korea Town grocery store with a phone on the wall out front.
“Courtroom four,” said the woman who answered his call.
“It's Detective Bosch, did someone beep me?”
“Yes, we did. We have a verdict. You need to get back here right away.”
“What do you mean? I was just there. How'd they—”
“It's not unusual, Detective Bosch. They probably came to an agreement Friday and decided to take the weekend to see if they wanted to change their minds. Look, it gets them out of another day of work.”
Back in the car, he picked up the rover again.
“Edgar, you there?”
“Uh, not quite. You?”
“I gotta turn around. Got a verdict. Can you check this out?”
“No problem. What am I checking out?”
“It's Chandler's house. She's blonde. She didn't show up in court today.”
“I get the picture.”
Bosch had never thought he would hope to see Honey Chandler in court at the table opposite his but he did. She wasn't there, though. A man Harry didn't recognize was sitting with the plaintiff.
As he walked to the defense table, Bosch saw that a couple of reporters, including Bremmer, were already in the courtroom.
“Who's that?” he asked Belk about the man next to the widow.
“Dan Daly. Keyes grabbed him out of the hallway to sit with the woman during the verdict. Chandler is apparently incommunicado. They can't find her.”
“Anybody go to her house?”
“I don't know. I assume they called. What do you care? You should be worried about this verdict.”
Judge Keyes came out then and took his place. He nodded to the clerk, who buzzed the jury. As the twelve filed in, none of them looked at Bosch but almost all of them eyed the man sitting next to Deborah Church.
“Again, folks,” the judge began, “a scheduling conflict has prevented Ms. Chandler from being here. Mr. Daly, a fine lawyer, has agreed to sit in her stead. I understand from the marshal that you have reached a verdict.”
Several of the twelve heads nodded. Bosch finally saw one man look at him. But then he looked away. Bosch could feel his heart pounding and he was unsure if it was because of the impending verdict or the disappearance of Honey Chandler. Or both.
“Can I have the verdict forms, please?”
The jury foreman handed a thin stack of papers to the marshal who handed them to the clerk who handed them to the judge. It was excruciating to watch. The judge had to put on a pair of reading glasses and then took his time studying the papers. Finally, he handed the papers back to the clerk and said, “Publish the verdict.”
The clerk did a rehearsal reading in her head first and then began.
“In the above entitled matter on the question of whether defendant Hieronymus Bosch did deprive Norman Church of his civil rights to protection against unlawful search and seizure, we find for the plaintiff.”
Bosch didn't move. He looked across the room and saw that now all the jurors were looking at him. His eyes turned to Deborah Church and he saw her grab the arm of the man next to her, even though she didn't know him, and smile. She was turning that smile triumphantly toward Bosch when Belk grabbed his arm.
“Don't worry,” he whispered. “It's the damages that count.”
The clerk continued.
“The jury hereby awards to the plaintiff in compensatory damages the amount of one dollar.”
Bosch heard Belk whisper a gleeful “Yes!” under his breath.
“In the matter of punitive damages, the jury awards the plaintiff the amount of one dollar.”
Belk whispered it again, only this time loud enough to be heard in the gallery. Bosch