The Brass Verdict

spent in a trial were two weeks with no income other than the five bucks a day he made as a juror.
    The four were quickly replaced with four more random selections from the venire. And so it went. By noon I had used two of my preemptories on the remaining postal workers and would have used a third to strike the second engineer from the panel but decided to take the lunch hour to think about it before making my next move. Meanwhile, Golantz was holding fast with a full arsenal of challenges. His strategy was obviously to let me use my strikes up and then he would come in with the final shaping of the jury.
    Elliot had adopted the pose of CEO of the defense. I did the work in front of the jury but he insisted that he be allowed to sign off on each of my preemptory challenges. It took extra time because I needed to explain to him why I wanted to dump a juror and he would always offer his opinion. But each time, he ultimately nodded his approval like the man in charge, and the juror was struck. It was an annoying process but one I could put up with, just as long as Elliot went along with what I wanted to do.
    Shortly after noon, the judge broke for lunch. Even though the day was devoted to jury selection, technically it was the first day of my first trial in over a year. Lorna Taylor had come to court to watch and show her support. The plan was to go to lunch together and then she would go back to the office and start packing it up.
    As we entered the hallway outside the courtroom, I asked Elliot if he wanted to join us but he said he had to make a quick run to the studio to check on things. I told him not to be late coming back. The judge had given us a very generous ninety minutes for the lunch break and he would not look kindly on any late returns.
    Lorna and I hung back and let the prospective jurors crowd onto the elevators. I didn’t want to ride down with them. Inevitably when you do that, one of them opens their mouth and asks something that is improper and you then have to go through the motions of reporting it to the judge.
    When one of the elevators opened, I saw the reporter Jack McEvoy push his way out past the jurors, scan the hallway and zero in on me.
    “Great,” I said. “Here comes trouble.”
    McEvoy came directly toward me.
    “What do you want?” I said.
    “To explain.”
    “What, you mean explain why you’re a liar?”
    “No, look, when I told you it was going to run Sunday, I meant it. That’s what I was told.”
    “And here it is Thursday and no story in the paper, and when I’ve tried to call you about it, you don’t call me back. I’ve got other reporters interested, McEvoy. I don’t need the
Times
.”
    “Look, I understand. But what happened was that they decided to hold it so it would run closer to the trial.”
    “The trial started two hours ago.”
    The reporter shook his head.
    “You know, the real trial. Testimony and evidence. They’re running it out front this coming Sunday.”
    “The front page on Sunday. Is that a promise?”
    “Monday at the latest.”
    “Oh, now it’s Monday.”
    “Look, it’s the news business. Things change. It’s supposed to run out front on Sunday but if something big happens in the world, they might kick it over till Monday. It’s either-or.”
    “Whatever. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
    I saw that the area around the elevators was clear. Lorna and I could go down now and not encounter any prospective jurors. I took Lorna by the arm and started leading her that way. I pushed past the reporter.
    “So we’re okay?” McEvoy said. “You’ll hold off?”
    “Hold off on what?”
    “Talking to anyone else. On giving away the exclusive.”
    “Whatever.”
    I left him hanging and headed toward the elevators. When we got out of the building, we walked a block over to City Hall and I had Patrick pick us up there. I didn’t want any prospective jurors who might be hanging around the courthouse to see me getting into the back of a chauffeured Lincoln. It might not sit well with them. Among my pretrial instructions to Elliot had been a directive for him to eschew the studio limo and drive himself to court every day. You never know who might see what outside the courtroom and what the effect might be.
    I told Patrick to take us over to the French Garden on Seventh Street. I then called Harry Bosch’s cell phone and he answered right away.
    “I just talked to the reporter,” I said.
    “And?”
    “And it’s finally running Sunday