The Reversal

start of the trial. He’s going out every night now.”
    “Has he gone down your street?”
    “No, he hasn’t been back there or to any of the other spots off Mulholland in a week. But over the last two nights he’s done things that are new.”
    “Like what, Harry?”
    “Like on Sunday they followed him down the beach from Venice and he went into the old storage area under the Santa Monica Pier.”
    “What storage area? What’s this mean?”
    “It’s an old city storage facility but it got flooded by high tides so many times it’s locked up and abandoned. Jessup dug underneath one of the old wood sidings and crawled in.”
    “Why?”
    “Who knows? They couldn’t go in or they would risk exposing the surveillance. But that’s not the real news. The real news is, last night he met with a couple of guys at the Townhouse in Venice and then went out to a car in one of the beach lots. One of the guys took something wrapped in a towel out of the trunk and gave it to him.”
    “A gun?”
    Bosch shrugged.
    “Whatever it was, they never saw, but through the car’s plates they IDed one of the two guys. Marshall Daniels. He was in San Quentin in the nineties—same time as Jessup.”
    I was now catching some of the tension and urgency that was coming off Bosch.
    “They could’ve known each other. What was Daniels up there for?”
    “Drugs and weapons.”
    I checked my watch. I needed to be back in court.
    “Then we have to assume Jessup has a weapon. We could violate his OR right now for associating with a convicted felon. Do they have pictures of Jessup and Daniels together?”
    “They have photos but I am not sure we want to do that.”
    “If he’s got a gun… Do you trust the SIS to stop him before he makes a move or does some damage?”
    “I do, but it would help if we knew what the move was.”
    We stepped out into the hallway and saw no sign of any jurors or anyone else from the trial. Everybody was back in court but me.
    “We’ll talk about this later. I have to get back into court or the judge will jump on my ass next. I’m not like Royce. I can’t afford a contempt hearing just to make a point with the jury. Go get Atwater and bring her in.”
    I hurried back to Department 112 and rudely pushed around a couple of the courthouse gadflies who were moving slowly through the door. Judge Breitman had not waited for me. I saw everyone but me in place and the jury was being seated. I moved up the aisle and through the gate and slipped into the seat next to Maggie.
    “That was close,” she whispered. “I think the judge was hoping to even things up by holding you in contempt.”
    “Yeah, well, she may still.”
    The judge turned away from the jurors and noticed me at the prosecution table.
    “Well, thank you for joining us this afternoon, Mr. Haller. Did you have a nice excursion?”
    I stood.
    “My apologies, Your Honor. I had a personal matter come up and it took far longer than I expected it would.”
    She opened her mouth to deliver a rebuke but then paused as she realized I had thrown her words from the morning’s delay—her delay—right back at her.
    “Just call your next witness, Counselor,” she said curtly.
    I called Lisa Atwater to the stand and glanced to the back of the courtroom to see Bosch leading the DNA lab technician down the aisle to the gate. I checked the clock up on the rear wall. My goal was to use up the rest of the day with Atwater’s testimony, bringing her to the nuts and bolts just before we recessed for the day. That might give Royce a whole night to prepare his cross-examination, but I would happily trade that for what I would get out of the deal—every juror going home with knowledge of the unimpeachable evidence that linked Jason Jessup to the murder of Melissa Landy.
    As I had asked her to, Atwater had kept her lab coat on when she walked over from the LAPD lab. The light blue jacket gave her a look of competence and professionalism that the rest of her didn’t convey. Atwater was very young—only thirty-one—and had blond hair with a pink stripe down one side, modeling her look after a supercool lab tech on one of the TV crime shows. After meeting her for the first time, I tried to get her to think about losing the pink, but she told me she wouldn’t give up her individuality. The jurors, she said, would have to accept her for who and what she was.
    At least the lab coat wasn’t pink.
    Atwater identified herself and was sworn in. After she took