The Brass Verdict

“Most of what I know about him came from books,” I said. “A lot of different cases, a lot of different women. But there are a few memories that aren’t in books and are just mine. I remember coming into the office he had set up at home when he started to get sick. There was a painting framed on the wall – a print actually, but back then I thought it was a real painting. The Garden of Earthly Delights. Weird, scary stuff for a little kid…

“The memory I have is of him holding me on his lap and making me look at the painting and telling me that it wasn’t scary. That it was beautiful. He tried to teach me to say the painter’s name. Hieronymus Bosch. Rhymes with ‘anonymous,’ he told me. Only back then, I don’t think I could say ‘anonymous’ either.”

I wasn’t seeing the city out there. I was seeing the memory. I was quiet for a while after that. It was my half brother’s turn. Eventually, he leaned his elbows down on the railing and spoke.

“I remember that house,” he said. “I visited him once. Introduced myself. He was on the bed. He was dying.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I just told him I’d made it through. That’s all. There wasn’t really anything else to say.”

Like right now, I thought. What was there to say? Somehow, my thoughts jumped to my own shattered family. I had little contact with the siblings I knew I had, let alone Bosch. And then there was my daughter, whom I saw only eight days a month. It seemed like the most important things in life were the easiest to break apart.

“You’ve known all these years,” I finally said. “Why didn’t you ever make contact? I have another half brother and three half sisters. They’re yours, too, you know.”

Bosch didn’t say anything at first, then he gave an answer I guessed he had been telling himself for a few decades.

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to rock anybody’s boat. Most of the time people don’t like surprises. Not like this.”

For a moment I wondered what my life would’ve been like if I had known about Bosch. Maybe I would’ve been a cop instead of a lawyer. Who knows?

“I’m quitting, you know.”

I wasn’t sure why I had said it.

“Quitting what?”

“My job. The law. You could say the brass verdict was my last verdict.”

“I quit once. It didn’t take. I came back.”

“We’ll see.”

Bosch glanced at me and then put his eyes back out on the city. It was a beautiful day with low-flying clouds and a cold-air front that had compressed the smog layer to a thin amber band on the horizon. The sun had just crested the mountains to the east and was throwing light out on the Pacific. We could see all the way out to Catalina.

“I came to the hospital that time you got shot,” he said. “I wasn’t sure why. I saw it on the news and they said it was a gut shot and I knew those could go either way. I thought maybe if they needed blood or something, I could… I figured we matched, you know? Anyway, there were all these reporters and cameras. I ended up leaving.”

I smiled and then I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, a cop, volunteering to give blood to a defense attorney. I don’t think they would’ve let you back into the clubhouse if they knew about that.”

Now Bosch smiled and nodded.

“I guess I didn’t think about that.”

And just like that, both our smiles disappeared and the awkwardness of being strangers returned. Eventually Bosch checked his watch.

“The warrant teams are meeting in twenty minutes. I gotta roll.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you around, Counselor.”

“I’ll see you around, Detective.”

He went down the steps and I stayed where I was. I heard his car start up, then pull away and go down the hill.

Fifty-five

I stayed out on the deck after that and looked out at the city as the light moved across it. Many different thoughts filtered through my head and flew off into the sky like the clouds up there, remotely beautiful and untouchable. Distant. I was left feeling that I would never see Bosch again. That he would have his side of the mountain and I would have mine and that’s all there would be.

After a while I heard the door open and steps on the deck. I felt my daughter’s presence by my side and I put my hand on her shoulder.

“What are you doing, Dad?”

“Just looking.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“What did that policeman want?”

“Just to talk. He’s a friend of mine.”

We were both silent for a moment before she moved on.

“I wish Mom had stayed with us last night,” she said.

I looked down at her and squeezed the back of her neck.

“One thing at a time, Hay,” I said. “We got her to have pancakes with us last night, didn’t we?”

She thought about it and gave me the nod. She agreed. Pancakes were a start.

“I’m going to be late if we don’t go,” she said. “One more time and I’ll get a conduct slip.”

I nodded.

“Too bad. The sun’s just about to hit the ocean.”

“Come on, Dad. That happens every day.”

I nodded.

“Somewhere, at least.”