“How’d they get the gun over here?”
“It could be done. Through Canada or Der FedEx if it absolutely, positively has to be there on time.”
I didn’t smile. I was thinking about Elliot and the equilibrium of justice. Somehow Bosch seemed to know what I was thinking.
“Remember what you said to me when you told me you had told Judge Holder you knew she was behind all of this?”
I shrugged.
“What did I say?”
“You said sometimes justice can’t wait.”
“And?”
“And you were right. Sometimes it doesn’t wait. In that trial, you had the momentum and Elliot looked like he was going to walk. So somebody decided not to wait for justice and he delivered his own verdict. Back when I was riding patrol, you know what we called a killing that came down to simple street justice?”
“What?”
“The brass verdict.”
I nodded. I understood. We were both silent for a long moment.
“Anyway, that’s all I know,” Bosch finally said. “I gotta go and get ready to put people in jail. It’s going to be a good day.”
Bosch pushed his weight off the railing, ready to go.
“It’s funny you coming here today,” I said. “Last night I decided I was going to ask you something the next time I saw you.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
I thought about it for a moment and then nodded. It was the right thing to do.
“Flip sides of the same mountain.… Do you know you look a lot like your father?”
He said nothing. He just stared at me for a moment, then nodded once and turned to the railing. He cast his gaze out at the city.
“When did you put that together?” he asked.
“Technically last night, when I was looking at old photos and scrapbooks with my daughter. But I think on some level I’ve known it for a long time. We were looking at photos of my father. They kept reminding me of somebody and then I realized it was you. Once I saw it, it seemed obvious. I just didn’t see it at first.”
I walked to the railing and looked out at the city with him.
“Most of what I know about him came from books,” I said. “A lot of different cases, a lot of different women. But there are a few memories that aren’t in books and are just mine. I remember coming into the office he had set up at home when he started to get sick. There was a painting framed on the wall—a print actually, but back then I thought it was a real painting. The Garden of Earthly Delights. Weird, scary stuff for a little kid…
“The memory I have is of him holding me on his lap and making me look at the painting and telling me that it wasn’t scary. That it was beautiful. He tried to teach me to say the painter’s name. Hieronymus Bosch. Rhymes with ‘anonymous,’ he told me. Only back then, I don’t think I could say ‘anonymous’ either.”
I wasn’t seeing the city out there. I was seeing the memory. I was quiet for a while after that. It was my half brother’s turn. Eventually, he leaned his elbows down on the railing and spoke.
“I remember that house,” he said. “I visited him once. Introduced myself. He was on the bed. He was dying.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I just told him I’d made it through. That’s all. There wasn’t really anything else to say.”
Like right now, I thought. What was there to say? Somehow, my thoughts jumped to my own shattered family. I had little contact with the siblings I knew I had, let alone Bosch. And then there was my daughter, whom I saw only eight days a month. It seemed like the most important things in life were the easiest to break apart.
“You’ve known all these years,” I finally said. “Why didn’t you ever make contact? I have another half brother and three half sisters. They’re yours, too, you know.”
Bosch didn’t say anything at first, then he gave an answer I guessed he had been telling himself for a few decades.
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to rock anybody’s boat. Most of the time people don’t like surprises. Not like this.”
For a moment I wondered what my life would’ve been like if I had known about Bosch. Maybe I would’ve been a cop instead of a lawyer. Who knows?
“I’m quitting, you know.”
I wasn’t sure why I had said it.
“Quitting what?”
“My job. The law. You could say the brass verdict was my last verdict.”
“I quit once. It didn’t take. I came back.”
“We’ll see.”
Bosch glanced at me and then put his eyes back out on the city. It was a beautiful day with low-flying clouds and a cold-air front that had compressed the smog layer to a thin amber band on the horizon. The sun had just crested the mountains to the east and was throwing light out on the Pacific. We could see all the way out to Catalina.
“I came to the hospital that time you got shot,” he said. “I wasn’t sure why. I saw it on the news and they said it was a gut shot and I knew those could go either way. I thought maybe if they needed blood or something, I could… I figured we matched, you know? Anyway, there were all these reporters and cameras. I ended up leaving.”
I smiled and then I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, a cop, volunteering to give blood to a defense attorney. I don’t think they would’ve let you back into the clubhouse if they knew about that.”
Now Bosch smiled and nodded.
“I guess I didn’t think about that.”
And just like that, both our smiles disappeared and the awkwardness of being strangers returned. Eventually Bosch checked his watch.
“The warrant teams are meeting in twenty minutes. I gotta roll.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you around, Counselor.”
“I’ll see you around, Detective.”
He went down the steps and I stayed where I was. I heard his car start up, then pull away and go down the hill.
Fifty-five
I stayed out on the deck after that and looked out at the city as the light moved across it. Many different thoughts filtered through my head and flew off into the sky like the clouds up there, remotely beautiful and untouchable. Distant. I was left feeling that I would never see Bosch again. That he would have his side of the mountain and I would have mine and that’s all there would be.
After a while I heard the door open and steps on the deck. I felt my daughter’s presence by my side and I put my hand on her shoulder.
“What are you doing, Dad?”
“Just looking.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“What did that policeman want?”
“Just to talk. He’s a friend of mine.”
We were both silent for a moment before she moved on.
“I wish Mom had stayed with us last night,” she said.
I looked down at her and squeezed the back of her neck.
“One thing at a time, Hay,” I said. “We got her to have pancakes with us last night, didn’t we?”
She thought about it and gave me the nod. She agreed. Pancakes were a start.
“I’m going to be late if we don’t go,” she said. “One more time and I’ll get a conduct slip.”
I nodded.
“Too bad. The sun’s just about to hit the ocean.”
“Come on, Dad. That happens every day.”
I nodded.
“Somewhere, at least.”
I went in for the keys, then locked up, and we went down the steps to the garage. By the time I backed the Lincoln out and had it pointed down the hill, I could see the sun was spinning gold on the Pacific.
Acknowledgments
In no particular order, the author wishes to thank the following individuals for contributions to the research and writing of this story that ranged from small to incredibly selfless and gigantic:
Daniel Daly, Roger Mills, Dennis Wojciechowski,
Asya Muchnick, Bill Massey, S. John Drexel, Dennis McMillan, Pamela Marshall, Linda Connelly, Jane Davis, Shannon Byrne, Michael Pietsch, John Wilkinson, David Ogden, John Houghton, Michael Krikorian, Michael Roche, Greg Stout, Judith Champagne, Rick Jackson, David Lambkin, Tim Marcia, Juan Rodriguez, and Philip Spitzer.
This is a work of fiction. Any errors in the law, evidence, and courtroom tactics are wholly those of the author.
About the Author
Michael Connelly is the author of twenty-eight previous novels, including the #1 New York Times bestsellers The Gods of Guilt and The Black Box. His books, which include the bestselling Harry Bosch series and Lincoln Lawyer series, have sold more than fifty-eight million copies worldwide. Connelly is a former newspaper reporter who has won numerous awards for his journalism and his novels and is the executive producer of the television series Bosch, starring Titus Welliver. He spends his time in California and Florida.
Books by Michael Connelly
Featuring Harry Bosch
The Black Echo
The Black Ice
The Concrete Blonde
The Last Coyote
Trunk Music
Angels Flight
A Darkness More Than Night
City of Bones
Lost Light
The Narrows
The Closers
Echo Park
The Overlook
Nine Dragons
The Drop
The Black Box
The Burning Room
Featuring Mickey Haller
The Lincoln Lawyer
The Fifth Witness
Featuring Harry Bosch and Mickey Haller
The Brass Verdict
The Reversal
The Gods of Guilt
Featuring Jack McEvoy
The Poet
The Scarecrow
Other Novels
Blood Work
Void Moon
Chasing the Dime
Anthologies
Mystery Writers of America Presents The Blue Religion: New Stories about Cops, Criminals, and the Chase (editor)
Nonfiction
Crime Beat: A Decade of Covering Cops and Killers
Short Stories
Suicide Run: Three Harry Bosch Stories (ebook only)
Angle of Investigation: Three Harry Bosch Stories (ebook only)
Mulholland Dive: Three Stories (ebook only)
The Safe Man: A Ghost Story (ebook only)
Switchblade (ebook only)
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
April Fools’ Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Acknowledgments
BONUS BOOK: The Brass Verdict
Dedication
Part One—Rope a Dope
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Part Two—Suitcase City
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Part Three—To Speak the Truth
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Part Four—Fillet of Soul
Walking in a Dead Man’s Shoes
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Part Five—Take the Nickel
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Part Six—The Last Verdict
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Michael Connelly
Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
The Crossing copyright © 2015 by Hieronymus, Inc.
The Crossing cover design by Mario J. Pulice; cover photograph by Ron Koeberer/Getty Images; cover copyright © 2015 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Brass Verdict copyright © 2008 by Hieronymus, Inc.
The Brass Verdict cover design by Allison J. Warner; cover photograph by Corbis; cover copyright © 2009 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Author photograph by Mark DeLong Photography
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
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First ebook edition of The Crossing: November 2015
First ebook edition of The Brass Verdict: October 2008
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ISBN 978-0-316-22589-2
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Michael Connelly, The Crossing
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