The Late Show (Renée Ballard #1)(87)

Towson leaned slightly forward. He was now flying blind. Ballard had not discussed at breakfast her attempt to ghost Trent’s house, because she’d had no idea it would come up. Towson now had to trust that Ballard knew how to navigate this set of questions.

“How so, Detective Ballard?” Feltzer asked.

“On Friday evening I confirmed that Trent was at his job at the car dealership and I went to his house to look around,” Ballard said. “My victim had described being taken to an upside-down house. I felt it was important to see if Trent’s home matched that description.”

“Detective, did you call in a false report of a prowler on Wrightwood Drive in order to facilitate this ‘look around’?”

Towson put his hand on Ballard’s arm to stop her from responding.

“She’s not going to answer that,” he said. “This is a use-of-force investigation. We are not going to discuss unrelated matters.”

“It is related,” Feltzer said. “My information is that Detective Ballard on Friday night was on the porch outside the room where she was later allegedly held captive and where she killed Thomas Trent. She said in her statement that she didn’t know where she was and couldn’t escape. That is in conflict with the facts I’ve accumulated.”

“Being outside a room and being inside a room are completely different,” Towson countered. “My client had been assaulted, drugged, and possibly raped—all of which affected her perceptions.”

“The curtains were closed,” Ballard added. “I didn’t know I was in the room off that porch.”

Towson waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

“This doesn’t fly, Lieutenant,” he said. “You are wasting our time. There is clearly an agenda here. You are attempting to build a case to dismiss Detective Ballard for reasons that don’t exist. She didn’t escape. She stayed back and risked her life to save another. Are you seriously trying to make this count against her? Where does this come from?”

“There is no agenda here,” Feltzer said. “And I strenuously object to your characterization of this investigation. You are completely out of line.”

“You want to talk about what’s out of line?” Towson said. “This is what’s out of line.”

The lawyer opened his briefcase, took out the folded A section of that morning’s Los Angeles Times, and dropped it on the desk. The story on the Trent killing had caught the bottom corner of the front page. The story was bylined with Jerry Castor’s name.

“I have nothing to do with what the media reports,” Feltzer said. “I have no say in how complete or incomplete the story is.”

“Bullshit,” Ballard said.

“This story includes details that go far beyond the official press release put out yesterday by the department,” Towson said. “Not only that, but the release of selective details and the omission of others puts my client in an unfavorable light. It’s a hit piece.”

“We will look into how the Times came to have their information,” Feltzer said.

“That’s hardly reassuring when the investigator is probably the one who leaked it,” Towson said.

“I warn you, sir,” Feltzer said angrily. “I will put up with a lot from you, but I’m not going to allow you to assault my reputation. I play by the rules here.”

Feltzer’s face grew red with anger. He was putting on a credible show. He was also playing directly into Ballard and Towson’s hands.

“Your anger indicates that you would agree that the leaking of details outside the agreed-upon press release is a violation of Detective Ballard’s privacy rights under the law and the policy of this department,” Towson said.

“I told you, we are going to look into the leak,” Feltzer said.

“Why?” Towson asked. “Was it illegal or just not fair?”

“It was against the law, okay?” Feltzer said. “We will investigate.”

Towson pointed toward Feltzer’s computer screen.

“Well, Lieutenant, we’d like to help with that investigation,” he said. “Let me give you a link to pull up.”

“What are you talking about?” Feltzer said. “What link?”

“It’s a website that we will be directing LAPD command staff and local media to at a press conference later today,” Towson said. “It’s Jerry and Joe dot com. Pull up your server and check it out.”

Feltzer’s computer screen was on a side extension to his desk so that it would not be a visible barrier between him and anyone sitting across the main desk from him. He turned now and activated the screen. He pulled up his server and started typing in the website address.

“Jerry with a J,” Ballard said. “As in Jerry Castor.”

Feltzer paused for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“It’s okay, Lieutenant,” Towson said. “It’s just a website.”

Feltzer typed. The website opened on his screen. It was a single page with a nine-second video playing in a loop: a downward view of Feltzer meeting with Jerry Castor at the Last Bookstore the night before. Towson had hatched the idea for the site at breakfast and had bought the domain and set it up while he and Ballard were eating.

Feltzer watched the video in stunned silence. After the third loop, he killed the screen. He was turned away from Ballard and Towson, so neither one of them could fully see the look on his face. But his head bowed as he obviously considered his predicament. In seconds he determined that the time-stamped video spoke for itself and that his situation was untenable. Like the political animal the video revealed him to be, he slowly turned back to Ballard and Towson, a look on his face that was somewhere between panic and acceptance of dire consequences.