The Night Fire (Renée Ballard, #3)(92)

“I’ll think about it. What did you tell Manley about recommending him to me?”

“I told him that what you wanted to do was really outside my wheelhouse. I also told him I thought he got a bad shake from Judge Montgomery that time. I said there is no call to embarrass a fellow lawyer, no matter what the cause. So I sent you over there because it looked like a case that could get him some positive attention. All that good?”

“All that was perfect.”

“I don’t know exactly what you’re up to, bro, but I hope you aren’t going to dump me for this guy. Because the truth is, I could run circles around him—backward.”

“I know that, bro, and that’s not the play. We’ll be back on track soon. Just trust me with this.”

“I had the file from the pension case messengered over to him. Make sure when all is said and done that I get it back.”

“Will do.”

Twenty minutes later Bosch was on the suede couch in the waiting room at Michaelson & Mitchell. He had a file full of documents on his lap. He had gotten there early so he could again take the measure of the place, check faces of lawyers and personnel, see who was going up and down the winding staircase. He opened his phone, pulled up the general number of the law firm, and waited.

There was a buzz and the young man behind the reception counter took a call. Bosch heard him say, “I’ll walk him back.”

The receptionist removed his telephone headset and started around the counter. Bosch pushed the Call button on his phone.

“I’ll take you back now,” the young man said. “Would you like a bottle of water or something else?”

“No, I’m good,” Bosch said.

Bosch got up to follow. Almost immediately there was the sound of the phone buzzing at the reception desk. The receptionist looked back at his station, a pained expression on his face.

“I know the way,” Bosch said. “I can make it on my own.”

“Oh, thank you,” the young man said.

He peeled off to go back to the phone and Bosch rounded the staircase and headed down the hall to Clayton Manley’s office. He pulled out his phone and ended the call.

The offices with names on the doors were all on the left side. These were on the outside of the building, with windows overlooking Bunker Hill. There were two unmarked doors on the right side of the hallway. As Bosch headed toward Manley’s office, he opened each of these, knowing that if he surprised someone in an office he could just say he was lost. But the first room was a small break room with a coffee maker and a half-size, under-counter refrigerator with a glass door displaying designer waters and sodas.

He moved to the next room down and found a supply room with a large copy machine next to a bank of shelves containing paper, envelopes, and files. There was also an emergency exit door.

Bosch quickly stepped in and assessed the printer. He made the easiest move to disable it, reaching behind it and unplugging the power cord. The cooling fan and digital screen went dead.

He quickly returned to the hallway, walked down to Manley’s office, and knocked once politely on the door before entering. Manley stood up behind his desk.

“Mr. Bosch, come on in.”

“Thank you. I brought the documents you asked for—from the radiation case.”

“Have a seat and let me just send this e-mail. It’s actually to Mr. Haller, thanking him for the docs he sent relating to your pension arbitration.”

“Okay, good. How was he to deal with?”

Manley typed a few words onto his screen and hit the Send button.

“Mr. Haller?” he asked. “He was fine. Seemed pleased to help. Why? Was there something I missed?”

“No, no, I just didn’t know whether he was second-guessing, you know, passing on the case.”

“I don’t think so. He seemed eager to help and messengered over everything he had. Let me see what you have there. I also have a contract and power of attorney for you to sign.”

Bosch handed the file across the desk. It was almost an inch thick and he had padded it with non-pertinent reports from the case in which he had gotten dosed with cesium years before. Manley made a cursory flip through the file, stopping once to look at one of the documents that had randomly caught his attention.

“This is great stuff,” he finally said. “It will be very helpful. We just need to formalize our agreement that I’m representing you on a commission basis and I will take it from here. You’ll have the power and might of this entire firm behind you. We’ll sue the bastards.”

Manley smiled at the final cliché.

“Uh, that’s great,” Bosch said. “But … you can call me paranoid but I don’t want to leave that file here. It’s the only evidence I have of what happened to me. Is there any chance you could make copies and I keep the originals?”

“I don’t see why not,” Manley said without hesitation. “Let me give you the contract to read over and sign and I’ll go get this copied.”

“Sounds good.”

Manley looked around on his desk until he found a thin file. He opened it and handed Bosch a three-page agreement under the Michaelson & Mitchell letterhead. He then pulled a pen out of a holder on his desk and put it down in front of Bosch.

“And I’ll be right back,” Manley said.