The Late Show (Renée Ballard #1)(5)

She looked at Jenkins. Before she could speak, he did.

“No,” he said.

“No, what?” she said.

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say you want to keep this one.”

“It’s a vampire case—has to be worked at night. We turn this over to the sex table, and it will be just like that burglary—it will end up in a stack. They’ll work it nine to five and nothing will get done.”

“Still no. It’s not the job.”

It was the main point of contention in their partnership. They worked the midnight shift, the late show, moving from case to case, called to any scene where a detective was needed to take initial reports or sign off on suicides. But they kept no cases. They wrote up the initial reports and turned the cases over to the appropriate investigative units in the morning. Robbery, sexual assault, burglary, auto theft, and so on down the line. Sometimes Ballard wanted to work a case from beginning to end. But it wasn’t the job and Jenkins was never inclined to stray one inch from its definition. He was a nine-to-fiver in a midnight-shift job. He had a sick wife at home and he wanted to get home every morning by the time she woke up. He didn’t care about overtime—money-or workwise.

“Come on, what else are we going to do?” Ballard implored.

“We’re going to check out the crime scene and see if there really is a crime scene,” Jenkins said. “Then we go back to the barn and write up reports on this and the old lady’s burglary. If we’re lucky, there will be no more callouts and we’ll ride the paperwork till dawn. Let’s go.”

He made a move to leave but Ballard didn’t follow. He spun and came back to her.

“What?” he demanded.

“Whoever did this is big evil, Jenks,” she said. “You know that.”

“Don’t go down that road again, because I’m not going with you. We’ve seen this a hundred times before. Some guy’s cruising along, doesn’t know the territory, sees a chick on the stroll and pulls over. He makes the deal, takes her into the parking lot, and gets buyer’s remorse when he finds a Dodger dog under the miniskirt. He beats the living shit out of the guy and drives on.”

Ballard was shaking her head before he was finished with his summation of the case.

“Not with those bite marks,” she said. “Not if he had brass knuckles. That shows a plan, shows something deep. She was tied up for a long time. This is big evil out there and I want to keep the case and do something for a change.”

Technically he was the senior partner. He made the call on such things. Back at the station Ballard could appeal to command staff if she wanted to, but this was where the decision had to be made for partnership unity.

“I’m going to swing by the crime scene and then go back to start writing,” Jenkins said. “The breakin goes to the burglary table, and this—this goes to CAPs. Maybe even homicide, because that kid isn’t looking too good in there. End of story.”

Decision made, he again turned toward the doors. He had been so long in the job that he still called the individual crime units tables. Back in the ’90s that’s what they were—desks pushed together to create long tables. The burglary table, the crimes against persons table, and so on.

Ballard was about to follow him out, when she remembered something. She went back to the nurse behind the counter.

“Where are the victim’s clothes?” she asked.

“We bagged them,” the nurse said. “Hold on.”

Jenkins stayed by the door and looked back at her. Ballard held up a finger, telling him to wait. From a drawer at the station the nurse produced a clear plastic bag with whatever belongings were found with the victim. It wasn’t much. Some cheap jewelry and sequined clothing. There was a small mace dispenser on a key chain with two keys. No wallet, no cash, no phone. She handed the bag to Ballard.

Ballard gave the nurse a business card and asked to have the doctor call her. She then joined her partner and they were walking through the automatic doors to the sally port when her phone buzzed. She checked the screen. It was the watch commander, Lieutenant Munroe.

“L-T.”

“Ballard, you and Jenkins still at Hollywood Pres?”

She noted the urgent tone in his voice. Something was happening. She stopped walking and signaled Jenkins closer.

“Just leaving. Why?”

“Put it on speaker.”

She did.

“Okay, go ahead,” she said.

“We’ve got four on the floor in a club on Sunset,” Munroe said. “Some guy in a booth started shooting the people he was with. An RA is heading your way with a fifth victim that at last report was circling the drain. Ballard, I want you to stay there and see what you can get. Jenkins, I’m sending Smitty and his boot back to grab you. RHD will no doubt be taking this over but they will need some time to mobilize. I’ve got patrol securing the scene, setting up a command post, and trying to hold witnesses, but most of them scattered when the bullets started flying.”

“What’s the location?” Jenkins said.

“The Dancers over by the Hollywood Athletic Club,” Munroe said. “You know it?”

“Roger that,” Ballard said.

“Good. Then, Jenkins, get over there. Ballard, you come as soon as you finish up with the fifth victim.”