The Late Show (Renée Ballard #1)(66)

Ballard sat there motionless as she ran the image of Chastain at the crime scene through her mind. Her attention was then drawn to the other side of the room when she noticed Lieutenant Munroe enter the bureau from the front hallway and head toward where Jenkins was sitting.

Ballard thought Munroe was probably going to send her partner out on a call. She grabbed the evidence report and got up to go listen, in case it was a situation in which Jenkins would need a backup. She grabbed her rover as well and headed their way.

Though the desks Jenkins and Ballard used were in diagonally opposite corners of the squad room, there wasn’t a direct pathway between them. Ballard had to walk down an aisle along the front of the room and then down a second aisle to come up behind Munroe. As she approached, she saw an uncomfortable look on her partner’s face as he looked up at the watch commander, and she realized that Munroe wasn’t handing out an assignment.

“...all I’m saying is, you’re the lead, you call the shots, put her on the leash and—”

The rover in Ballard’s hand started broadcasting a call. Munroe stopped and turned to see Ballard standing there.

“And what, L-T?” she said.

Munroe’s face momentarily showed his shock and then he threw a glance back at Jenkins, registering his betrayal at not being warned of her approach.

“Look, Ballard...” he said.

“So you want me on the leash?” Ballard asked. “Or are you just the messenger?”

Munroe held up both hands, as if trying to stop a physical rush from her.

“Ballard, listen to me, you...I...I didn’t know you were here,” he stammered. “You’re supposed to be off. I mean, if I knew you were here, I would’ve said the same thing to you as I said to Jenks.”

“Which was what?” she asked.

“Look, there are people who are afraid you’re going to fuck things up, Ballard, afraid you’re going to cross a line on this Chastain thing. It’s not your case, and you need to stand the fuck down.”

“What people, L-T? Olivas? Is he worried about me or himself?”

“Look, I’m not naming names. I’m just—”

“You’re naming me. You just went to my partner and said, ‘Put Ballard on a leash.’”

“Like you just said, I’m only the messenger here, Detective. And the message is delivered. That’s it.”

He turned and headed toward the rear hallway, taking the long way to the watch office rather than having to pass by Ballard.

Ballard looked at Jenkins when they were alone.

“Asshole,” she said.

“Fucking coward,” Jenkins said. “Took the long way back.”

“What would you have said to him if I hadn’t walked up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I would have said, ‘You got something to say to Ballard, tell her yourself.’ Maybe I would have said, ‘Fuck off.’”

“I hope so, partner.”

“So what exactly have you been doing that’s got their balls twisted?”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure. But that’s the second socalled message I’ve gotten today. Some guy from Majors went up to Ventura and then down to the beach to find me and tell me the same thing. And I don’t even know what I did.”

Jenkins scrunched his face up in suspicion and worry. He wasn’t buying that she didn’t know what she had done. He was worried she would keep doing it.

“Watch yourself, kid. These people don’t fuck around.”

“I already know that.”

He nodded. Ballard stepped up to his desk and put down the rover for him to use.

“I think I’m going up to the suite,” she said. “Come get me if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll probably catch you before you leave.”

“Don’t bother,” Jenkins said. “Sleep late if you can. You need it.”

“Just pisses me off that he comes in here to you because he thinks I’m out.”

“Look, I’ve been reading about Japan to Marcie, and they have this saying over there: The—”

“I’m talking about these men and you’re telling me about Japan?”

“Would you listen to me? I’m not one of ‘these men,’ okay? I read her books about places we never got to. She’s interested in Japanese history right now, so that’s what I’m reading to her. And there’s this saying they have about conformist society: The nail that sticks out gets pounded down.”

“Okay, so what are you saying?”

“I’m saying there’s a lot of guys in this department with hammers. Watch yourself.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I don’t know—sometimes I think I do.”

“Whatever. I’m going. I’m suddenly so tired of all this.”

“Get some sleep.”

Jenkins solemnly held up a fist, and Ballard bumped it with her own. It was a way of saying they were okay.

Ballard put the evidence report back in her file drawer and locked it, then left the bureau. She went up the stairs in the back hall to the station’s second floor, where, across the hall from the roll-call room, there was a room known as the Honeymoon Suite. It was a bunk room with three-tier bunks running along opposite walls. It was first-come, first-served, and on a counter at one end of the room were stacks of plastic-wrapped bunk packs: two sheets, a pillow, and a thin jail blanket.