The concrete blonde - By Michael Connelly Page 0,72
rooms at the Hollywood station. Bosch and Belk went into one and took chairs on either side of a gray table.
“What happened?” Bosch asked.
“Your heroine rested.”
“Chandler rested without calling me?”
This seemed to make no sense to Bosch.
“What's she doing?” he asked.
“She's being extremely shrewd. It's a very smart move.”
“Why?”
“Look at the case. She is in very good shape. If it ended today and went to the jury, who would win? She would. See, she knows you have to get on the stand and defend what you did. Like I told you the other day, we win or lose with you. You either take the ball and ram it down her throat or you fumble it. She knows that and if she was to call you, she would ask the questions first, then I would come in with the fungoes—the easy ones that you'd hit out of the park.
“Now she's reversing that. My choice is to not call you and lose the case, or to call you and essentially give her the best shot at you. Very shrewd.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“Call you.”
“What about the delay?”
“What delay?”
Bosch nodded. There was no changing it. There would be no delay. He realized he had handled it badly. He had approached Belk the wrong way. He should have tried to make Belk believe it had been his own idea to go for a delay. Then it would have worked. Instead, Bosch was beginning to feel the jitters—that uneasy feeling that came with approaching the unknown. He felt the way he did before he climbed down into a VC tunnel for the first time in Vietnam. It was fear, he knew, blossoming like a black rose in the pit of his chest.
“We've got twenty-five minutes,” Belk said. “Let's forget about delays and try to work out how we want your testimony to go. I am going to lead you down the path. The jury will follow. But remember, you have to take it slow or you will lose them. Okay?”
“We got twenty minutes,” Bosch corrected him. “I need to go out for a smoke before I sit up there on the stand.”
Belk pressed on as if he hadn't heard.
“Remember, Bosch, there could be millions of dollars at stake here. It may not be your money but it may be your career.”
“What career?”
Bremmer was hanging around the door to the conference room when Bosch came out twenty minutes later.
“Get it all?” Harry asked.
He walked by him and headed toward the escalator. Bremmer followed.
“No, man, I wasn't listening. I'm just waiting for you. Listen, what's going on with the new case? Edgar won't tell me shit. Did you get an ID or what?”
“Yeah, we ID'd her.”
“Who was it?”
“Not my case, man. I can't give it out. Besides, I give it to you and you'll run to Money Chandler with it, right?”
Bremmer stopped walking beside him.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Then he scurried up to Bosch's side and whispered.
“Listen, Harry, you're one of my main sources. I wouldn't screw you like that. If she's getting inside shit, look for somebody else.”
Bosch felt bad about accusing the reporter. He'd had no evidence.
“You sure? I'm mistaken about this, right?”
“Absolutely. You're too valuable to me. I wouldn't do it.”
“Okay, then.”
That was as close as he'd come to an apology.
“So what can you tell me about the ID?”
“Nothing. It's still not my case. Try RHD.”
“RHD has it? They took it from Edgar?”
Bosch got on the escalator and looked back at him. He nodded as he went down. Bremmer didn't follow.
Money Chandler was already on the steps smoking when Bosch came out. He lit a cigarette and looked back at her.
“Surprise, surprise,” he said.
“What?”
“Resting.”
“Only a surprise to Bulk,” she said. “Any other lawyer would have seen it coming, I almost feel sorry for you, Bosch. Almost, but not quite. In a civil rights case, the chances of a win are always a long shot. But going up against the city attorney's office always kind of levels the playing field. These guys like Bulk, they couldn't make it on the outside… . If he had to win in order to eat, your lawyer would be a thin man. He needs that steady paycheck from the city coming in, win or lose.”
What she said, of course, was correct. But it was old news. Bosch smiled. He didn't know how to act. A part of himself liked her. She was wrong about him, but somehow he liked her. Maybe it was her tenacity, because