Free The Crossing by Michael Connelly Page B

your client tomorrow. He’s an accused murderer and that’s exactly how I’m going to treat him. By the time we’re finished, he might not want me working for you or him.”
    Bosch slid his glass toward the bartender and got off the stool. He saw a woman looking for a spot to sit and signaled her over.
    “See you at nine,” he said to Haller. “Don’t oversleep.”
    “Don’t worry,” Haller said. “I’ll be there.”

9
     
    E llis and Long watched from a car parked at the curb on Las Palmas west of Musso’s rear parking lot. There was an easy silence between them that came from years of sitting in cars and watching people. Long had gone into Musso’s earlier and observed from the opposite end of the bar while the lawyer was meeting with another man—a man Long didn’t recognize. So when he scanned the parking lot and saw the same mystery man standing under the light at the parking attendant’s booth, he sat up straight in the passenger seat.
    “That’s him,” he said. “The guy he was meeting with.”
    “You sure?” Ellis asked.
    He raised a pair of binoculars and studied the mystery man.
    “Yeah,” Long said. “You should go. In case.”
    In case the man at the booth had seen Long inside earlier. But they didn’t have to finish sentences like that.
    Ellis left the binoculars on the dashboard and got out of the car. Long slid over behind the wheel. Just in case. Ellis walked into the lot and ducked between two cars so it would look like he just parked and was walking in. He waited until the man got his keys at the booth and started walking toward his car. Ellis stepped out, hands in his pockets, and started walking down the same driving aisle as the approaching man. Ellis noted he was clean shaven and had a full head of gray hair and a lean build. He guessed he was midfifties but could be one of those lucky fuckers who looked younger than he was.
    Just before they passed each other the mystery man turned left between two cars and used his key to unlock the door on an old Jeep Cherokee. Ellis glanced casually at the rear plate and kept going toward the steps that led to the rear entrance at Musso’s. He speed-dialed Long. When he answered, Ellis gave his partner the make of the car and the license plate number and told him he was going inside to check on the status of the lawyer.
    “Think I should tail the Jeep?” Long asked.
    Ellis thought a moment. On principle he didn’t like the idea of splitting up. But if this guy was a player, then it could be a missed opportunity.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think?”
    “Go get a beer,” Long said. “I’ll see where this guy goes.”
    “He’s driving a shit box. He’s probably not going far.”
    “Those old Cherokees? Collectors’ items.”
    “Shit box.”
    “Go on craigslist, ten grand for a good one, easy. Two hundred thousand miles? Still ten grand.”
    “Whatever. I’m going in. Haller’s in the back bar, right?”
    “Yeah, back bar. No names, remember?”
    “Right.”
    Ellis could hear the Cherokee’s engine turn over behind him. Then a voice called to him from behind as well.
    “Sir, did you park?”
    He turned to see the parking attendant in the doorway of the booth.
    “No, I’m on the street.”
    He pointed toward Las Palmas, then turned back and went down the stairs into the hallway behind the restaurant’s kitchen. He followed it around past the old wooden phone booths and out into the new dining room. Musso’s was almost a hundred years old. There was the new room and the old room but even that distinction was a half century old. He followed an ancient waiter in a red half coat into the old room and then moved into the bar area. It was crowded with a congregation two deep behind the lucky ones sitting on bar stools.
    He saw Haller on a stool near the far end. He was engaged in conversation with the woman sitting to his left. It looked like a pickup situation to Ellis but he could tell the woman wasn’t