The Brass Verdict

beneath the Christmas tree. My mother brought me to the living room to view the damage and to give me the chance to confess my guilt. By then my father was sick and wasn’t going to get better. He had moved his work – what was left of it – home to the study next to the living room. I didn’t see him through the open door but from that room I heard his voice in a sing-song nursery rhyme.
    In a pickle, take the nickel
…
    I knew what it meant. Even at five years old I was my father’s son in blood and the law. I refused to answer my mother’s questions. I refused to incriminate myself.
    Now I laughed out loud as I looked at the city of dreams. I leaned down, elbows on the railing, and bowed my head.
    “I can’t do this anymore,” I whispered to myself.
    The song of the Lone Ranger suddenly burst from the open door behind me. I stepped back inside and looked at the cell phone left on the table with my keys. The screen said PRIVATE NUMBER. I hesitated, knowing exactly how long the song would play before the call went to message.
    At the last moment I took the call.
    “Is this Michael Haller, the lawyer?”
    “Yes, who is this?”
    “This is Los Angeles police officer Randall Morris. Do you know an individual named Elaine Ross, sir?”
    I felt a fist grip my guts.
    “Lanie? Yes. What happened? What’s wrong?”
    “Uh, sir, I have Miss Ross up here on Mulholland Drive and she shouldn’t be driving. In fact, she sort of passed out after she handed me your card.”
    I closed my eyes for a moment. The call seemed to confirm my fears about Lanie Ross. She had fallen back. An arrest would put her back into the system and probably cost her another stay in jail and rehab.
    “Which jail are you taking her to?” I asked.
    “I gotta be honest, Mr. Haller. I’m code seven in twenty minutes. If I take her down to book her, I’m looking at two more hours and I’m tapped on my overtime allowance this month. I was going to say, if you can come get her or send somebody for her, I’m willing to give her the break. You know what I mean?”
    “Yes, I do. Thank you, Officer Morris. I’ll come get her if you give me the address.”
    “You know where the overlook is above Fryman Canyon?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “We’re right here. Make it quick.”
    “I’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.”
    Fryman Canyon was only a few blocks from the converted garage guesthouse where a friend allowed Lanie to live rent free. I could get her home, walk back to the park and retrieve her car afterward. It would take me less than an hour and it would keep Lanie out of jail and her car out of the tow lot.
    I left the house and drove Laurel Canyon up the hill to Mulholland. When I reached the top, I took a left and headed west. I lowered the windows and let the cool air in as I felt the first pulls of fatigue from the day grab me. I followed the serpentine road for half a mile, slowing once when my headlights washed across a scruffy coyote standing vigil on the side of the road.
    My cell phone buzzed as I had been expecting it to.
    “What took you so long to call, Bosch?” I said by way of a greeting.
    “I’ve been calling but there’s no cell coverage in the canyon,” Bosch said. “Is this some kind of test? Where the hell are you going? You called and said you were done for the night.”
    “I got a call. A… client of mine got busted on a deuce up here. The cop’s giving her a break if I drive her home.”
    “From where?”
    “The Fryman Canyon overlook. I’m almost there.”
    “Who was the cop?”
    “Randall Morris. He didn’t say whether he was Hollywood or North Hollywood.”
    Mulholland was a boundary between the two police divisions. Morris could work out of either one.
    “Okay, pull over until I can check it out.”
    “Pull over? Where?”
    Mulholland was a winding two-lane road with no pull-over spots except for the overlooks. If you pulled over anywhere else, you would get plowed into by the next car to come around the bend.
    “Then, slow down.”
    “I’m already here.”
    The Fryman Canyon overlook was on the Valley side. I took a right to turn in and drove right by the sign that said that the parking area was closed after sunset.
    I didn’t see Lanie’s car or a police cruiser. The parking area was empty. I checked my watch. It had been only twelve minutes since I had told Officer Morris that I would be there in less than fifteen.
    “Damn!”
    “What?” Bosch asked.
    I hit the heel of my