Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (77)

Laffont raised his hand like he was a student in a classroom.

“Tom?” Ballard said.

“What about his home and office?” Laffont asked. “Anything there?”

“Good question,” Ballard said. “Detectives from RHD spent almost all day Monday searching his house, office, and a storage unit he rented. They found nothing of evidentiary value. Most of you probably know he was married and had a young daughter, and it looks like he kept that part of his life separate. Needless to say, they remain in complete shock about all of this. It looks like Rawls kept his souvenirs in his office in Santa Monica and that was why he was there Sunday—to grab them and go. There was also a packed suitcase in the car. He was about to split.”

“Any idea where he was going?” Aghzafi asked.

“Not at the moment,” Ballard said. “There was nothing on his phone, in his pockets, or in the car indicating where he was going. His passport was in his pocket, so possibly Mexico or Canada. We think he was just trying to get out of Dodge after he realized that we were onto him.”

Ballard looked at everyone, expecting more questions.

“If that’s it, let’s get to it,” she said. “The elephant in the room is that Rawls was one of us, and the optics on that are not good. So let’s get on this and see if we can improve those optics by closing more cases. Let’s show them our value.”

Ballard sat back down while the others stood up to go to the interview room. All except Bosch. He waited till the others had filed into the room to look at the souvenirs, then spoke to Ballard from the other side of the wall.

“Keisha Russell was the one who called me a gunslinger at the press conference,” he said. “So I called her on it. I didn’t know she was back in town and back on the cop shop, and then I hear her voice calling me a gunslinger, just to get a rise out of the chief. And then … I let it slip. I said we had a fox in the henhouse because I knew from that press conference what they were going to do. They were going to just sweep that shit under the rug like they always do and … I didn’t think it out, Renée. I should’ve known it would come down on you, and I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Ballard nodded slightly. Not because Bosch had confirmed what she already knew, but because he had come clean with her and admitted it. The trust she thought was broken was now restored.

“It’s okay, Harry,” she said. “Just go in there and find something that closes a case for us.”

“You got it, boss,” he said.

She smiled.





42


BOSCH STOOD UP and looked over the privacy wall at Ballard. She was working on her computer, her fingers moving at an amazing speed as she typed, but he couldn’t see the screen to know what she was doing. She spoke without taking her eyes off her work, whatever it was.

“Did you find something in there to run with?” she asked.

“No, not yet,” Bosch said. “The others are still in there. I’ll check it out later, see what’s left. I was thinking about taking a drive up to Santa Monica first.”

“I just heard you on the phone asking about some kind of hauling schedule. Is it that?”

“Yeah. There’s something that’s been bothering me about what Rawls was doing Sunday.”

Ballard now looked up at him from her screen.

“What?” she asked.

“All right, just hear me out on this,” Bosch said. “On Sunday, when I drove by the alley and saw his car behind the shop, the trunk was open and he was nowhere to be seen.”

“Yeah, he was inside his office, gathering his souvenirs.”

“Right, we think he was doing that. And you said that after the shootout, the box of souvenirs was found in the trunk of his car and there was also a suitcase there.”

“Yeah, on the back seat.”

“Okay, so why’d he open the trunk before going inside the shop?”

Ballard shrugged.

“Because he knew he was bringing out the box,” she said.

“But would you open the trunk before you went inside?” Bosch said. “Or would you wait till you were coming out with the box? I mean, it wasn’t this big box he’d need two hands to carry.”

“I don’t know, Harry. I think you’re overthinking things.”

“Maybe. But when I saw you with the box today, it hit me. That box could have easily fit in the back with the suitcase or on the passenger seat next to him. Why’d he put it in the trunk?”

“Does it matter? It’s one of those things we’re never going to be able to nail down and know. A known unknown. Every case has them.”

“Yeah, but what if the trunk was open because he was taking things out? What if he was getting rid of stuff? Evidence, other souvenirs. He took it all from his house or his storage unit, wherever he had it, put it in the trunk, then drove to the shop, where the back alley was lined with dumpsters behind the businesses. Maybe I didn’t see him in the alley because my view was blocked by the dumpsters.”

“The hauling schedule. Have those dumpsters been emptied this week?”

“Not till tomorrow.”

“So you’re going to go dumpster diving.”

“It’s going to bother me if I don’t.”