The Brass Verdict

were part of the mess. She must’ve figured you sent the letter to Judge Stanton. You knew too much and had to go – just like Vincent. It wasn’t about the story we planted. It was about you tipping Judge Stanton.”
    I shook my head. My own actions had almost brought about my own demise in the form of a high dive off Mulholland.
    “I guess I was pretty stupid.”
    “I don’t know about that. You’re still standing. After today none of them will be.”
    “There’s that. What kind of deal did McSweeney cut?”
    “No death penalty and consideration. If everybody goes down, then he’ll probably get fifteen. In the federal system that means he’ll still do thirteen.”
    “Who’s his lawyer?”
    “He’s got two. Dan Daly and Roger Mills.”
    I nodded. He was in good hands. I thought about what Walter Elliot had told me, that the guiltier you were, the more lawyers you needed.
    “Pretty good deal for three murders,” I said.
    “One murder,” Bosch corrected.
    “What do you mean? Vincent, Elliot and Albrecht.”
    “He didn’t kill Elliot and Albrecht. Those two didn’t match up.”
    “What are you talking about? He killed them and then he tried to kill me.”
    Bosch shook his head.
    “He did try to kill you but he didn’t kill Elliot and Albrecht. It was a different weapon. On top of that, it didn’t make sense. Why would he ambush them and then try to make you look like a suicide? It doesn’t connect. McSweeney is clean on Elliot and Albrecht.”
    I was stunned silent for a long moment. For the last three days I had believed that the man who killed Elliot and Albrecht was the same man who had tried to kill me and that he was safely locked in the hands of the authorities. Now Bosch was telling me there was a second killer somewhere out there.
    “Does Beverly Hills have any ideas?” I finally asked.
    “Oh, yeah, they’re pretty sure they know who did it. But they’ll never make a case.”
    The hits kept coming. One surprise after another.
    “Who?”
    “The family.”
    “You mean like the Family, with a capital
F
? Organized crime?”
    Bosch smiled and shook his head.
    “The family of Johan Rilz. They took care of it.”
    “How do they know that?”
    “Lands and grooves. The bullets they dug out of the two victims were nine-millimeter Parabellums. Brass jacket and casing and manufactured in Germany. BHPD took the bullet profile and matched them to a C-ninety-six Mauser, also manufactured in Germany.”
    He paused to see if I had any questions. When I didn’t, he continued.
    “Over at BHPD they’re thinking it’s almost like somebody was sending a message.”
    “A message from Germany.”
    “You got it.”
    I thought of Golantz telling the Rilz family how I was going to drag Johan through the mud for a week. They had left rather than witness that. And Elliot was killed before it could happen.
    “Parabellum,” I said. “You know your Latin, Detective?”
    “Didn’t go to law school. What’s it mean?”
    “Prepare for war. It’s part of a saying. ‘If you want peace, prepare for war.’ What will happen with the investigation now?”
    Bosch shrugged.
    “I know a couple of Beverly Hills detectives who’ll get a nice trip to Germany out of it. They fly their people business class with the seats that fold down into beds. They’ll go through the motions and the due diligence. But if the hit was done right, nothing will ever happen.”
    “How’d they get the gun over here?”
    “It could be done. Through Canada or Der FedEx if it absolutely, positively has to be there on time.”
    I didn’t smile. I was thinking about Elliot and the equilibrium of justice. Somehow Bosch seemed to know what I was thinking.
    “Remember what you said to me when you told me you had told Judge Holder you knew she was behind all of this?”
    I shrugged.
    “What did I say?”
    “You said sometimes justice can’t wait.”
    “And?”
    “And you were right. Sometimes it doesn’t wait. In that trial, you had the momentum and Elliot looked like he was going to walk. So somebody decided not to wait for justice and he delivered his own verdict. Back when I was riding patrol, you know what we called a killing that came down to simple street justice?”
    “What?”
    “The brass verdict.”
    I nodded. I understood. We were both silent for a long moment.
    “Anyway, that’s all I know,” Bosch finally said. “I gotta go and get ready to put people in jail. It’s going to be a good