Desert Star (Renée Ballard, #5; Harry Bosch Universe, #36) (89)

“What do you mean?” Oscar asked.

“Was your brother in Vineland Boyz?”

“No, but you people at the trial sure tried to make it look that way.”

“What I’m getting at is, where do Vineland Boyz get their chains?”

Oscar didn’t answer, his hesitation rooted in the gang rule about talking about the gang to the police. It could get him killed.

“Do you know what provenance means?” Ballard asked. “Besides having your mother identify the bracelet as your brother’s, I may need to establish where Jorge got it. Then I would have two confirmations when I go to the District Attorney’s Office.”

“He was not a gangster,” Oscar said. “He was an artist.”

Ballard knew from the review of the case file that the prosecution presented photos of street art attributed to Jorge Ochoa and used it to suggest gang affiliation. It was an underhanded way of tilting a jury’s view of him.

“I’ll leave you my card,” Ballard said. “If you think of anything, maybe a local store where Jorge might have gotten the bracelet, call me.”

“I don’t talk to the policía,” Oscar said.

“Even if it might help your brother prove he didn’t kill Olga?”

Oscar was silent on that question. Ballard looked at his mother.

“Gracias, se?ora,” she said. “Estaré en contacto.”

As soon as she was back in her car, Ballard pulled her phone and called Harry Bosch. Adrenaline had started coursing through her veins the moment Jorge Ochoa’s mother recognized the bracelet. Ballard needed to tell someone about the twist the case was now taking and Bosch was her first choice.

But the call once again went directly to message.

“Harry, it’s me again. Where the hell are you? Things are happening fast and I need you on Rawls. I’ve connected another case to him, and get this, somebody’s in prison for a murder Rawls committed. I’m sure of it. I need you to call me back as soon as you get this.”

She disconnected and sighed in frustration. But soon her annoyance with Bosch turned to concern. He was old and not in the best health. Besides inflicting the obvious injuries, the crash on Sunday had seemed to take something out of him.

Ballard opened up her contacts list on her phone and called Bosch’s daughter. He had previously mentioned that Maddie was working a mid-watch shift, so she figured she should be neither asleep nor at work.

Maddie Bosch answered promptly.

“Maddie, it’s Renée Ballard.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Uh, have you talked to your dad lately? We’re supposed to be working on something and I can’t seem to reach him.”

“Well, I saw him Tuesday when we had lunch and then I dropped him off to pick up a rental car. But I haven’t talked to him since then. What’s—”

“I’m sure everything is fine, but I really need to talk to him. Do you mind doing something for me? He once told me that you let him track your phone and you track his. Is it still that way?”

“Yes. So you want me to see where he’s at?”

“That would help, if you don’t mind. I really need him on a case I’m working.”

“Hold on.”

Ballard waited while Maddie used her phone to check her father’s location by tracking his cell phone.

“Um … okay, I have him at the OPG lot at West Bureau. No, wait, that’s old. His phone must be off or the battery’s dead. That’s from Sunday night, and it’s the last location I have.”

Ballard put two and two together. The official police garage would have been where they took Bosch’s car after the Rawls incident Sunday.

“It’s in his car,” she said. “He was talking to me when his car got hit by Rawls, and the phone went flying. His phone must still be in the car and the battery probably died Sunday night.”

“So then where is he?” Maddie asked, starting to sound worried.

The middle ground between concern and panic had entered Ballard’s thinking.

“I don’t know,” Ballard said. “Does he still have a landline at the house?”

“He does,” Maddie said. “Let me call it, and either he or I will call you right back.”

They disconnected and Ballard sat in the car and waited, knowing that her next move would be dictated by who called her back.

When the call came in a minute later, it was from Maddie.

“He didn’t answer. I left a message but now I’m worried.”

“When do you go in today?”

“I’m actually off.”

“Do you have a key to Harry’s house? I think we should check it out.”

“I have a key. When?”

“I’m up in the Valley. I could get there in about thirty minutes tops.”

“Okay, it will take me the same. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay. If you get there first, maybe you should wait for me before going in.”

“We’ll see.”

“Well, I’m on my way.”

They disconnected and Ballard started the car. Her tires squealed on the asphalt as she pulled out. She wanted to get to Bosch’s house before his daughter did.