Майкл Коннелли - Dark Sacred Night

Not wanting to dwell on the question, she killed the connection and went to work, spending the next two hours of her shift going through the FI cards put aside for special attention and backgrounding the individuals who had caught the notice of patrol officers in Hollywood in the months surrounding the murder of Daisy Clayton.

At shortly after two a.m. she got her first callout of the night and spent the next two hours interviewing witnesses to a brawl that had broken out at a bar on Highland when the bouncer had attempted to clear the place at closing time and a group of four USC students had objected because they still had full bottles of beer. The bouncer was cut across the back of the head by one of those bottles and was treated at the scene by paramedics. Ballard took his statement first, but he could not say for sure which of the four students had wielded the bottle he was struck with. After securing his confirmation that he wished to press charges against his attacker, the LAPD released him to the paramedics, who transported him to Hollywood Presbyterian. Ballard next spoke to a bartender and the establishment’s manager before moving on to the students.

The students were locked two apiece in the back seats of patrol cars. Ballard had purposely put the two boys who looked the most scared together and had secretly left her digital recorder on the front seat where they couldn’t get it. It was a ploy that every now and then produced an unintended confession.

When she pulled the recorder out this time, she got the opposite of a confession. Both of the young men were angry and scared that they were going to be arrested when neither of them had thrown the bottle at the bouncer.

That left the two in the other car, whom Ballard had not covered with a recorder. She took them out one at a time to be interviewed. The first student denied that he had instigated the brawl or hit the bouncer with the bottle. But when confronted with the twenty-six-beer bar tab they had amassed, he acknowledged that he had overconsumed and was talking trash to the bartender and the bouncer when closing time was announced. He apologized to Ballard for his behavior and told her he was willing to do it to the bar’s staff as well.

The interview with the last student went differently. He announced that he was the son of a lawyer and was fully aware of his rights. He said he would not be waiving his rights or talking to Ballard without an attorney present.

When finished, Ballard conferred with Sergeant Klinkenberg, who was the on-site patrol supervisor.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Somebody’s gotta go for this, right? Otherwise, these little college pissants will just come back up here and do it again.”

Ballard nodded as she looked down at her notebook to get the names right.

“All right, you can kick Pyne, Johnson, and Fiskin loose,” she said. “Book Bernardo — he’s got the shaved head and thinks his lawyer dad will save him. And make sure the three you let go aren’t driving.”

“We already asked,” Klinkenberg said. “They Ubered.”

“Okay, I’ll paper it as soon as I get back to the barn and drop it by the jail.”

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise, Klink.”

Back at the bureau it took Ballard less than an hour to write up the incident report and the arrest warrant for Bernardo. After leaving the paperwork with the records clerk, she checked the watch office clock and saw she was down to the last two hours of her shift.

She was dead tired and looking forward to sleeping five or six hours at the W. The thought of sleep reminded her of the dream she’d had in which she felt there was someone following her. It made her turn around as she walked down the empty back hallway to the detective bureau.

There was no one there.

The phone call came in at noon, waking Ballard from another deep trench of sleep. The hotel room was dark with the blackout drapes drawn closed. The screen of her phone glowed. It was a number she didn’t recognize, but at least it wasn’t blocked.

She took the call, her voice cracking when she said hello.

“Ballard, it’s Bosch. You asleep?”

“What do you think? What number is this?”

“It’s a landline. I haven’t replaced my cell yet.”

“Oh.”

“You had to work last night? Even though you spent the day saving my ass?”

“I wasn’t on the clock when I did that, Harry. Where are you? Still at Olive View?”

“No, got released this morning. Six stitches, two cracked ribs, and otherwise a clean bill of health. I’m at San Fernando PD.”

“Did they pick up Tranquillo yet?”

“Not yet, but they think they got him surrounded. SIS is sitting on a house in Panorama City where they think he’s holed up. Belongs to his aunt — the one that was married to Uncle Murda. They’re in deep cover, waiting for him to make a move, and then they’ll scoop him up.”

The SIS was the LAPD’s elite surveillance squad that was called in to shadow violent offenders. They carried high-powered weapons and engaged in military-style follow maneuvers. Ballard also knew that SIS tactics had been questioned for decades by the media and law enforcement critics from across the country. Many of their surveillance jobs ended in deadly shoot-outs. The SIS kill count topped all other divisions and units in the department.

“Okay,” Ballard said. “Let’s hope they do.”

“So, what’s on the schedule for today?” Bosch asked, changing the subject.

“Technically, I’m off, but my partner’s not back till Monday and I could use the OT. I was going to work. But my number-one priority is to get up and go see my dog. She probably hates me by now.”

“You have a dog?”

“Yup.”

“Nice. So you see the dog, then what? Where are we on the shake cards?”

It didn’t sound to Ballard like Bosch was a dog person.

“I’ve gone through the finalists and you are welcome to back-read me on them if you want,” she said. “I cleared about twenty and prioritized the rest. I have an appointment at four today with one of the men at the top of the list.”

“An appointment?” Bosch asked. “What do you mean?”

Ballard told him about the shake cards involving the officer who happened upon a porno shoot in a van. She said the two priority names were Kurt Pascal and Wilson Gayley.

“I know somebody in the business,” she added. “She set up a casting meeting with Pascal. He was the one having sex in the van. I’m going to—”

“Where’s the meet?” Bosch asked.

“Canoga Park. She has her own studio. I met her last year on—”

“You shouldn’t go on your own. I’ll go too.”

“You have Tranquillo Cortez to worry about.”

“No, I don’t. I’m just sitting here waiting. But my car’s still at my house. Can you pick me up on the way?”

“Sure. Give me a couple hours to go see my dog.”

“Anything on the GRASP files?”

“Yeah, I picked them up yesterday before the shit hit the fan with you. The professor gave me a thumb drive. I printed hard copies for you before I left work this morning.”

“Good. Did you take a look?”

“Not a deep dive. I did see there was a murder two days before Daisy. But the suspect was in custody before Daisy disappeared.”

“We should probably look at it anyway.”

“I ordered the book last night. Before heading up to you, I’ll see if it’s landed.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Good.”

“And Renée?”

“Yes?”

“You saved my life yesterday. When I was in that cage... all I could think about was my daughter and her being alone... and all the things I was going to miss being with her for... anyway, thank you. It’s not much but... yeah, thank you.”