Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (39)

“Yes, I’m sure. This is what I do, Mads. You know that.”

“And she already has you going to Chicago on a case.”

“It’s really just an errand. I’m picking up a piece of evidence. I’ll just be gone a night but wanted to check in with you, see how things were going.”

“Is Renée with you?”

“No, going by myself. I’m just making a pickup and then coming back. Nothing dangerous. Not even bringing a gun.”

“You still shouldn’t do this stuff by yourself. Why can’t the Chicago police just send it to you?”

“That’s a long story but, really, it’s not a big deal, Maddie. I’ll be in and out. I wouldn’t even stay over if I could have scheduled it earlier. So never mind me. What’s going on with you? How is SPU?”

She had recently been assigned to the Special Problems Unit at Hollywood Division. The unit followed a law enforcement strategy of attacking hot spots of crime by flooding the problem area with increased patrols and other tactics targeting the specific crime trend. It was a favored assignment among young officers because it wasn’t always uniform duty. It also involved plainclothes surveillance as well as decoy operations. Bosch knew his daughter was particularly proud of getting the assignment less than a year after graduating from the police academy.

“It’s all good,” Maddie said. “I’ve been decoying all week on Melrose. They’re having a problem with drive-by purse snatchers. But so far nothing.”

Bosch pictured his daughter walking the sidewalks of the hip shopping area with a purse loosely slung over her curbside shoulder, waiting for the robbers to drive up, grab it, and go.

“Cool. Just you, or are there other decoys?”

“Just me and a couple follow teams.”

Bosch was glad to hear she was the solo decoy. He didn’t want the follow teams concentrating on anybody else.

The plane jerked as it started to pull back from the gate.

“I think I gotta go, we’re rolling.”

“Okay, Dad. Stay safe and let me know when you’re back.”

“You, too. Shoot me a text when you get the bad guys, okay?”

“Will do.”

They disconnected.

Bosch quickly made one more call, punching in the phone number Ballard had given him for retired detective Dale Dubose in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. He knew the call would probably go unanswered, so he wasn’t worried about starting a conversation as the plane was taking off. Most departing planes at LAX taxied for a good fifteen minutes before getting the all clear to take off.

As expected, the call went to voice mail. Bosch cupped a hand over his mouth and the phone so he would not be overheard while he left a message.

“Dale Dubose, it’s Harry Bosch with the cold case unit at LAPD. I need you to call me back about the Laura Wilson case or you’re going to find me at your front door. I’ll give you a day and then I’m coming up there. And I’ll be pretty pissed off if I have to fly all the way up for a conversation that can be handled over the phone.”

Bosch repeated his cell number twice and then disconnected. He hoped the tone of his voice on the message would convey to Dubose that ignoring the call was not an option.

He then turned his phone off and put it back in his pocket.

Fifteen minutes later, the plane was in the air and Bosch was looking down through the window at the cold, dark Pacific as the plane banked after takeoff and started to turn east.





21


AFTER GETTING THE alert from the front desk, Ballard went out to the entrance of the homicide archive to receive Councilman Jake Pearlman and his entourage. They came down the main hallway four wide—two men, two women—plus a pool videographer and two reporters. Ballard had not yet met Pearlman in person, as most of her interactions had been phone calls or Zooms or with Nelson Hastings.

“Detective Ballard?” Pearlman said as he approached.

He reached out his hand and they shook. Pearlman was clean-shaven with curly dark hair. His grip was firm. He was taller and trimmer than she had expected. Her impression from the Zoom videos was that he would be short and squat. This was probably because he used a fixed video camera that caught him from a downward angle. Pearlman wore his standard campaign look—blue jeans, black sneakers, and a white button-down shirt, sleeves haphazardly rolled up to the elbows.

“Welcome to the Ahmanson Center and the homicide archive,” Ballard said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Well, I had to see it,” Pearlman said. “And I had to finally meet you in person.”

The councilman introduced his entourage. Ballard already knew Hastings. He was slightly shorter than Pearlman, with close-cropped brown hair. He carried himself with a precise military bearing. The women were Rita Ford, the councilman’s political adviser, and Susan Aguilar, his policy adviser. Both women were mid-thirties and attractive, dressed in conservative, professional suits. Ballard considered that politics and policy might be the same thing or at least overlap in terms of advisement but didn’t ask the question.

“Well, if you’d like to come back, I’ll show you what we’re doing,” she said.

“Of course,” Pearlman said. “And I want to hear the latest on Sarah’s case. You don’t know what it means to me just to know that progress is being made.”