“No, I didn’t. Nothing was set up. Things just happened.”
Bosch knew better than to show any anger toward her. Rather than make angry denouncements, the rule of thumb was to answer each question as if he was dealing with a person who was simply mistaken.
“You were, however, satisfied that Mr. Church had been killed while unarmed, nude, totally defenseless?”
“Satisfaction doesn’t enter into it.”
“Your Honor,” Chandler said. “May I approach the witness with an exhibit? It’s marked plaintiff’s 3A.”
She handed copies of a piece of paper to Belk and the judge’s clerk, who handed it over the bench to the judge. While the judge was reading it, Belk went to the lectern and objected.
“Your Honor, if this is offered as impeachment, I don’t see how it is valid. These are the words of a psychiatrist, not my client.”
Chandler moved to the microphone and said, “Judge, if you look in the section marked Summary, the last paragraph is what I would like to be read by the witness. You will also notice that the defendant signed the statement at the bottom.”
Judge Keyes read some more, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “I’ll accept it. You may show it to the witness.”
Chandler brought another copy up to Bosch and placed it in front of him without looking at him. Then she walked back to the lectern.
“Can you tell us what that is, Detective Bosch?”
“It’s a confidential psychological release form. Supposedly confidential, I guess I should say.”
“Yes, and what does it relate to?”
“My release allowing me to return to duty after the Church shooting. It is routine to be interviewed by the department’s psychiatrist after being involved in a shooting. Then he clears you to return to duty.”
“You must know him well.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ms. Chandler, that’s not necessary,” Judge Keyes said before Belk got up.
“No, Your Honor. Strike that. You were cleared to return to duty—to your new assignment in Hollywood—after the interview, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Isn’t it true that this is really nothing more than a rubber-stamp process? The psychiatrist never holds an officer back from returning on psychiatric grounds?”
“No on the first question. I don’t know on the second.”
“Well, let me turn it around. Have you ever heard of an officer being held back by the psychiatric interview?”
“No, I haven’t. They’re supposed to be confidential so I doubt I would hear anything anyway.”
“Will you please read the last paragraph of the summary section on the report in front of you?”
“Yes.”
He picked up the paper and began reading. Silently.
“Out loud, Detective Bosch,” she said in an exasperated tone. “I thought that was implicit in the question.”
“Sorry. It says: ‘Through his war and police experiences, most notably including the aforementioned shooting resulting in fatality, the subject has to a high degree become desensitized to violence. He speaks in terms of violence or the aspect of violence being an accepted part of his day-to-day life, for all of his life. Therefore, it is unlikely that what transpired previously will act as a psychological deterrent should he again be placed in circumstances where he must act with deadly force in order to protect himself or others. I believe he will be able to act without delay. He will be able to pull the trigger. In fact, his conversation reveals no ill effects at all from the shooting, unless his sense of satisfaction with the outcome of the incident—the suspect’s death—should be deemed inappropriate.’”
Bosch put the paper down. He noticed the entire jury was looking at him now. He had no idea whether the report was highly damaging or helpful to his cause.
“The subject of that report is you, correct?” Chandler asked.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“You just testified that there was no satisfaction, but the report by the psychiatrist said you did feel a sense of satisfaction with the outcome of the incident. Which is right?”
“Those are his words on the report, not mine. I don’t think I would have said that.”
“What would you have said?”
“I don’t know. Not that.”
“Then why did you sign the release form?”
“I signed it because I wanted to get back to work. If I was going to argue with him about what words he used, I was never going to get back to work.”
“Tell me, Detective, did the psychiatrist who examined you and made that report know about your mother?”
Bosch hesitated.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered. “I didn’t tell him. I don’t know if he would have had the information previously.”
He could hardly concentrate on his words, for his mind was scrambling.
“What happened to your mother?”
He looked directly at Chandler for a long moment before answering. She didn’t look away.
“As was testified to earlier, she was killed. I was eleven. It happened in Hollywood.”
“And no one was ever arrested, correct?”
“That is correct. Can we go on to something else? This has already been testified about.”
Bosch looked over at Belk who got the point and stood up and objected to Chandler’s repetitive line of questioning.
“Detective Bosch, do you want a break?” Judge Keyes asked. “To sort of calm down a little?”
“No, Judge, I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I can’t restrict proper cross-examination. The objection is overruled.”
The judge nodded to Chandler.
“I’m sorry to ask such personal questions, but, after she was gone, did your father raise you?”
“You’re not sorry. You—”
“Detective Bosch!” the judge boomed. “We cannot have this. You must answer the questions asked of you. Say nothing else. Just answer the questions.”
“No. I never knew my father. I was put in the youth hall and then foster homes.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“No.”
“So the man who strangled your mother not only took the one closest to you, he destroyed much of your life at that point?”
“I’d say so.”
“Did the crime have something to do with your becoming a policeman?”
Bosch found he could no longer look at the jury. He knew his face had turned red. And he felt as if he were dying under a magnifying glass.
“I don’t know. I never really analyzed myself to that extent.”
“Did it have something to do with the satisfaction you felt in killing Mr. Church?”
“As I said before, if there was any satisfaction—you keep using that word—it was that I was satisfied with closing the case. To use your word, the man was a monster. He was a killer. I was satisfied we stopped him, wouldn’t you be?”
“You’re answering the questions, Detective Bosch,” Chandler said. “The question I now have is, did you stop the killings? All of them?”
Belk jumped up and asked for a sidebar conference. The judge said to the jurors, “We’re going to take that break now after all. We’ll call you back when we’re ready.”
17
Belk asked for a discussion of his objection to Chandler’s question out of earshot of the press, so the judge convened a hearing in his chambers. The hearing included the judge, Chandler, Belk, Bosch, the court reporter and the court clerk. They had to drag a couple of chairs in from the courtroom, then they all took places around the judge’s huge desk. It was dark mahogany and looked like a box a small foreign car could have come in.
The first thing the judge did was light a cigarette. When Bosch saw Chandler follow suit, he did the same. The judge pushed the ashtray on his desk to the corner so they all could get at it.
“So, Mr. Belk, it’s your party,” the judge said.
&nbs
p; “Your Honor, I am concerned with the direction Miss Chandler is taking this.”
“Call her Ms. Chandler, Mr. Belk. You know she prefers it. As far as which way she’s going, how can you tell from one question?”
It was obvious to Bosch that Belk may have objected too soon. It was unclear how much information Chandler had, aside from the note. But Bosch thought Belk’s tap-dancing around the problem was a waste of time.
“Judge,” he said. “If I answer that last question it will compromise an ongoing investigation.”
The judge leaned back in his padded leather chair.
“How so?” he asked.
“We believe there is another killer,” Bosch said. “The body found this week was identified yesterday and it has been determined that she could not have been killed by Church. She was alive up until two years ago. The—”
“The method used by the killer was identical to that of the real Dollmaker,” Belk interjected. “The police believe there is a follower, someone who knew how Church killed and followed the same pattern. There is evidence to suggest the follower was responsible for the seventh and eleventh victims previously attributed to Church.”
Bosch said, “The follower would have to be someone close to the original investigation, someone who knew the details.”
Belk said, “If you allow her to open this line of questioning, it will be reported by the media and it will tip off the follower. He will know how close he is to being revealed.”
The judge was silent as he considered all of this for a moment.
“That all sounds real interesting and I wish you all the best of luck catching this follower, as you call him,” he finally said. “But the problem you have, Mr. Belk, is that you haven’t given me any legal reason to stop your client from answering the question Ms. Chandler put to him. No one wants to compromise an investigation. But you put your client on the stand.”
“That’s if there is a second killer,” Chandler said. “It’s obvious there was only one killer and it wasn’t Church. They’ve come up with this elaborate—”
“Ms. Chandler,” the judge interrupted. “That’s for the jury to decide. Save your argument for them. Mr. Belk, the problem is this is your witness. You called him and you’ve left him open to this line of questioning. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m certainly not going to clear the media out of there. Off the record here, Miss Penny.”
The judge watched the court reporter lift her fingers from the keys.
“Mr. Belk, you’re fucked—’scuse the language, ladies. He’s gonna answer the question and the one after that and the one after that. Okay, we’re back on.”
The reporter put her fingers back on the keys.
“Your Honor, this can’t—”
“I’ve made my ruling, Mr. Belk. Anything else?”
Belk then surprised Bosch.
“We would like a continuance.”
“What?”
“Your Honor, plaintiff opposes,” Chandler said.
“I know you do,” the judge said. “What are you talking about, Mr. Belk?”
“Your Honor, you have to put the trial on hiatus. Until at least next week. It will give the investigation time to possibly come to some fruition.”
“Some fruition? Forget it, Belk. You’re in the middle of a trial, my friend.”
Belk stood and leaned across the great wide desk.
“Your Honor, I request an emergency stay of these proceedings while we take the matter on appeal to the ninth district.”
“You can appeal anything you like, Mr. Belk, but there is no stay. We’re in trial here.”
There was silence as everyone looked at Belk.
“What if I refuse to answer?” Bosch asked.
Judge Keyes looked at him a long moment and said, “Then I’ll hold you in contempt. Then I’ll ask you to answer again and if you refuse again I will put you in jail. Then when your attorney here asks for bail while he appeals, I will say no bail. All of this will take place out there in front of the jury and the media folks. And I will place no restrictions on what Ms. Chandler does or doesn’t say to the reporters in the hallway. So, what I am saying is, you can try to be some kind of hero and not answer, but the story will get to the media anyway. It’s like I said a few minutes ago to Mr. Belk when we were off the rec—”
“You can’t do this,” Belk suddenly erupted. “It, it—it’s not right. You have to protect this investigation. You—”
“Son, don’t you ever tell me what I have to do,” the judge said very slowly and sternly. He seemed to grow in stature while Belk shrank back away from him. “Only thing I have to do is ensure there is a fair trial on this matter. You are asking me to sit on information that could be vital to the plaintiff’s case. You are also trying to intimidate me and that is one thing I don’t take to. I’m no county judge that needs your nod every time an election comes ’round. I’m appointed for life. We’re off here.”
Miss Penny stopped typing. Bosch almost didn’t want to see Belk’s slaughter. The deputy city attorney’s head was bowed and he had assumed the posture of the doomed. The back of his neck was turned up and ready to receive the axe.
“So my advice here is that you get your fat ass out there and start working on how the hell you’re going to salvage this on redirect. Because in five minutes Detective Bosch is going to answer that question or he’s going to be handing his gun and his badge and his belt and shoelaces over to a marshal at the federal lockup. We’re back on. Hearing adjourned.”
Judge Keyes brought his arm down and ground his cigarette into the ashtray. He never took his eyes off Belk.
As the procession made its way back into the courtroom, Bosch moved up closely behind Chandler. He glanced back to make sure the judge had turned to go to the bench and then said in a low voice, “If you’re getting your information from inside the department, I’m going to burn your source down when I find him.”
She didn’t miss a stride. She didn’t even turn back when she said, “You mean, if you’re not already ashes.”
Bosch took his place at the witness stand and the jury was brought back in. The judge told Chandler to continue.
“Rather than have the reporter find the last question, let me just rephrase it. After you killed Mr. Church, did the so called Dollmaker killings stop?”
Bosch hesitated, thinking. He looked out into the spectator section and saw that there were more reporters now—or at least people he thought were reporters. They all sat together.
He also saw Sylvia, sitting in the back row by herself. She offered a small smile to him which he did not return. He wondered how long she had been out there.
“Detective Bosch?” the judge prompted.
“I can’t answer the question without compromising an ongoing investigation,” Bosch finally said.
“Detective Bosch, we just went over this,” the judge said angrily. “Answer the question.”
Bosch knew that his refusal and jailing would not stop the story from getting out. Chandler would tell all the reporters as the judge had given her the okay to do. So putting himself in jail, he knew, only stopped him from chasing the follower. He decided to answer. He carefully composed a statement while stalling by taking a long, slow drink of water from the paper cup.
“Norman Church obviously stopped killing people after he was dead. But there was somebody—there is somebody else still out there. A killer who uses the same methods as Norman Church.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bosch. And when did you come to that conclusion?”
“This week, when another body was found.”
“Who was that victim?”
“A woman named Rebecca Kaminski. She had been missing two years.”
“The details of her death matched the murders of the other Dollmaker victims?”
“Exactly, except for one thing.”
“And that was what?”
“She had been entombed in concrete. Hidden. Norman Church always discarded his victims in
public places.”
“No other differences?”
“Not that I know of at the moment.”
“Yet, because she died two years after Norman Church was killed by you, there is no way possible that he is responsible.”
“Correct.”
“Because he was dead he has the perfect alibi, doesn’t he?”
“Correct.”
“How was the body found?”
“As I said, it had been buried in concrete.”
“And what led police to the spot where it was buried?”
“We received a note with directions.”
Chandler then offered a copy of the note as plaintiff’s exhibit 4A and Judge Keyes accepted it after overruling an objection by Belk. Chandler then handed a copy to Bosch to identify and read.
“Out loud this time,” she said before he could start. “For the jury.”
Bosch felt eerie reading the words of the follower out loud in the quiet courtroom. After a beat of silence when he was done, Chandler began again.
“‘I’m still in the game,’ he writes. What does that mean?”
“It means he is trying to take credit for all of the killings. He wants attention.”
“Could that be because he committed all of the murders?”
“No, because Norman Church committed nine of them. The evidence found in Church’s apartment irrefutably links him to those nine. There is no doubt.”
“Who found this evidence?”
Bosch said, “Me.”
“So, then, isn’t there a lot of doubt, Detective Bosch? Isn’t this idea of a second killer who uses the exact same method preposterous?”
“No, it’s not preposterous. It is happening. I did not kill the wrong man.”
“Isn’t it the truth that this talk of a copycat killer, a follower, is all an elaborate charade for covering up the fact that you did exactly that, killed the wrong man? An innocent, unarmed man who had done nothing worse than hire a prostitute with his wife’s tacit approval?”
“No, it’s not. Norman Church killed—”
“Thank you, Mr. Bosch.”
“—a lot of women. He was a monster.”
“Like the one who killed your mother?”