Page 51 of Resurrection Walk

“That’s because you’re thinking like a cop and not a defense investigator.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that it’s a stacked deck. When you’re a cop or a prosecutor, you have the almighty power of the state behind you every step of the way. All the state’s resources and reach. On the defense side, it’s just you. It’s David and Goliath, and you’re David, baby. It’s why getting a win is so special. And so very rare.”

“I think that’s a little simplistic — especially with all the red tape and rules slanted in favor of the defendant — but I get the point. So if I’m laying low on the FBI, what do you want me doing instead?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Just give me a few days to figure how we deal with the feds. I need to talk to some people to see if we can make this jump to federal court.”

Still parked in the carport, Bosch stared straight ahead, thinking of possible next moves. He assumed that the FBI had something on Sanz and that was the reason for the clandestine meeting on a Sunday afternoon. Sanz was jammed up and MacIsaac was applying pressure for him to turn informant. Based on recent and very public history, the Bureau had been heavily focused at the time on corruption in the sheriff’s department, with a particular interest in the flourishing of deputy cliques there. Bosch didn’t need to talk to MacIsaac to know this.

The question was, what did the FBI have on Sanz that was more serious and actionable than him being in a clique, and had it led to his murder? Bosch knew that Haller didn’t need to have all the facts to carry out his duties. Most defense attorneys operated by the “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire” creed. They needed to sow the seeds of doubt but didn’t necessarily have to believe in the doubts sown. But Bosch could not operate that way, even if he was working for a defense lawyer. He needed to get through the smoke to the fire. If there was a fire.

As his mind pushed through the smoke he came to realize what his next move would be. If he could not go directly to MacIsaac, he knew who he could take a run at.

As he pulled back his thousand-yard stare he realized he had been looking through the windshield at the door to the kitchen and hadn’t even noticed something.

It was three inches ajar.

“Are you there, Bosch?” Haller said. “Or did I lose you in the hills?”

“I’m here,” Bosch said. “But hold on a second.”

Bosch removed the key from the ignition and used it to unlock the glove compartment. He grabbed his gun and got out of the car, weapon in one hand, phone in the other. In a low voice he spoke to Haller.

“I just got home and my door’s open. Pretty sure I didn’t leave it that way.”

“Then hang up and call the cops.”

“I’m going to check it out first.”

“Harry, you’re not a cop. Let the cops check it out.”

“Just hold on.”

Bosch dropped the phone into his pocket without disconnecting. He approached the door with the gun in a two-handed grip and used the muzzle to push it all the way open. Standing still, he listened for a moment before entering but heard nothing. From his vantage point, he saw nothing amiss in the galley kitchen. He tried to recall how he had left that morning after getting the call from Cisco. He had been in a hurry, but he could conceive of no circumstance where he would have left the door open. He had lived in the house more than thirty years. Pulling the door closed until the lock clicked was automatic, pure muscle memory.

He took a step back into the carport to check whether he had missed seeing his daughter’s car parked on the street when he had pulled up to the house.

Maddie’s car was not there, and there were no other vehicles that drew Bosch’s suspicion. He turned back to the kitchen door and quietly entered the house again, holding the gun up at the ready. His most valuable tool now was his hearing but his left ear was afflicted with low-level tinnitus. He strained to hear any sound. He made the turn out of the kitchen and into the entry area by the front door. This gave him a view of the living room and dining area. He moved forward but noticed nothing unusual until he got into the living room and saw a record spinning on the turntable.

The tonearm was up; no music was playing. Bosch switched the player off and stared at the record until it stopped turning. It was the Miles DavisLive at the Fillmore Eastalbum he had last played days before. He knew he had left it on the platter, but he was sure he had turned off the player.

“Harry, what’s happening?”

Bosch heard Haller’s tinny voice coming from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and responded.

“So far nothing seems wrong. But somebody was here. And they wanted me to know it.”

“You sure?”

Bosch realized that someone had been smoking in the house. He hadn’t smoked in twenty years but he knew the smell that hung in the air in a closed space when someone recently had.

“I’m sure,” he said.

“Who?” Haller asked.

“I don’t know. Yet.”

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