The Brass Verdict by Michael Connelly Page B

investigation going?”
    “It’s going, but nothing I can talk to you about.”
    “Then I’ll just get to the point. Are you in Parker Center right now?”
    “That’s right. Why?”
    “I’m heading over from the courthouse. Meet me out front by the memorial.”
    “Look, Haller, I’m busy. Can you just tell me what this is about?”
    “Not on the phone, but I think it will be worth your while. If you’re not there when I go by, then I’ll know you’ve passed on the opportunity and I won’t bother you with it again.”
    I closed the phone before he could respond. It took me five minutes to get over to Parker Center by foot. The place was in its last years of life, its replacement being built a block over on Spring Street. I saw Bosch standing next to the fountain that was part of the memorial for officers killed in the line of duty. I saw thin white wires leading from his ears to his jacket pocket. I walked up and didn’t bother with a handshake or any other greeting. He pulled the earbuds out and shoved them into his pocket.
    “Shutting the world out, Detective?”
    “Helps me concentrate. Is there a purpose to this meeting?”
    “After you left the office today I looked at the files you had stacked on the table. In the file room.”
    “And?”
    “And I understand what you are trying to do. I want to help you but I want you to understand my position.”
    “I understand you, Counselor. You have to protect those files and the possible killer hiding in them because those are the rules.”
    I shook my head. This guy didn’t want to make it easy for me to help him.
    “I’ll tell you what, Detective Bosch. Come back by the office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning and I will give you what I can.”
    I think the offer surprised him. He had no response.
    “You’ll be there?” I asked.
    “What’s the catch?” he asked right back.
    “No catch. Just don’t be late. I’ve got an interview at nine, and after that I’ll probably be on the road for client conferences.”
    “I’ll be there at eight.”
    “Okay, then.”
    I was ready to walk away but it looked like he wasn’t.
    “What is it?”
    “I was going to ask you something.”
    “What?”
    “Did Vincent have any federal cases?”
    I thought for a moment, going over what I knew of the files. I shook my head.
    “We’re still reviewing everything but I don’t think so. He was like me, liked to stay in state court. It’s a numbers game. More cases, more fuck-ups, more holes to slip through. The feds kind of like to stack the deck. They don’t like to lose.”
    I thought he might take the slight personally. But he had moved past it and was putting something in place. He nodded.
    “Okay.”
    “That’s it? That’s all you wanted to ask?”
    “That’s it.”
    I waited for further explanation but none came.
    “Okay, Detective.”
    I clumsily put out my hand. He shook it and appeared to feel just as awkward about it. I decided to ask a question I had been holding back on.
    “Hey, there was something I was meaning to ask you, too.”
    “What’s that?”
    “It doesn’t say it on your card but I heard that your full name is Hieronymus Bosch. Is that true?”
    “What about it?”
    “I was just wondering, where’d you get a name like that?”
    “My mother gave it to me.”
    “Your mother? Well, what did your father think about it?”
    “I never asked him. I have to get back to the investigation now, Counselor. Is there anything else?”
    “No, that was it. I was just curious. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    I left him standing there at the memorial and walked away. I headed down the block, thinking the whole time about why he had asked if Jerry Vincent had had any federal cases. When I turned left at the corner, I glanced back and saw Bosch still standing by the fountain. He was watching me. He didn’t look away, but I did, and I kept walking.

Eleven
     
    C isco and Lorna were still at work in Jerry