The Brass Verdict

self-knowledge could give me an edge. I was in the middle of some sort of play but at least now I knew it was a play. That was an advantage. I could now make it my own play.
    There was a reason for the hurry-up to trial and I now thought I knew what it was. The fix was in. Money had been paid for a specific fix, and that fix was tied to the trial remaining on schedule. The next question in this string was why. Why must the trial take place as scheduled? I didn’t have an answer for that yet but I was going to get it.
    I walked over to the windows and split the Venetian blinds with my hand. Out on the street I saw a van from Channel 5 parked with two wheels up on the curb. A camera crew and a reporter were on the sidewalk and they were getting ready to do a live shot, offering their viewers the latest on the Vincent case – the latest being the exact same report given the morning before: no arrests, no suspects, no news.
    I left the window and stepped back into the middle of the room to continue my pacing. The next thing I needed to consider was the man in the photograph Bosch showed me. There was a contradiction at work here. The early indications of evidence were that Vincent had known the person who killed him and allowed him to get close. But the man in the photograph appeared to be in disguise. Would Jerry have lowered his window for the man in the photograph? The fact that Bosch had zeroed in on this man didn’t make sense when applied to what was known about the crime scene.
    The calls from the FBI to Vincent’s cell phone were also part of the unknown equation. What did the bureau know and why had no agent come forward to Bosch? It might be that the agency was hiding its tracks. But I also knew that it might not want to come out of the shadows to reveal an ongoing investigation. If this was the case, I would need to step more carefully than I had been. If I ended up the least bit tainted in a federal corruption probe, I would never recover from it.
    The last unknown to consider was the murder itself. Vincent had paid the bribe and was ready for trial as scheduled. Why had he become a liability? His murder certainly threatened the timetable and was an extreme response. Why was he killed?
    There were too many questions and too many unknowns for now. I needed more information before I could draw any solid conclusions about how to proceed. But there was a basic conclusion I couldn’t stop myself from reaching. It seemed uncomfortably clear that I was being mushroomed by my own client. Elliot was keeping me in the dark about the interior machinations of the case.
    But that could work both ways. I decided that I would do exactly what Bosch had asked: keep the information the detective had given me confidential. I would not share it with my staff and certainly, at this point, I would not question Walter Elliot about his knowledge of these things. I would keep my head above the dark waters of the case and keep my eyes wide open.
    I shifted focus from my thoughts to what was directly in front of me. I was looking at the gaping mouth of Patrick Henson’s fish.
    The door opened and Lorna reentered the office to find me standing there staring at the tarpon.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “Thinking.”
    “Well, Cisco’s here and we’ve got to go. You have a busy court schedule today and I don’t want to make you late.”
    “Then, let’s go. I’m starved.”
    I followed her out but not before glancing back at the big beautiful fish hanging on the wall. I thought I knew exactly how he felt.

Twenty-three
    I had Patrick drive us over to the Pacific Dining Car, and Cisco and I ordered steak and eggs while Lorna had tea and honey. The Dining Car was a place where downtown power brokers liked to gather before a day of fighting it out in the glass towers nearby. The food was overpriced but good. It instilled confidence, made the downtown warrior feel like a heavy hitter.
    As soon as the waiter took our order and left us, Lorna put her silverware to the side and opened a spiral-bound At-A-Glance calendar on the table.
    “Eat fast,” she said. “You have a busy day.”
    “Tell me.”
    “All right, the easy stuff first.”
    She flipped a couple of pages back and forth in the calendar, then proceeded.
    “You have a ten a.m. in chambers with Judge Holder. She wants an updated client inventory.”
    “She told me I had a week,” I protested. “Today’s Thursday.”
    “Yeah, well, Michaela called and