The Dark Hours (Harry Bosch #23)(30)

The printer was not only old, it was loud.

“Nope,” Ballard called back.

“Then I’ll use the heavy-duty stuff,” Bosch said.

Ballard got up and went to the slider leading to the deck.

“Can I go on the deck?”

“Sure.”

She opened the door and stepped out. She removed her mask so she could breathe freely. At the railing she saw sparse traffic down on the 101, and it was clear that the multilevel parking garage at Universal City was empty. The amusement park was closed due to the pandemic.

She heard the printer stop. Putting her mask back on, she went inside again. After making sure everything had printed, she disconnected her laptop and shut it down. She stood up and was about to tell Bosch never mind the coffee, when he came out of the kitchen with a steaming cup for her.

“Black, right?” he asked.

“Thanks,” Ballard said, accepting the cup.

She pulled her mask down and turned away from Bosch to sip the hot liquid. It was scorching and strong. She imagined she could already feel the caffeine coursing through her body while it was still going down.

“That’s good,” she said. “Thanks.”

“It’ll keep you going,” Bosch said.

Ballard’s phone started to buzz. She unclipped it and checked the screen. It was a 323 number but no name came up.

“I think I should take this,” she said.

“Sure,” Bosch said.

She connected.

“This is Detective Ballard.”

“Detective, it’s Cindy Carpenter. I got the survey thing you sent and I’ll work on it. But I just remembered something.”

Ballard knew that often a crime victim had details of the event emerge hours and sometimes days after the experience. This was a natural part of processing the trauma, even though in court defense lawyers often had a field day accusing victims of conveniently manufacturing memories to fit the evidence against the defendant.

“What did you remember?” Ballard asked.

“I must’ve blocked this out at first,” Carpenter said. “But I think they took my picture.”

“Which picture are we talking about?”

“No, I mean a photo. They took my photo … you know, when they were raping me.”

“Why do you think this, Cindy?”

“Because when, you know, they were making me do oral, one of them grabbed my hair and tilted my head back for a few seconds and sort of held it. It was like he was posing me. Like some kind of a sick selfie.”

Ballard shook her head, though Carpenter could not see this. She felt it was likely that Carpenter had accurately guessed what the rapists were doing. She thought maybe this was the reason behind the masking of the victims as well as the ski masks. They didn’t want the victims to know the attacks were photographed or possibly recorded. This opened a new set of questions as to why the rapists were doing this but it still advanced Ballard’s thinking on their MO.

And it renewed her resolve to catch these two men, no matter what help she got or did not get from Lisa Moore.

“Are you there, Renée?” Carpenter said. “Can I call you Renée?”

“Sorry, I’m here — and yes, please call me Renée,” Ballard said. “I was just writing that down. I think you’re right and it’s a good detail to know. It helps us a lot. We find that photo on their phone or computer, then they go away. It’s ironclad evidence, Cindy.”

“Well, then good, I guess.”

“I know it’s another painful thing but I’m glad you remembered it. I’ll be writing up a crime summary that I’ll want you to review and I’ll put it in.”

“Okay.”

“Now, on the survey I just sent you. There’s a section where it asks you to make a list of anybody you know who might want to hurt you for whatever reason. That’s very important, Cindy. Think hard about that. Both people you know and people you don’t really know. An angry customer at the coffee shop, someone who thinks you offended them in some way. That list is important.”

“You mean, I should do that first?”

“Not necessarily. But I want you to be thinking about it. There is something vindictive about this. With the photo and the cutting of your hair. All of that.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Then I’ll talk to you tomorrow to see how you’re doing with your homework.”

Carpenter was silent and Ballard felt that her attempt to inject humor with the homework angle had fallen flat. There was no humor to be found in this situation.

“Uh, anyway, I know you have to work early tomorrow,” Ballard continued clumsily. “But see what you can get done and I’ll check in with you in the afternoon.”

“Okay, Renée,” Carpenter said.

“Good,” Ballard said. “And Cindy? You can call me anytime you want. Goodbye now.”

Ballard disconnected and looked at Bosch.

“That was the victim. She thinks they took a photo during the oral cop.”

Bosch’s eyes went off her as he registered this and filed it in his knowledge of the evil things men do.

“That changes things some,” he said.

“Yes,” Ballard said. “It does.”