The Late Show (Renée Ballard #1)(70)
Ballard saw a tear form in the corner of one of Ramona’s eyes. She blinked it away and then looked at Ballard. It was time to start asking questions.
“Ramona, do you remember the upside-down house?”
Two squeezes.
“Okay. What about the man who hurt you? Do you remember him?”
Ballard waited but there was no reaction from Ramona.
“Does that mean it’s kind of fuzzy?”
One squeeze.
“Okay, that’s all right. That’s fine. Let’s start with some basics, then. Do you remember what race the man was?”
One squeeze.
Ballard had to be careful not to lead her. A defense attorney could tear her apart on the stand for any false move.
“Okay, I’m going to go through some choices and you keep squeezing once or twice depending on your answer. Okay?”
One squeeze.
“Was he Hispanic?”
Two squeezes.
“Okay, how about African-American?”
Two squeezes.
“Was he a white man?”
One long squeeze.
“Okay, he was a white man. Thank you. Let’s try to work on a description. Did he have any physical aspect that stood out?”
Two squeezes.
“Did he wear glasses?”
Two squeezes.
“Did he have a mustache or a beard?”
Two squeezes.
“Was he tall?”
One squeeze.
“Over six feet?”
Ramona shook her hand, adding a third signal to the conversation.
“Does that mean you’re not sure?”
One squeeze.
“Okay, got it. Good. You shake your hand like that whenever you’re not sure. I have some photos here that I would like to show you. It’s called a photo lineup, and I want to see if one of these men looks like the man who hurt you. Is it all right to show you?”
One squeeze.
“I’m going to show you six at once, and you take your time and look and then I’ll ask you if you recognize any of the photos. Okay?”
One squeeze.
Ballard let go of Ramona’s hand and turned to the side table to pick up the file. She folded the cover back. Six mug shots were displayed in six individual windows cut into a second file. Beneath each photo was a number. She held it over the bed and a foot from Ramona’s eyes. She watched as the victim’s eyes moved across the photos, fear and apprehension clear in them. Ballard held the file without speaking for almost a minute.
“Okay,” she said.
She put her thumb back into Ramona’s palm.
“Do any of the men in the photo lineup look like the man who hurt you, Ramona?”
Ballard waited and finally Ramona shook her hand.
“You’re not sure?”
One squeeze.
“Okay, let’s just go through them. Does the man in the photo marked number one look like the man who hurt you?”
Two squeezes.
“Does the man in the photo marked number two look like the man?”
Two squeezes.
“Okay, what about number three? Does that look like the man who hurt you?”
This time Ramona shook her hand.
“You are not sure but there is some familiarity there.”
One squeeze.
“Okay. Let’s take the next one. The man in the photo marked number four.”
Another handshake.
“Number four also looks familiar.”
One squeeze.
“How about number five, Ramona? Could that be the man who hurt you?”
A soft handshake, almost hesitant.
“Number five is a maybe too. Let’s look at six now. Could he be the man who hurt you?”
Two strong squeezes.
“Okay, definitely not.”
Ballard folded the file over and put it back down on the table. Ramona had registered familiarity with three of the six photos but no direct identification of any. Trent’s photo had been in the five spot. The other two photos that had drawn recognition belonged to two men who were currently in state prison and could not have been the man who abducted and assaulted the victim.
It was not a good response and Ballard had to shake off her disappointment. Ramona had a brain injury and was still recovering. Ballard knew that such injuries took varying amounts of time to heal and that something not remembered now might be recalled in vivid detail later. The memory might also never return. It would be a waiting game, but she didn’t want to wait. Whether it was Trent or not, whoever had hurt Ramona could strike again while Ballard waited for her brain to heal.
Ballard put on a bright face when she turned back to the victim.
“You did good, Ramona. The important thing is that you continue to heal and we’ll see if more of your memory comes back.”
Ballard reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”
Ramona squeezed back.
On her way to the stairs Ballard noticed a uniformed security guard loitering near the nursing station. She had not seen him before. Ballard walked over to talk to him, flashing her badge as she approached.
“Ballard, LAPD. Are you always on this floor?”
“No, the nursing supervisor requested extra security because of the crime victims up here.”