McEvoy was tapped in to a credible pipeline of information. And again McCaleb narrowed it down to one person besides himself and Jaye Winston.
“Goddamnit!” he said out loud in the car.
A few minutes after one he watched Jaye Winston come out of El Cochinito. McCaleb was hoping for the chance to corner her and talk to her alone, maybe tell her about Lockridge. But Twilley and Friedman followed her out and all three got into the same car. A bureau car.
McCaleb watched them pull out into traffic and drive off in the direction of downtown. He got out of the Cherokee and went back into the restaurant. He was starved. There were no tables available so he made an order to go. He’d eat in the Cherokee.
The old woman who took his order looked up at him with sad brown eyes. She said it had been a busy week and the kitchen had just run out of lechon asada.
Chapter 27
John Reason surprised the spectators, the jurors and probably most of the media when he reserved his cross-examination of Bosch until the defense’s case began, but it had been anticipated by the prosecution team. If the defense strategy was to shoot the messenger, that messenger was Bosch and the best place from which to take the shot was during the presentation of the defense’s side. That way, Fowkkes’s attack on Bosch could be part of an orchestrated attack on the entire case against David Storey.
Following a lunch break during which Bosch and the prosecutors were relentlessly pursued by the media with questions about Bosch’s testimony, the prosecution began to move quickly with the momentum gained in the morning’s session. Kretzler and Langwiser took turns examining a series of witnesses with short stays on the stand.
The first of these was Teresa Corazon, chief of the medical examiner’s office. Under Kretzler’s questioning, she testified to her findings during the autopsy and put Jody Krementz’s time of death at some point between midnight and 2 A.M. on Friday, October 13. She also gave corroborating testimony on the rarity of autoerotic deaths involving female victims.
Once more Fowkkes reserved the right to question the witness during the defense phase of the trial. Corazon was dismissed after less than a half hour on the stand.
Now that his own testimony was completed – as far as the prosecution’s case went – it was not vital for Bosch to be in the courtroom for every moment of the trial. While Langwiser called the next witness – a lab tech who would identify the hair samples gathered from the victim’s body as belonging to Storey – Bosch walked Corazon to her car. They had been lovers many years before in what current culture would term a casual relationship. But while there may not have been any love involved, there had been nothing casual about it to Bosch. In his view it had been two people who looked at death every day pushing it away with the ultimate life-affirming act.
Corazon had broken it off after she was named to the top slot in the coroner’s office. Their relationship since that point had been strictly professional, though Corazon’s new position reduced her time in the autopsy suites and Bosch did not see her often. The Jody Krementz case was different. Corazon had instinctively known it might become a case that drew the bead of the media horde and had taken the autopsy herself. It had paid off. Her testimony would be seen across the nation and probably around the globe. She was attractive, smart, skilled and thorough. That half hour on the stand would be like a half-hour commercial for lucrative jobs as an independent examiner or commentator. Bosch knew one thing about her from his time with her: Teresa Corazon always had her eye on the next step.
She was parked in the garage next to the state parole office on the back side of the justice complex. They spoke of banalities – the weather, Harry’s attempts to stop smoking – until Corazon brought the case up.
“It seems to be going well.”
“So far.”
“It’d be nice if we won one of these big ones for a change.”
“It would.”
“I watched you testify this morning. In my office I had the TV on. You did very well, Harry.”
He knew her tone. She was leading to something.
“But?”
“But you look tired. And you know they’re going to come after you. This kind of case, if they destroy the cop they destroy the case.”
“O. J. one-oh-one.”
“Right. So are you ready for them?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Just rest up.”
“Easier said than done.”
As they approached the garage Bosch looked over at the parole office and saw a gathering of the staff out front for some kind of presentation. The group was standing below a banner hanging from the roofline that said WELCOME BACK THELMA. A man in a suit was presenting a plaque to a heavyset black woman who was leaning on a cane.
“Oh…, that’s that parole agent,” Corazon said. “The one who got shot last year. By that hit man from Vegas?”
“Right, right,” Bosch said, remembering the story. “She came back.”
He noticed that there were no television cameras recording the presentation. A woman got shot in the line of duty and then fought her way back to the job. It apparently wasn’t worth wasting videotape over.
“Welcome back,” he said.
Corazon’s car was on the second floor. It was a two-seat, shining black Mercedes.
“I see the outside work must be going pretty well,” Bosch said.
Corazon nodded.
“In my last contract I got four weeks’ professional leave. I’m making the most of it. Trials, TV, that sort of thing. I did a case on that autopsy show on HBO, too. It airs next month.”
“Teresa, you’re going to be world famous before we know it.”
She smiled and stepped close to him and straightened his tie.
“I know what you think about it, Harry. That’s okay.”
“Doesn’t matter what I think about it. Are you happy?”
She nodded.
“Very.”
“Then I’m happy for you. I better get back in there. I’ll see you, Teresa.”
She suddenly rose on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. It had been a long time since he had gotten one of those.
“I hope you make it through, Harry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Bosch stepped out of the elevator into the hallway and headed toward the Department N courtroom. He saw a line of people cordoned off by the courtroom door: people waiting for a spectator seat to possibly open. A few reporters were milling about the open door of the pressroom but everybody else was at stations, watching the trial.
“Detective Bosch?”
Bosch turned. Standing in a pay-phone alcove was Jack McEvoy, the reporter he had met the day before. He stopped.
“I saw you walk out and I hoped I’d catch you.”
“I have to get back in there.”
