The Reversal

Volvo?”
    “We’re holding up until further command.”
    “Okay, go on up and make the left on the two wheelers. Watch for oncoming. And watch for our guy.”
    “Roger that.”
    Soon Wright’s SUV got to the intersection. Bosch saw the Volvo pulled off to the side. The bike rack was empty. Wright pulled over to wait, checking the teams on the radio.
    “One, are you in position?”
    “That’s a roger. We’re at the light at the bottom. No sign of Retro yet.”
    “Three, you up?”
    There was no response.
    “Okay, everybody hold till we hear.”
    “What do you mean?” Bosch asked. “What about the bikes?”
    “They must’ve gone down deaf. We’ll hear when they—”
    “This is Three,” a voice said in a whisper. “We came up on him. He’d closed his eyes and went to sleep.”
    Wright translated for his passengers.
    “He killed his lights and stopped moving.”
    Bosch felt his chest start to tighten.
    “Are they sure he’s in the car?”
    Wright communicated the question over the radio.
    “Yeah, we can see him. He’s got a candle burning on the dashboard.”
    “Where exactly are you, Three?”
    “About halfway down. We can hear the freeway.”
    Bosch leaned all the way forward between the two front seats.
    “Ask him if he can pick a number off the curb,” he said. “Get me an address.”
    Wright relayed the request and almost a minute went by before the whisper came back.
    “It’s too dark to see the curbs here without using a flash. But we got a light next to the door of the house he’s parked in front of. It’s one of those cantilever jobs hanging its ass out over the pass. From here it looks like seventy-two-oh-three.”
    Bosch slid back and leaned heavily against the seat. McPherson turned to look at him. Wright used the mirror to look back.
    “You know that address?” Wright asked.
    Bosch nodded in the darkness.
    “Yeah,” he said. “It’s my house.”

Twenty-three
    Sunday, March 21, 6:40 A.M .
    M y daughter liked to sleep in on Sundays. Normally I hated losing the time with her. I only had her every other weekend and Wednesdays. But this Sunday was different. I was happy to let her sleep while I got up early to go back to work on the motion to save my chief witness’s testimony. I was in the kitchen pouring the first cup of coffee of the day when I heard knocking on my front door. It was still dark out. I checked the peep before opening it and was relieved to see it was my ex-wife with Harry Bosch standing right behind her.
    But that relief was short-lived. The moment I turned the knob they pushed in and I could immediately feel a bad energy enter with them.
    “We’ve got a problem,” Maggie said.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “What’s wrong is that Jessup camped outside my house this morning,” Bosch said. “And I want to know how he found it and what the hell he’s doing.”
    He came up too close to me when he said it. I didn’t know which was worse, his breath or the accusatory tone of his words. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking but I realized all the bad energy was coming from him.
    I stepped back from him.
    “Hayley’s still asleep. Let me just go close her bedroom door. There’s fresh decaf in the kitchen and I can brew some fully leaded if you need it.”
    I went down the hall and checked on my daughter. She was still down. I closed the door and hoped the voices that were bound to get loud would not wake her.
    My two visitors were still standing when I got back to the living room. Neither had gone for coffee. Bosch was silhouetted by the big picture window that looked out upon the city—the view that made me buy the house. I could see streaks of light entering the sky behind his shoulders.
    “No coffee?”
    They just stared at me.
    “Okay, let’s sit down and talk about this.”
    I gestured toward the couch and chairs but Bosch seemed frozen in his stance.
    “Come on, let’s figure it out.”
    I walked past them and sat down in the chair by the window. Finally, Bosch started to move. He sat down on the couch next to Hayley’s school backpack. Maggie took the other chair. She spoke first.
    “I’ve been trying to convince Harry that we didn’t put his home address on the witness list.”
    “Absolutely not. We gave no personal addresses in discovery. For you, I listed two addresses. Your office and mine. I even gave the general number for the PAB. Didn’t even give a direct line.”
    “Then how did he find my house?” Bosch asked,