The Dark Hours (Harry Bosch #23)(37)

“I know it was. I saw them up here with their van. How many BSL guys does it take to unscrew a streetlight? I guess the answer’s two. They were here and then that night it never came on.”

Ballard had been pointing her light at the ground. She now pointed the beam back at the access plate at the base of the streetlight.

“They were working on it here?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Kersey said. “By the time I grabbed Frederic and got up here, they were turning around to leave. I waved at them but they just drove on by me.”

“Did you get a look at either one of them?”

“Not really. The guy driving was white. He had red hair, I remember that.”

“What about the other guy?”

He shook his head.

“I was just looking at the driver, I guess.”

“Tell me about their van. What color was it?”

“It was white. Just a van.”

“Were there markings on it — like Bureau of Street Lighting or a city seal or anything?”

“Uh … yeah, I saw it. BSL — right on the door when they blew by me.”

“You mean you saw the letters — BSL?”

“Yeah, right on the door.”

“And could you tell what kind of van it was?”

“Not really. One of their work vans.”

“For example, did it have a flat front like the old-style vans with the engines between the front seats? Or more like a sloping front — like the newer vans have?”

“Yes, sloping front. It looked new.”

“What about windows? Did it have windows running down the sides, or was it what they call a panel van?”

“Panel. You really know your vans, Detective.”

“It’s come up before.”

She didn’t bother mentioning that she had owned several vans in her life when she was carrying multiple surfboards around.

Ballard put her light on the plate at the bottom of the post again. She could see that two screws held it in place. She had a basic set of tools in her kit bag in the car.

“Mr. Kersey, where do you live?” she asked.

“Just down at the end,” he said. “At the intersection.”

He gave a specific address and pointed four houses down to the residence at the next streetlight. Ballard realized it was one of the houses where no one had answered her knock earlier in the day.

“Were you out earlier today?” she asked. “I knocked on your door.”

“I was at the store, yes,” he said. “Otherwise, I was home. Why’d you knock? What’s this about?”

“There was a break-in on the street last night. I’m investigating. The light might have been put out by the perpetrators.”

“Oh, my. Whose home?”

Ballard pointed to the Carpenter house.

“That one.”

“And things had just started to settle down there, too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, there was a guy living there. He was loud, always yelling, throwing stuff around. A hothead is what I’d call him. Then I think she kicked him out, and things got quiet again. Peaceful.”

Ballard nodded. She was realizing how lucky she was that Kersey had taken his dog out while she was on the street. His information was important.

“You didn’t happen to notice anything unusual in the neighborhood last night, did you?” she asked.

“Last night … I don’t think so,” Kersey said.

“Nothing at all after eight or so?”

“Nothing comes to mind. Sorry, Detective.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Kersey. I’m going to go get some tools out of my car, which I parked at the cul-de-sac. I need to open that plate up. I’ll be right back.”

“I probably should be putting Frederic to bed. He gets tired, you know.”

Ballard asked him for his phone number in case she wanted to follow up with any questions or show him photos of vans.

“Thank you, Mr. Kersey,” she said. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Detective,” Kersey said. “Good night and stay safe.”

He turned and headed back down the street, murmuring words of comfort to the dog in his arms.

Ballard walked up the street to her car, got in, and drove it down to where the darkened streetlight was. She popped the trunk and opened the plastic mini tool set she kept in the kit bag. After pulling on gloves, she returned to the streetlight with a screwdriver and quickly removed the access plate. The screws were tight but turned easily. It was not what she expected for something that was essentially an antique. She noticed a faded manufacturer tag on the plate that said Pacific Union Metal Division.

Once she had removed the plate, she pointed the beam into the opening and saw a tangle of wires hanging from a metal conduit that she assumed ran up the post to the light assembly. One of the wires had been cut, its copper center still shining brightly in the flashlight beam. The copper was not degraded or oxidized at all, indicating that it had been freshly cut.

Ballard had no doubt. The Midnight Men had cut the wire and killed the light on Wednesday before coming back Thursday night to break into Cindy Carpenter’s house to rape her. They had been as unlucky with Jack Kersey as she had been lucky. He had seen them and he knew something about streetlights. His basic description of the van driver having red hair matched Cindy’s description of one of her attackers.