The Brass Verdict

Mickey. Have fun.”
    “I already am.”
    I hung up and waited, pacing in the room and thinking it all through again. The dominoes went down one after the other. It felt good and it all fit. Vincent had not taken on the Wyms case out of any obligation to the law or the poor or the disenfranchised. He was using Wyms as camouflage. Rather than move the case toward the obvious plea agreement, he had stashed Wyms out at Camarillo for three months, thereby keeping the case alive and active. Meantime, he gathered information under the flag of the Wyms defense that he would use in the Elliot case, thereby hiding his moves and strategy from the prosecution.
    Technically, he was probably acting within bounds, but ethically it was underhanded. Eli Wyms had spent ninety days in a state facility so Vincent could build a defense for Elliot. Elliot got the magic bullet while Wyms got the zombie cocktail.
    The good thing was, I didn’t have to worry about the sins of my predecessor. Wyms was out of Camarillo, and besides, they weren’t my sins. I could just take the benefit of Vincent’s discoveries and go to trial.
    It didn’t take too long before Cisco called back.
    “I talked to my guy in Lynwood. Four-alpha is Malibu’s lead car. The four is for the Malibu station and the alpha is for… alpha. Like the alpha dog. The leader of the pack. Hot shots – the priority calls – usually go to the alpha car. Four-alpha-one would be the driver, and if he’s riding with a partner, then the partner would be four-alpha-two.”
    “So the alpha car covers the whole fourth district?”
    “That’s what he told me. Four-alpha is free to roam the district and scoop the cream off the top.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The best calls. The hot shots.”
    “Got it.”
    My theory was confirmed. A double murder and shots fired near a residential neighborhood would certainly be alpha-car calls. One designation but different deputies responding. Different deputies responding but one car. The dominoes clicked and fell.
    “Does that help, Mick?”
    “It does, Cisco. But it also means more work for you.”
    “On the Elliot case?”
    “No, not Elliot. I want you to work on the Eli Wyms case. Find out everything you can about the night he was arrested. Get me details.”
    “That’s what I’m here for.”

Thirty-one
    The night’s discovery pushed the case off the paper and into my imagination. I was starting to get courtroom images in my head. Scenes of examinations and cross-examinations. I was laying out the suits I would wear to court and the postures I would take in front of the jury. The case was coming alive inside and this was always a good thing. It was a momentum thing. You time it right and you go into trial with the inescapable conviction that you will not lose. I didn’t know what had happened to Jerry Vincent, how his actions might have brought about his demise, or whether his death was linked at all to the Elliot case, but I felt as though I had a bead on things. I had velocity and I was getting battle ready.
    My plan was to sit in a corner booth at Dan Tana’s and sketch out some of the key witness examinations, listing the baseline questions and probable answers for each. I was excited about getting to it, and Lorna need not have worried about me. I wouldn’t be alone. I would have my case with me. Not Jerry Vincent’s case. Mine.
    After quickly repacking the files and adding fresh pencils and legal pads, I killed the lights and locked the office door. I headed down the hallway and then across the bridge to the parking garage. Just as I was entering the garage, I saw a man walking up the ramp from the first floor. He was fifty yards away and it was only a few moments and a few strides before I recognized him as the man in the photograph Bosch had shown me that morning.
    My blood froze in my heart. The fight-or-flight instinct stabbed into my brain. The rest of the world didn’t matter. There was just this moment and I had to make a choice. My brain assessed the situation faster than any computer IBM ever made. And the result of the computation was that I knew the man coming toward me was the killer and that he had a gun.
    I swung around and started to run.
    “Hey!” a voice called from behind me.
    I kept running. I moved back across the bridge to the glass doors leading back into the building. One clear, single thought fired through every synapse in my brain. I had to get inside and get to Cisco’s gun. I had