The Late Show (Renée Ballard #1)(53)

He paused there and Ballard said nothing. She knew he was trying to give her something and still not tread all the way across the line of his dead client’s confidentiality. She waited and Towson took another drink of coffee before continuing.

“So let me preface this by saying again that I do not know why Fabian was in that club Thursday night and that I have no idea who he was meeting with or what it was about. But I explained to him that if he was going to give somebody up in exchange for a plea agreement, it had to be a bigger fish than himself. I mean, obviously that’s how it works. He had to give up somebody the US Attorney’s Office would want more than it wanted him.”

“Okay. And what did he say to that?”

“He said, ‘How about a cop?’”

Towson made a gesture with his coffee cup of sweeping his arm away from his body like he was saying, you can take the story from there.

Ballard composed herself and her thoughts. What Towson was saying matched the theory she had been considering through the night: that Fabian had worn a wire to the meeting at the Dancers and that the fourth man in the booth was a police officer. It was the only explanation for Chastain’s behavior—his continuing to work the case Friday night after being told to go home.

“Let’s back up a second,” she said. “When was your conversation about bigger fish with Fabian?”

“About a month ago,” Towson said. “It was the last time I spoke to him.”

“And what did you say when he said, ‘How about a cop’?”

“I said I knew from my J-SID days that the feds always liked to trade for cops. Sorry, but it’s a fact. More headlines, more political cachet. Single-key drug dealers are a dime a dozen. Prosecuting a cop gets a D.A. salivating.”

“So you told him all that. Did you tell him to wear a wire?”

“No, I never said that. I cautioned him. I said crooked cops are very dangerous because they have so much to lose.”

“Did you ask who the cop was?”

“No, I didn’t. You have to understand that this was a very general conversation. It was not a planning meeting. He didn’t say, ‘I know a bent cop.’ He said, ‘What if I could deliver a cop?’ And in very general terms I said, ‘Yeah, a cop would be good.’ And that was it. I didn’t tell him to wear a wire but I may have said something along the lines of making sure that he had something solid. That was it and that was the last time we spoke. I never saw him again.”

Ballard now believed she knew the motive for the massacre and the reason the shooter took out Fabian first—because he was the traitor. The shooter eliminated everyone in the booth, then reached into Fabian’s shirt and pulled the recorder.

The question was, how did the shooter know about the wire? To Ballard it seemed obvious. The recorder had started to burn Fabian’s chest and he revealed himself either by flinching or by attempting to pull the wire off his skin. There was some kind of tell that the cop in the booth picked up on. And he acted quickly and decisively when he realized the meeting was a setup.

Ballard looked at Towson and wondered how much she should reveal now.

“Did Detective Chastain ask you any questions along these lines Friday?”

“No. He didn’t. He never mentioned any of this.”

“Good.”

“Good? Why is that good?”

“Did you watch or read the news last night or this morning, Mr. Towson?”

“I just got up. I haven’t seen anything.”

“There actually are six victims now. Detective Chastain was murdered late Friday night.”

Towson’s eyes widened as he computed the news and went straight to Ballard’s intended conclusion.

“Am I in danger?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Ballard said. “But you should take all possible precautions.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was.”

“Don’t put me in the middle of this thing. I made a suggestion to a client, that’s it.”

“I understand that, and as far as I’m concerned, this conversation was private. It won’t go into any report or record. I promise you that.”

“Jesus Christ. You should have told me that Chastain got clipped.”

“I did.”

“Yeah, after you got what you wanted from me.”

Five minutes later, after assuring Towson she would not put him in harm’s way, Ballard was putting on sunglasses as she was headed back to her van. At its door she pretended to fumble with her keys as she surreptitiously checked her surroundings.

She had spooked Towson and in doing so had spooked herself. It was time for her to follow her own advice and take all possible precautions.





19

Ballard needed to sleep but she kept pushing herself. After leaving Towson she drove back over the hill and down into West Hollywood. Her next stop was Matthew “Metro” Robison’s home. She had left three messages through the night for him and he had not returned the calls.

Robison’s DMV address led Ballard to an apartment complex on La Jolla south of Santa Monica. As she cruised by, she saw an obvious city-ride parked at the curb out front. She kept going and pulled over a half block away. Steadman had told Ballard that Chastain texted his wife about wrangling a witness. Identifying and finding that witness would be priority one, and since Chastain had documented a call from Robison as the last investigative move on his chrono, it looked like the shoe salesman was of high interest to the task force.