The Brass Verdict

something to the FBI agent and came back to me alone.
    “No bullshit,” he said impatiently. “I don’t have the time.”
    “Okay, this is the thing,” I said. “I think he was going to make it look like I jumped.”
    Bosch considered this and then shook his head.
    “Suicide? Who would believe that? You’ve got the case of the decade, man. You’re hot. You’re on TV. And you’ve got a kid to worry about. Suicide wouldn’t sell.”
    I nodded.
    “Yes, it would.”
    He looked at me and said nothing, waiting for me to explain.
    “I’m a recovering addict, Bosch. You know anything about that?”
    “Why don’t you tell me?”
    “The story would go that I couldn’t take the pressure of the big case and all the attention, and I either had or was about to relapse. So I jumped instead of going back to that. It’s not an uncommon thing, Bosch. They call it the fast out. And it makes me think that…”
    “What?”
    I pointed across the clearing toward juror number seven.
    “That he and whoever he was doing this for knew a lot about me. They did a deep background. They came up with my addiction and rehab and Lanie’s name. Then they came up with a solid plan for getting rid of me because they couldn’t just shoot down another lawyer without bringing down massive scrutiny on what it is they’ve got going. If I went down as a suicide, there’d be a lot less pressure.”
    “Yeah, but why did they need to get rid of you?”
    “I guess they think I know too much.”
    “Do you?”
    Before I could answer, McSweeney started yelling from the other side of the clearing.
    “Hey! Over there with the lawyer. I want to make a deal. I can give you some big people, man! I want to make a deal!”
    Bosch waited to see if there was more but that was it.
    “My tip?” I said. “Go over there and strike while the iron’s hot. Before he remembers he’s entitled to a lawyer.”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Thanks, Coach,” he said. “But I think I know what I’m doing.”
    He started to head across the clearing.
    “Hey, Bosch, wait,” I called. “You owe me something before you go over there.”
    Bosch stopped and signaled to Armstead to go to McSweeney. He then came back to me.
    “What do I owe you?”
    “One answer. Tonight I called you and told you I was in for the night. You were supposed to cut the surveillance down to one car. But this is the whole enchilada up here. What changed your mind?”
    “You haven’t heard, have you?”
    “Heard what?”
    “You get to sleep late tomorrow, Counselor. There’s no trial anymore.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because your client’s dead. Somebody – probably our friend over there who wants to make a deal – took Elliot and his girlfriend out tonight when they came home from dinner. His electric gate wouldn’t open and when he got out to push it open, somebody came up and put a bullet in the back of his head. Then he hit the woman in the car.”
    I took a half step back in shock. I knew the gate Bosch was talking about. I had been to Elliot’s mansion in Beverly Hills just the other night. And as far as the girlfriend went, I also thought I knew who that would be. I’d had Nina Albrecht figured for that position ever since Elliot told me he’d had help on the day of the murders in Malibu.
    Bosch didn’t let the stunned look on my face keep him from continuing.
    “I got tipped from a friend in the medical examiner’s office and figured that somebody might be out there cleaning the slate tonight. I figured I ought to call the team back and see what happens at your place. Lucky for you I did.”
    I stared right through Bosch when I answered.
    “Yeah,” I said. “Lucky for me.”

Fifty-three
    There was no longer a trial but I went to court on Tuesday morning to see the case through to its official end. I took my place next to the empty seat Walter Elliot had occupied for the past two weeks. The news photographers who had been allowed access to the courtroom seemed to like that empty chair. They took a lot of photos of it.
    Jeffrey Golantz sat across the aisle. He was the luckiest prosecutor on earth. He had left court one day, thinking he was facing a career-hobbling loss, and came back the next day with his perfect record intact. His upward trajectory in the DA’s office and city politics was safe for now. He had nothing to say to me as we sat and waited for the judge.
    But there was a lot of talk in the gallery. People were buzzing with news of the murders of