A Darkness More Than Night

that. But it doesn’t change things. Five minutes.”
    Bosch stepped away but went to the clerk’s desk in front of the judge’s bench. The exhibits were lying stacked on a side table. Bosch looked through them until he found the poster he wanted. He slid it out and carried it with him back to the defense table. Fowkkes was still standing but bending down so Storey could whisper in his ear. Bosch dropped the poster, containing the blowup photo of the bookcase in Storey’s house, on the table. He tapped his finger on two of the books on an upper shelf. The titles on the spines were clearly readable. One title was The Art of Darkness and the other book was merely titled Bosch.
    “There’s your prior knowledge right there.”
    He left the exhibit on the defense table and started to walk back to the prosecution table. But after two steps he came back and put his palms down flat on the defense table. He looked directly at Storey. He spoke in a voice that he knew would be loud enough for McEvoy to hear in the media gallery.
    “You know what your big mistake was, David?”
    “No,” Storey said, a sneer in his voice. “Why don’t you tell me?”
    Fowkkes immediately grabbed his client’s arm in a silencing gesture.
    “Drawing out the scene for Tafero,” Bosch said. “What he did was, he went and put those pretty pictures you made right into his safe deposit box at City National. He knew they might come in handy and they sure did. He used them this morning to buy his way out of a death sentence. What are you going to use?”
    Bosch saw the falter in Storey’s eyes, the tell. For just a moment his eyes blinked without really blinking. But in that moment Bosch knew it was over because Storey knew it was over.
    Bosch straightened up and casually looked at his watch, then at Fowkkes.
    “About three minutes now, Mr. Fowkkes. Your client’s life is on the line.”
    He returned to the defense table and sat down. Kretzler and Langwiser leaned toward him and urgently whispered questions but Bosch ignored them.
    “Let’s just see what happens.”
    Over the next five minutes he never once looked over at the defense table. He could hear muffled words and whispers but couldn’t make out any of it. The courtroom filled with spectators and members of the media.
    Nothing came from the defense table.
    At precisely 9 A.M. the door behind the bench opened and Judge Houghton bounded up the steps to his spot. He took his seat and glanced at both the prosecution and defense tables.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, are we ready for the jury?”
    “Yes, Your Honor,” Kretzler said.
    Nothing came from the defense table. Houghton looked over, a curious smile on his face.
    “Mr. Fowkkes? Can I bring in our jury?”
    Now Bosch leaned back so he could look past Langwiser and Kretzler at the defense table. Fowkkes sat slouched in his chair, a posture he had never exhibited in the courtroom before. He had an elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand up. He was wagging a pen in his fingers and seemed to be lost in deep, depressing thought. His client sat rigid next to him, face forward.
    “Mr. Fowkkes? I’m waiting for an answer.”
    Fowkkes finally looked up at the judge. Very slowly he rose from the seat and went to the lectern.
    “Your Honor, may we approach at sidebar for a moment?”
    The judge looked both curious and annoyed. It had been the routine of the trial to submit all nonpublic conference requests by 8:30 A.M. so that they could be considered and argued in chambers without cutting into court time.
    “This can’t be handled in open court, Mr. Fowkkes?”
    “No, Your Honor. Not at this time.”
    “Very well. Come on up.”
    Houghton signaled the lawyers forward with both hands as though he were giving signals to a truck backing up.
    The attorneys approached the side of the bench and huddled with the judge. From his angle Bosch could see all of their faces and he didn’t need to hear what was being whispered. Fowkkes looked ashen and after a few words Kretzler and Langwiser seemed to grow in stature. Langwiser even glanced over at Bosch and he could read the victory message in her eyes.
    He turned and looked over at the defendant. He waited and David Storey slowly turned and their eyes locked one final time. Bosch didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He didn’t do anything but hold the stare. Eventually, it was Storey who looked away and down at his hands lying in his lap. Bosch felt a trilling sensation move over his