The Reversal

and—”
    “What exactly is the conflict you have with Ms. McPherson?”
    Bell looked perplexed.
    “Did you understand the question?” the judge asked.
    “Yes, Your Honor, the conflict is that we had an intimate relationship and now we would be opposing each other at trial.”
    “Were you married?”
    “No, Your Honor.”
    “When was this intimate relationship and how long did it last?”
    “It was seven years ago and it lasted about three months.”
    “Have you had contact with her since then?”
    Bell raised his eyes to the ceiling as if looking for an answer. Maggie leaned over and whispered in my ear.
    “No, Your Honor,” Bell said.
    I stood up.
    “Your Honor, in the interest of full disclosure, Mr. Bell has sent Ms. McPherson a Christmas card for the past seven years. She has not responded likewise.”
    There was a murmur of laughter in the courtroom. The judge ignored it and looked down at something in front of her. She looked like she had heard enough.
    “Where is the conflict you are worried about, Mr. Bell?”
    “Uh, Judge, this is a bit difficult to speak of in open court but I was the one who ended the relationship with Ms. McPherson and my concern is that there could be some lingering animosity there. And that’s the conflict.”
    The judge wasn’t buying this and everyone in the courtroom knew it. It was becoming uncomfortable even to watch.
    “Ms. McPherson,” the judge said.
    Maggie pushed back her chair and stood.
    “Do you hold any lingering animosity toward Mr. Bell?”
    “No, Your Honor, at least not before today. I moved on to better things.”
    I could hear another low rumble from the seats behind me as Maggie’s spear struck home.
    “Thank you, Ms. McPherson,” the judge said. “You can sit. And so can you, Mr. Bell.”
    Bell thankfully dropped into his chair. The judge leaned forward and spoke matter-of-factly into the bench’s microphone.
    “The motion is denied.”
    Royce stood up immediately.
    “Your Honor, I was not heard before the ruling.”
    “It was your motion, Mr. Royce.”
    “But I would like to respond to some of the things Mr. Haller said about—”
    “Mr. Royce, I’ve made my ruling on it. I don’t see the need for further discussion. Do you?”
    Royce realized his defeat could get even worse. He cut his losses.
    “Thank you, Your Honor.”
    He sat down. The judge then ended the hearing and we packed up and headed toward the rear doors. But not as quickly as Royce. He and his client and supposed co-counsel split the courtroom like men who had to catch the last train on a Friday night. And this time Royce didn’t bother stopping outside the courtroom to chat with the media.
    “Thanks for sticking up for me,” Maggie said when we got to the elevators.
    I shrugged.
    “You stuck up for yourself. Did you really mean that, what you said about moving on from Bell to better things?”
    “From him, yes. Definitely.”
    I looked at her but couldn’t read her beyond the spoken line. The elevator doors opened, and there was Harry Bosch waiting to step off.

Twenty
    Thursday, March 4, 10:40 A.M .
    B osch stepped off the elevator and almost walked right into Haller and McPherson.
    “Is it over?” he asked.
    “You missed it,” Haller said.
    Bosch quickly turned and hit one of the bumpers on the elevator doors before it could close.
    “Are you going down?”
    “That’s the plan,” Haller said in a tone that didn’t hide his annoyance with Bosch. “I thought you weren’t coming to the hearing.”
    “I wasn’t. I was coming to get you two.”
    They rode the elevator down and Bosch convinced them to walk with him a block over to the Police Administration Building. He signed them in as visitors and they went up to the fifth floor, where Robbery-Homicide Division was located.
    “This is the first time I’ve been here,” McPherson said. “It’s as quiet as an insurance office.”
    “Yeah, I guess we lost a lot of the charm when we moved,” Bosch replied.
    The PAB had been in operation for only six months. It had a quiet and sterile quality about it. Most of the building’s denizens, including Bosch, missed the old headquarters, Parker Center, even though it was beyond decrepit.
    “I’ve got a private room over here,” he said, pointing to a door on the far side of the squad room.
    He used a key to unlock the door and they walked into a large space with a boardroom-style table at center. One wall was glass that looked out on the squad room