The Wrong Side of Goodbye(98)

“I appreciate that. So it would mean no more private work, right?”

“We can talk to the chief if you think you need to keep the private ticket going. What do you say?”

“Well, what about the Sheriff’s investigation of the shooting? Don’t we need to wait until we get an official decision on that and it goes to the D.A.?”

“Come on. We know it was a good shooting. We may get dinged on tactics but as far as the shoot or don’t-shoot question, nobody’s going to bat a fucking eye. On top of that, everyone understands that Bella’s being out puts us in a personnel squeeze and it’s the chief’s call.”

Bosch nodded. He had a feeling that he could keep asking questions and Trevino would say yes to anything.

“Cap, can I take the night to think about it and get back to you tomorrow?”

“Sure, Harry, no problem. Just let me know.”

“Roger that.”

Bosch left the captain’s office, closing the door behind him, and moved into his cubicle. His real reason for coming to the station was to use the printer once he had written up the Forsythe affidavit. But he didn’t want to start that document with the possibility that Trevino would come out of his office and see what he was doing. So he passed the time until Trevino left by going over the to-do list he had written during the morning’s meeting with Dante Corvalis.

Among other requests, the prosecutor wanted updated and signed statements from all of Dockweiler’s known victims. He added specific questions he needed answered in the statements. These would be entered into the record at the preliminary hearing of the case against Dockweiler and would allow the victims to avoid having to testify. All that was required in a preliminary hearing was for the prosecutor to present a prima facie case that supported the charges. Proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt was a measure held for trial. The burden of delivering the case at preliminary hearing would rest primarily on Bosch, as he would testify about the investigation that led to Dockweiler. Corvalis said he wanted to avoid unless absolutely necessary having to put victims of rape on the witness stand to publicly relive the horror of what happened to them. He only wanted that to happen once, and that was when it counted. At trial.

Bosch was halfway through creating a template of questions to submit to the victims when Trevino left and locked his office after snapping the light off.

“Okay, Harry, I’m out of here.”

“Have a good night and get some rest.”

“You in tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. I’ll either be here or I’ll call you with my answer.”

“Great.”

Bosch watched over the cubicle wall as Trevino went to the attendance board and signed himself out. The captain didn’t say a thing about Bosch having not signed it when he came in.

Soon the captain was gone and Bosch was alone in the bureau. He saved his work on the witness template and opened a new blank document. He then typed out an affidavit beginning with the words “I, Ida Townes Forsythe…”

It took him less than an hour to complete a scant two pages of basic facts, because he knew from years of dealing with witnesses, affidavits, and lawyers that the fewer facts he put into the document, the fewer angles of assault there would be for attorneys from the opposition.

He printed two copies for Forsythe to sign, one to file with the court and one to keep in a file containing copies of all the important case documents.

While he was at the printing station, he saw a sign-up sheet on the unit bulletin board for sponsors of a bowl-a-thon designed to raise funds for a fellow officer on injury leave. The officer was referred to as 11-David, which Bosch knew was the radio call sign used by Bella Lourdes. The flyer explained that while she would be receiving full pay while on leave, she was expected to incur a variety of extra expenses not covered by workmen’s comp and the department’s recently trimmed-back medical plan. Bosch guessed that those expenses most likely related to psychotherapy sessions no longer covered by department-provided insurance. Beginning Friday evening, the bowl-a-thon would go for as long as possible and the suggested sponsorship was for one dollar a game—an estimated four dollars an hour.

Bosch saw that Sisto was listed on one of the teams. He took a pen out of his pocket and signed his name below Trevino’s name on the sponsorship list. The captain had put himself down for five dollars a game and Bosch matched that.

Once he returned to his desk Bosch called Haller. As usual, the lawyer was in the back of his Lincoln, being driven somewhere in the city.

“I have the affidavit ready and can go back any time you hook me up with a notary,” he said.

“Good,” Haller said. “I’d like to meet Ida, so maybe we all go. What’s your ten o’clock look like tomorrow?”

Bosch realized he had failed to ask Forsythe for a phone number. He had no way of contacting her to set up the appointment. He doubted she was listed, considering her job had been working for one of the most reclusive men in the world.

“It works for me,” he said. “We should meet at her house. I’ll get there early and make sure she’s home. You bring the notary.”

“Deal,” Haller said. “E-mail me the address.”

“Will do. And one other thing. The original docs from the package I received? Do you need them tomorrow or when we go into court?”