The Reversal

bullshit and he doesn’t want to be part of it.”
    Bosch checked Jessup in the rearview mirror. He was slightly hunched forward because his hands were cuffed and locked to a chain that went to a set of shackles around his ankles. His head was shaved, a routine prison practice among men hoping to intimidate others. Bosch guessed that with Jessup it had probably worked.
    “I thought you didn’t want to talk, Jessup. You invoked.”
    “Yeah, that’s right. I’ll just shut the fuck up and wait for my lawyer.”
    “He’s in San Francisco, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
    “He’s calling somebody. The GJP’s got people all over the country. We were ready for this.”
    “Really? You were ready? You mean you packed your cell up because you thought you were being transferred? Or was it because you thought you were going home?”
    Jessup didn’t have an answer for that one.
    Bosch merged onto the 101, which would take them through the Cahuenga Pass and into Hollywood before they reached downtown.
    “How’d you get hooked up with the Genetic Justice Project, Jessup?” he asked, trying once again to get something going. “You go to them or they come to you?”
    “Website, man. I sent in my appeal and they saw the bullshit going on in my case. They took it over and here I am. You people are totally fucked if you think you’re going to win this. I was railroaded by you motherfuckers once before. Ain’t gonna happen again. In two months, this’ll all be over. I’ve been in twenty-four years. What’s two more months? Just makes my book rights more valuable. I guess I should be thanking you and the district attorney for that.”
    Bosch glanced at the mirror again. Normally, he would love a talkative suspect. Most times they talked themselves right into prison. But Jessup was too smart and too cagey. He chose his words carefully, stayed away from talking about the crime itself, and wouldn’t be making a mistake that Bosch could use.
    In the mirror now, Bosch could see Jessup staring out the window. No telling what he was thinking about. His eyes looked dead. Bosch could see the top of a prison ink tattoo on his neck, just breaking the collar line. It looked like part of a word but he couldn’t tell for sure.
    “Welcome to L.A., Jessup,” Chu said without turning around. “Guess it’s been a while, huh?”
    “Fuck you, you chink motherfucker,” Jessup retorted. “This’ll all be over soon and then I’ll be out and on the beach. I’m going to get a longboard and ride some tasty waves.”
    “Don’t count on it, killer,” Chu said. “You’re going down. We got you by the balls.”
    Bosch knew Chu was trying to provoke a response, a slip of the tongue. But he was coming off as an amateur and Jessup was too wise for him.
    Harry grew tired of the back-and-forth, even after six hours of almost complete silence. He turned on the car’s radio and caught the tail end of a report on the DA’s press conference. He turned it up so Jessup would hear, and Chu would keep quiet.
    “Williams and Haller refused to comment on the evidence but indicated they were not as impressed with the DNA analysis as the state’s supreme court was. Haller acknowledged that the DNA found on the victim’s dress did not come from Jessup. But he said the findings did not clear him of involvement in the crime. Haller is a well-known defense attorney and will be prosecuting a murder case for the first time. It did not sound this morning as though he has any hesitation. ‘We will once again be seeking the death penalty on this case.’ ”
    Bosch flicked the volume down and checked the mirror. Jessup was still looking out the window.
    “How about that, Jessup? He’s going for the Jesus juice.”
    Jessup responded tiredly.
    “Asshole’s posturing. Besides, they don’t execute anybody in this state anymore. You know what death row means? It means you get a cell all to yourself and you control what’s on the TV. It means better access to phone, food and visitors. Fuck it, I hope he does go for it, man. But it won’t matter. This is bullshit. This whole thing is bullshit. It’s all about the money.”
    The last line floated out there for a long moment before Bosch finally bit.
    “What money?”
    “My money. You watch, man, they’ll come at me with a deal. My lawyer told me. They’ll want me to take a deal and plead to time served so they don’t have to pay me the money. That’s all this fucking is and you two are just