Read Online The Brass Verdict by Michael Connelly - Free Book Online

bag and was going to keep using it. It had a logo on it – a mountain ridgeline with the words “Suitcase City” printed across it like the Hollywood sign. Above it, skylights swept the horizon, completing the dream image of desire and hope. I think that logo was the real reason I liked the bag. Because I knew Suitcase City wasn’t a store. It was a place. It was Los Angeles.
    Los Angeles was the kind of place where everybody was from somewhere else and nobody really dropped anchor. It was a transient place. People drawn by the dream, people running from the nightmare. Twelve million people and all of them ready to make a break for it if necessary. Figuratively, literally, metaphorically – any way you want to look at it – everybody in L.A. keeps a bag packed. Just in case.
    As I closed the trunk, I was startled to see a man standing between my car and the one parked next to it. The open trunk lid had blocked my view of his approach. He was a stranger to me but I could tell he knew who I was. Bosch’s warning about Vincent’s killer shot through my mind and the fight-or-flight instinct gripped me.
    “Mr. Haller, can I talk to you?”
    “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing sneaking around people’s cars?”
    “I wasn’t sneaking around. I saw you and cut between the other cars, that’s all. I work for the
Times
and was wondering if I could talk to you about Jerry Vincent.”
    I shook my head and blew out my breath.
    “You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you know he got killed in this garage by somebody who came up to his car?”
    “Look, I’m sorry. I was just-”
    “Forget it. I don’t know anything about the case and I have to get to court.”
    “But you’re taking over his cases, aren’t you?”
    Signaling him out of the way, I moved to the door of my car.
    “Who told you that?”
    “Our court reporter got a copy of the order from Judge Holder. Why did Mr. Vincent pick you? Were you two good friends or something?”
    I opened the door.
    “Look, what’s your name?”
    “Jack McEvoy. I work the police beat.”
    “Good for you, Jack. But I can’t talk about this right now. You want to give me a card, I’ll call you when I can talk.”
    He made no move to give me a card or to indicate he’d understood what I said. He just asked another question.
    “Has the judge put a gag order on you?”
    “No, she hasn’t put out a gag order. I can’t talk to you because I don’t know anything, okay? When I have something to say, I’ll say it.”
    “Well, could you tell me why you are taking over Vincent’s cases?”
    “You already know the answer to that. I was appointed by the judge. I have to get to court now.”
    I ducked into the car but left the door open as I turned the key. McEvoy put his elbow on the roof and leaned in to continue to try to talk me into an interview.
    “Look,” I said, “I’ve got to go, so could you stand back so I can close my door and back this tank up?”
    “I was hoping we could make a deal,” he said quickly.
    “Deal? What deal? What are you talking about?”
    “You know, information. I’ve got the police department wired and you’ve got the courthouse wired. It would be a two-way street. You tell me what you’re hearing and I’ll tell you what I’m hearing. I have a feeling this is going to be a big case. I need any information I can get.”
    I turned and looked up at him for a moment.
    “But won’t the information you’d be giving me just end up in the paper the next day? I could just wait and read it.”
    “Not all of it will be in there. Some stuff you can’t print, even if you know it’s true.”
    He looked at me as though he were passing on a great piece of wisdom.
    “I have a feeling you’ll be hearing things before I do,” I said.
    “I’ll take my chances. Deal?”
    “You got a card?”
    This time he took a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. I held it between my fingers and draped my hand over the steering wheel. I