Half of the jurors’ mouths dropped open in unison. The others expressed their surprise with their eyes. A low murmur of excited voices went through the courtroom and then a slow and deliberate clapping began from behind the prosecution table. I turned to see Mitzi Elliot’s mother applauding the news of Elliot’s demise.

The judge brought his gavel down harshly just as Golantz jumped from his seat and rushed to her, grabbing her hands gently and stopping her from continuing. I saw tears rolling down her cheeks.

“There will be no demonstrations from the gallery,” the judge said harshly. “I don’t care who you are or what connection you might have to the case, everyone in here will show respect to the court or I will have you removed.”

Golantz returned to his seat but the tears continued to flow from the mother of one of the victims.

“I know that to all of you, this is rather shocking news,” Stanton told the jurors. “Be assured that the authorities are investigating the matter thoroughly and hopefully will soon bring the individual or individuals responsible to justice. I am sure you will learn all about it when you read the paper or watch the news, as you are now free to do. As far as today goes, I want to thank you for your service. I know you all were very attentive to the presentation of the prosecution and defense cases and I hope your time here was a positive experience. You are free now to go back to the deliberation room to gather your things and go home. You are excused.”

We stood one last time for the jury and I watched them file through the doorway to the deliberation room. After they were gone, the judge thanked Golantz and me for our professional demeanor during trial, thanked his staff and quickly adjourned court. I hadn’t bothered to unpack any files from my bag, so I stood motionless for the longest time after the judge left the courtroom. My reverie wasn’t broken until Golantz approached me with his hand out. Without thinking I reached out and shook it.

“No hard feelings on anything, Mickey. You’re a damn good lawyer.”

Was, I thought.

“Yeah,” I said. “No hard feelings.”

“You going to hang around and talk to jurors, see which way they were leaning?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“No, I’m not interested.”

“Me neither. Take care of yourself.”

He clapped me on the shoulder and pushed out through the gate. I was sure there would be a throng of media out in the hall waiting and he’d tell them that in some strange way he felt that justice had been served. Live by the gun, die by the gun. Or words to that effect.

I’d leave the media for him. Instead, I gave him a good lead and then followed him out. The reporters were already surrounding him and I was able to hug the wall and escape notice. All except for Jack McEvoy from the Times. He spotted me and started trailing. He caught me as I got to the stairwell entrance.

“Hey, Mick!”

I glanced at him but didn’t stop walking. I knew from experience not to. If one member of the media downed you, the rest of the pride would catch up and pile on. I didn’t want to be devoured. I hit the stairwell door and started down.

“No comment.”

He stayed with me, stride for stride.

“I’m not writing about the trial. I’m covering the new murders. I thought maybe you and I could have the same deal again. You know, trade informa-”

“No deal, Jack. And no comment. Catch you later.”

I put my hand out and stopped him on the first landing. I left him there, went down two more landings and then out into the hallway. I walked down to Judge Holder’s courtroom and entered.

Michaela Gill was in the clerk’s pod and I asked if I could see the judge for a few minutes.

“But I don’t have you down for an appointment,” she said.

“I know that, Michaela, but I think the judge will want to see me. Is she back there? Can you tell her I only want ten minutes? Tell her it’s about the Vincent files.”

The clerk picked up the phone, punched a button and gave the judge my request. Then she hung up and told me I could go right back to her chambers.

“Thank you.”

The judge was behind her desk with her half-glasses on, a pen poised in her hand as if I had interrupted her in the middle of signing an order.

“Well, Mr. Haller,” she said. “It’s certainly been an eventful day. Have a seat.”

I sat in the familiar chair in front of her.

“Thank you for seeing me, Judge.”

“What can I do for you?”

She asked the question without looking at me. She started scribbling signatures on a series of documents.

“I just wanted you to know I will be resigning as counsel on the rest of the Vincent cases.”

She put the pen down and looked over her glasses at me.

“What?”

“I’m resigning. I came back too soon or probably should never have come back at all. But I’m finished.”

“That’s absurd. Your defense of Mr. Elliot has been the talk of this courthouse. I watched parts of it on television. You clearly were schooling Mr. Golantz and I don’t think there were many observers who would have bet against an acquittal.”

I waved the compliments away.

“Anyway, Judge, it doesn’t matter. It’s not really why I’m here.”

She took her glasses off and put them down on the desk. She looked hesitant but then asked the next question.

“Then, why are you here?”

“Because, Judge, I wanted you to know that I know. And soon enough everybody else will as well.”

“I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about. What do you know, Mr. Haller?”

“I know that you are for sale and that you tried to have me killed.”

She barked out a laugh but there was no mirth in her eyes, only daggers.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, it’s no joke.”

“Then, Mr. Haller, I suggest you calm down and compose yourself. If you go around this courthouse making these kinds of outlandish accusations, then there will be consequences for you. Severe consequences. Maybe you are right. You are feeling the stress of coming back too soon from rehab.”

I smiled and I could tell by her face that she immediately realized her mistake.

“Slipped up there, didn’t you, Judge? How’d you know I was in rehab? Better yet, how did juror number seven know how to lure me away from home last night? The answer is, you had me backgrounded. You set me up and sent McSweeney out to kill me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about and I don’t know this man you say tried to kill you.”

“Well, I think he knows you, and the last time I saw him he was about to start playing Let’s Make a Deal with the federal government.”

It hit her like a punch in the gut. I knew revealing it to her wasn’t going to endear me to Bosch or Armstead, but I didn’t care. Neither of them was the guy who had been used like a pawn and had nearly taken the high dive off Mulholland. I was that guy and that entitled me to confront the person I knew was behind it.

“I put it together without having to make a deal with anybody,” I said. “My investigator traced McSweeney. Nine years ago he was arrested for an ADW and who was his attorney? Mitch Lester, your husband. The next year he was popped again for fraud and once again it was Mitch Lester on the case. There’s the connection. It makes a nice little triangle, doesn’t it? You have access to and control of the jury pool and the selection process. You can get into the computers and it was you who planted the sleeper on my jury. Jerry Vincent paid you but then he changed his mind after the FBI came sniffing around. You couldn’t run the risk that Jerry might get jammed up with the FBI and try to deal a judge to them. So you sent McSweeney.

“Then, when it all turned to shit yesterday, you decided to clean house. You sent McSweeney – juror number seven – after Elliot and Albrecht, and then me. How am I doing, Judge? I miss anything so far?”