The Late Show (Renée Ballard #1)(89)

She stood there somberly for a few moments, until her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her back pocket. It was Rob Compton.

“Renée, I just heard! What the fuck! Are you okay?”

“I’m good.”

“Why didn’t you call me, baby? I just read about this in the fricking paper.”

“Well, don’t believe everything you read. That’s not the whole story, and it’s going to get fixed. I didn’t call you yesterday because I didn’t have my phone most of the day. I finally got to it last night. What’s the story with the ATF?”

“Never mind, that can wait. I just want to make sure you’re okay. When can we get together?”

“I don’t want the ATF to wait, Robby. I need to stay busy. What’ve you got?”

She started walking down the steps and back to the courtyard. Her rental car was still in a lot behind the Times Building and she headed that way.

“Well, an agent from over there called me on the weapon search we put in,” Compton said. “His name is John Welborne. You know him?”

“I can count on one finger the number of ATF agents I know,” Ballard said. “I don’t know him.”

“Do you know it’s now called the ATFE? They added Explosives.”

“Nobody calls it that. Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Okay, well, this guy Welborne called about the stolen Glock that Nettles had. It’s got a big-time flag on it. It was taken off a Brinks guard during an armored-car takedown two years ago in Dallas. I don’t remember the case, but the guard it was taken from? He was executed with it. Same with his partner.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. So at first they were thinking we had the guy—you know, Nettles. But Nettles was in prison at the time of this thing in Dallas. So the gun had to have been stolen a second time in one of the burglaries he committed.”

“And probably a caper that went unreported. Because if you had a gun stolen that was used in a double murder armored-car job, you wouldn’t call the cops and report a burglary. You’d lie low and hope that gun disappeared.”

“Right. So here’s the thing. These feds, they wouldn’t normally stop to ask a parole agent shit. They’d just blow on by me. But we put these guns into the computer before we knew what was what—you know, like which house they were stolen from. So Welborne’s calling me up, chomping at the bit, wanting to move on this.”

“But he can’t.”

“Nope, he’s stuck, waiting on me.”

“Where is Nettles? Did he get sent back up yet?”

“Not yet. He’s still in County and scheduled to go in front of the judge tomorrow.”

Ballard was quiet as she thought through the situation. She was technically relieved of duty pending the psych exam and the FID case. She wondered if she could move her BSU appointment up and get it out of the way. She would really be counting on Feltzer to come through with the forced agreement to streamline everything.

“I’m supposed to be riding the pine because of this other thing,” she said. “But I’m hoping it clears today.”

“No way they clear you that quick,” he said. “Not with what’s in the paper today.”

“I’ve got somebody working on that. We’ll see.”

“So then, what do you want to do?”

“How much discretion do you have with Nettles?”

“Some, yeah. It’s the weapons: felon with a firearm. That’s the play.”

“Well, I’m downtown right now. I have an appointment with Behavioral and then I could clear. We could go see Nettles at County and find out if he wants to help himself by telling us where he got the Glock. When he finds out it was used in a two-bagger, he’ll probably be more than happy to disown it and tell us where it came from.”

“Okay, I need a couple hours myself. I have something unrelated going and I need to clear a move like this. I don’t think it will be a problem, but I just have to follow protocol and talk to the boss about trading with Nettles. How about we meet at Men’s Central at twelve? That’ll be lunch and they should be able to grab him up for us.”

“See you then.”

As Ballard headed to her car, she called Lieutenant McAdams at Hollywood Detectives.

“L-T, I’m not sure when or if I’ll make it in today,” she said.

“Ballard, you’re supposed to be on the bench till this FID thing clears,” McAdams said.

“I know. I’m down here at FID right now.”

“What’s going on?”

“I got called in for more questions. And after this, I go to BSU for the psych exam. I don’t know how long this will take.”

“Did you see the Times today? More importantly, did FID see it?”

“Yeah, everybody’s seen the Times and it’s bullshit.”

“Then where the fuck did it come from?”

“Good question, L-T.”

“Ballard, a word to the wise, watch your ass.”

“Roger that.”

The Behavioral Science Unit was located in Chinatown. Ballard’s appointment wasn’t until 10:30, so she called to see if she could get it bumped up by a half hour or more. The phone receptionist almost laughed before telling her the request could not be accommodated.