Page 6 of Resurrection Walk

3

BOSCH WAS ALREADYback on La Cienega by the courthouse when Haller texted that he was finished with the sentencing hearing. Bosch texted that he’d be out front. He pulled the Navigator up to the glass exit doors just as Haller was coming through. Bosch hit the button to unlock the doors, and Haller opened the back and jumped into the seat. He closed the door but Bosch didn’t move the SUV, just stared at him in the rearview.

Haller settled in and then realized they weren’t moving.

“Okay, Harry, we can —”

He realized his mistake, opened the door, and got out. The front door opened and he climbed into the passenger seat.

“Sorry,” he said. “Force of habit.”

They had a deal. On the occasions that Bosch drove the Lincoln, he insisted that Haller ride in the front seat so that they could converse side by side. Bosch had been adamant: he would not play chauffeur to a defense lawyer, even if that attorney happened to be his half brother who had hired him so that he could get private health insurance and be in the clinical trial at UCLA.

Satisfied he had made a proper stand, Bosch pulled away from the curb and said, “Where to?”

“West Hollywood,” Haller said. “Lorna’s apartment.”

Bosch moved into the left lane so he could make a U-turn and head north. He had already driven Haller to many meetings with Lorna, either at her place or at Hugo’s up the street if food was involved. Since the so-called Lincoln Lawyer worked out of his car instead of an office, Lorna managed things from her condo on Kings Road. It was the center of the practice.

“How’d things go back there?” Bosch asked.

“Uh, let’s just say that my client received the full measure of the law,” Haller said.

“Sorry to hear it.”

“The judge was an asshole. I don’t think he even read the PSR.”

It had been Bosch’s experience when he was a sworn officer that presentencing reports weren’t usually favorable to the offender, so he wasn’t sure why Haller thought a careful reading of the PSR by the judge in this case could have resulted in a lesser sentence. Before he could ask about it, Haller reached forward to the center screen on the dashboard, pulled up the favorites list from his contacts, and placed a call to Jennifer Aronson, the associate in the firm of Michael Haller and Associates. The Bluetooth system brought the call up on the vehicle’s speakers and Bosch heard both sides of it.

“Mickey?”

“Where you at, Jen?”

“My house. Just got back from the city attorney’s office.”

“How’d that go?”

“Just round one, really. Bit of a game of chicken. Nobody wants to say a number first.”

Bosch knew that Haller had trusted Aronson with the Jorge Ochoa negotiation. Haller and Associates had filed a lawsuit against the city and the LAPD for his wrongful conviction and incarceration. Though the city and police department were protected by state-mandated limits to financial settlements in such matters, there were aspects of the poor and possibly corrupt handling of the case that allowed Ochoa to seek other financial penalties. The city hoped to head that off with a negotiated settlement.

“Hold the line,” Haller said. “They’ll pay.”

“Hope so,” Aronson said. “How’d it go at the airport?”

“He got the full Monty. The judge probably never even looked at the childhood-trauma stuff. I tried to bring it up but he shut it down. And it didn’t help that my guy pleaded for mercy by telling the judge he hadn’t really meant to defraud all those people. So off he goes. He’ll probably do seven years if he doesn’t act out.”

“Anybody there for him except you?”

“Only me.”

“What about the guy’s kid? I thought you had him queued up.”

“Didn’t show. Anyway, moving on, I’m going to sit down with Lorna in about thirty to look at the calendar. You want to sit in?”

“I can’t. I just came home to grab something to eat. I promised my sister I’d go up to Sylmar to see Anthony today.”

“Right. Well, good luck with that. Let me know if I can help.”

---