Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (51)

“Where are you?”

“Home. What’s up?”

“Can you run a plate for me? Hastings didn’t go home. He bought a bottle of wine and brought it to a house above Sunset Plaza. I saw a car pull into the garage and I got the plate.”

“Give it to me and I’ll call you back.”

Bosch disconnected after reading the number off his pad. He checked the house and saw no activity behind the drawn curtains. His gut told him that Hastings had arrived for a romantic dinner with someone and was probably in for the night. Bosch knew that there was a possibility that Ballard would want to continue the surveillance in the morning and possibly through the weekend.

He knew from memory that there was a Midway car rental on Sunset near Book Soup. He looked it up on his phone and called to reserve a car. He knew it would be pressing his luck to continue following Hastings with a 1992 hunter green Cherokee. He needed to switch things up.

Ballard had called while he was on the phone with Midway and he had ignored it. He called her back after securing the rental reservation.

“Is that house you’re talking about on St. Ives?” she asked.

“Yep,” Bosch said. “What did you get?”

“The plate is registered to Rita Ford on St. Ives. She’s Pearlman’s political adviser. Short, white, long dark hair—that her?”

“I didn’t see her, because she pulled into the garage. Just got the plate.”

“Well, looks like we have a little interoffice relationship going. I wonder whether Pearlman knows. It could blow up on him if it ever goes sideways or becomes public knowledge.”

Bosch didn’t offer an opinion. He didn’t care about something that to him amounted to gossip.

“My gut tells me that Hastings is in for the night,” he said. “He may go home later but my guess is probably not. Not if they’re drinking a bottle of wine.”

“Good point,” Ballard said.

“So, you want me to stay or pick it up in the morning? I just rented a car. I’ll have a different look tomorrow in case you’re worried about the Cherokee.”

“That’s smart. You make the call. Leave if you want to.”

“I saw him holding a bottle of wine in the shop. I could go back and get it, drop it off so you can have them look for a palm print in the morning.”

“Wow, yes. Go get that bottle, Harry, and let’s hope nobody beat you to it.”

Bosch hesitated for a moment but then put words to something else he had been contemplating.

“And, you know, since he’s here with her …”

He stopped.

“What?” Ballard asked.

“I was thinking about his house,” Bosch said. “Maybe I could see if there’s something there.”

“Harry, don’t even think about it. You’re not a private eye anymore and we need to do this by the book. There are rules to surreptitious collection. The item collected must be discarded in public. Don’t go into his house. I mean it.”

“What if I swing by and just check the trash cans? The courts have ruled that trash is fair game.”

“If it’s out on a public street. So Harry, don’t go near his house. I want to hear you say you won’t.”

“I won’t go by his house, okay? It was just a suggestion.”

“A bad one.”

“Okay, so you’ll be home? I’m going to go get that bottle of wine.”

“I’ll be here.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Bosch pulled up in front of Ballard’s apartment complex in Los Feliz. Ballard was waiting in the street because he had given her a heads-up call. She had her dog, Pinto, on a leash at her side.

Bosch handed the bottle of Portlandia Pinot Noir out the window to her. It was in a brown paper bag from Almor Wine & Spirits.

“Tell them there could be a palm print on the front label,” he said. “He held it in his palm when he was reading the back label.”

“Got it.”

She opened the bag, pulled the bottle up by the neck, and studied the front label.

“Looks like good stuff,” she said.

“Must be,” Bosch said. “But too expensive for him. He went with something cheaper.”

“Rita Ford is not worth the good stuff—I wonder if she knows that.”

“There’s probably a lot she doesn’t know about Hastings.”

“Thanks for this, Harry. I’ll see who’s working tomorrow and take it in first thing. Maybe they’ll have something on the campaign button by then.”

“Let me know.”

“And I’ll add this to your expense report.”

She smiled and Bosch nodded.

“Yeah, put it on there,” he said.

Ballard stepped back and Bosch drove off.

He was in his daughter’s neighborhood. He decided to drive by her house, even though he assumed she was still working her mid-watch shift. The small house she shared with her boyfriend was dark. Bosch idled for a few moments and then drove on, pulling his phone up to call her.

The call went to message.

“Hey, Mads, just wanted to let you know I’m back in L.A. I’m around if you need anything or want to grab a coffee or a beer or dinner. Be safe. I love you.”