The Night Fire (Renée Ballard, #3)(38)

“We’re still going to solve it,” Ballard said.

Bosch nodded.

“We are,” he said.

He stood up and looked down at Ballard.

“I need to get back in there. Are you going to Rialto?”

“No. West Hollywood. To see Hilton’s old roommate, see if I can confirm some of this.”

“Let me know how it goes.”





20


Bosch entered the courtroom as the last few jurors were returning to their places in the box and the judge turned in his high-backed chair so he could look directly at the panel when he spoke. Bosch slipped into his familiar spot in the last row of the gallery. He saw that both Haller and Saldano were in their seats and looking directly ahead, so Harry got no read from them on what was happening. Just as the judge was about to begin, the courtroom door opened and Jerry Gustafson, the lead LAPD detective on the case, hurried in and up the center aisle, then sat in the first row directly behind the prosecution table. Gustafson had been in and out of the courtroom during the days Bosch had attended trial sessions.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Falcone began. “First of all, I want to thank you for your public service on this case. Jury duty can be time consuming, difficult, and sometimes even traumatic. You all have been troupers these past ten days and I and the state of California commend you and thank you.

“However, there has been a change and this case has come to an end. The District Attorney’s office has elected to drop all charges against Mr. Herstadt and not proceed further with the case at this time.”

There was the required buzz of whispers in the courtroom as a scattering of observers and the row of reporters reacted to the news. Bosch watched Haller’s back. He did not move and he made no motion toward his client to clap him on the arm or shoulder, no visual indication of victory.

Bosch did see Gustafson, who was leaning forward, arms on the courtroom rail, drop his head like a man kneeling in church, beseeching his god for a miracle.

But what confused Bosch was the judge’s last three words: at this time. What did that mean? He knew, as assuredly as the judge did, that to drop all charges at this point was tantamount to an acquittal. There were no comebacks. In California a trial is considered engaged the moment a jury is selected. To go after Herstadt again after this would invoke his double-jeopardy protections. Bosch had no doubt: the case against Jeffrey Herstadt was over.

Following his unclear explanation the judge thanked the jurors one more time and asked them to return to the assembly room and wait. He said the prosecution team wanted to talk to them. Bosch guessed that Saldano wanted to survey them to see where they stood on a verdict. The conversation might tell her whether she had made a critical mistake in dropping the case. It could also confirm she had made the right decision.

Falcone adjourned court and left the bench. Haller stood for the exit and finally looked around to see Bosch in the last row. He smiled and shot a finger at him, then blew on his finger as though it was the imaginary barrel of a gun. Finally, he reached down and squeezed his seated client’s shoulder. He bent down and started whispering in his ear.

Saldano and her second got up from the prosecution table and started making their way toward the jury assembly room door. Gustafson stood up and headed back down the aisle toward the courtroom exit. He stopped to look at Bosch. Years back they had worked together in the massive Robbery-Homicide Division squad room, but did not know each other well.

“Happy, Bosch?”

“What exactly happened?”

“Saldano dropped the case to keep her perfect record clean. Herstadt walks and whatever happens, that’s on you, asshole. I know you teed this up for Haller.”

“You still think he did it.”

“Fuck you, man. I know he did it and so do you.”

“What about the other five, Gustafson?”

“What five?”

“We got the murder book in discovery. You and your partner, you were chopping wood on five other people who would’ve been happy to have Montgomery dead, but you just dropped it when you got the DNA hit on Herstadt. You going to go back to them?”

Gustafson pointed to the front of the room where Haller was still whispering in Herstadt’s ear.

“There’s your killer right there, Bosch. I don’t have to go back to anybody. It was him, we had him, and then you blew it up. Good job. You should be proud. You just undid everything you ever did with a badge.”

“So that’s a no?”

“Bosch, as far as I’m concerned, this case is CBA. And that’s on you.”

Gustafson walked out of the courtroom.

Bosch remained seated, his face burning with indignation. He tried to calm himself while Haller finished with his client and allowed the courtroom deputy to take Herstadt back into the courthouse jail so he could be processed out and released. Haller quickly gathered his files and legal pads and threw them into his briefcase. He then snapped its two brass locks closed and came through the railing, where four reporters were waiting for him. Talking over one another, they peppered him with questions about exactly what had just happened in the judge’s chambers.

Haller told them he would answer their questions in the hallway. He led them out of the courtroom, winking at Bosch as they passed by his row. Then Bosch got up and followed them through the doors. Haller took a position in the middle of the hallway and the reporters gathered around him in a semicircle. Bosch stood outside the circle but close enough so he could hear what was said.