Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (59)

Bosch nodded.

“Let’s hope Darcy comes through,” he said.

Ballard leaned back and looked out the window into the waiting hall. Union Station was one of the city’s lasting beauties.

“Think how many people have come through this place to get to this city, Harry,” she said. “People like Laura Wilson, bringing their hopes and dreams.”

“She came from Chicago by train?” Bosch asked.

“She kept a journal. It was in the murder book. She took the train to save money. It took two days and she saw the Rocky Mountains. Then she got here and got killed. How fucking unfair was that?”

“Murder is never fair. I’d like to read that journal.”

“I have it at my desk at Ahmanson.”

Bosch joined her in looking out the window into the hall. Dozens of people from all walks of life moved across the Spanish-tile floor, either heading away from L.A. or having arrived at their destination, suitcases and dreams in hand. He pictured Laura Wilson arriving and moving wide-eyed through the great hall to the doors that opened to the City of Angels. She could not have known that it was her final destination.





31


THE OCEAN WAS as smooth as a fitted sheet on a bed. Ballard had brought both surfboard and paddleboard with her so she would be ready for any kind of surface. She had found a parking spot on the Pacific Coast Highway at the west end of La Costa Beach in Malibu and was close enough to the water to be able to tell it was a paddle day. This was good. It meant Pinto would get to ride with her rather than being leashed to a tent pole while she rode the bigger waves.

It was a Sunday but early enough that the beach was not crowded. Ballard opened the Defender’s hatch and sat on the tail while working on her wet suit. Pinto was still in his travel crate next to her.

She was just about to slide her phone into its waterproof case, when it started to buzz. The caller was Darcy Troy and Ballard’s pulse quickened.

“Darcy, give me the good news,” Ballard said.

This was met with silence.

“Darcy? Hello?”

“I’m here. And I don’t have good news, Renée. We got a good sample from the cup, and I’m sorry but it is no match to the two previous cases.”

Now it was Ballard who went silent. She had fully invested in Hastings as their guy.

“Renée, you still there?”

“I don’t understand. He’s the guy. He lost a kidney. He’s been shaky on his stories. I can’t believe this. Are you sure, Darcy? Could there be some kind of mistake?”

“No, no mistake. I’m sorry. But what do you mean when you say he lost a kidney?”

“We have his VA records. Three years after the Laura Wilson murder, he had a radical neph-whatever-you-call-it.”

“Nephrectomy. Removal of a kidney. But that doesn’t mean he had kidney disease. He could have donated a kidney. I mean, I’d have to look at the medical records or get somebody more qualified to look, but—”

“Oh, shit. We didn’t—I need to call Harry Bosch. Darcy, you’re a genius. I’ll call you later. And thanks so much for giving up your weekend for this.”

Ballard disconnected. She immediately called Bosch and started unzipping her wet suit as she waited for him to answer.

“Ballard. What’s up?”

“Good and bad news. The DNA from Hastings does not match the case DNA.”

“Is that the good or bad news?”

“The bad. The good news is that he could have donated a kidney to a friend or relative. And that person would be the one with kidney disease and could be our new suspect.”

Bosch was silent.

“Harry?”

“Just thinking. We don’t have much of a choice. We have to go to Hastings.”

“Follow the kidney.”

Ballard smiled but heard no reaction from Bosch.

“That was supposed to be funny, Harry.”

“Yeah, I know. So, where are you?”

“Well, I was about to go paddling. I’m in Malibu.”

“Do you want to wait till tomorrow?”

“Not really. We have new momentum. Let’s go see him.”

“If we can find him.”

“Well, we know where he lives and works and where he’s been shacking up. I can also just call him.”

“I think it would be better if he doesn’t know we’re coming. You never know, he could call somebody if he knows why we’re coming.”

“Agreed.”

“When?”

“I can get back in an hour. I’ll change, drop off the dog, and then come get you. Let’s say noon.”

“I’ll be ready.”

They disconnected and Ballard finished peeling off her wet suit. She looked at Pinto in his crate.

“Sorry, boy,” she said. “Mom’s gotta go to work. We’ll come back next week and get on the water. I promise.”

She threw her wet suit into the back of the SUV and put her sweats back on over her one-piece. She turned and looked back at the ocean. She saw the silhouette of Catalina emerging on the horizon through the marine layer. It was going to be a clear and hot day.

“Damn,” she said.





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