The Dark Hours (Harry Bosch #23)(45)

“Okay, let me go look,” he said.

He left the counter and disappeared into the warren of shelves lined with plastic binders, each one cataloging a life taken too soon and still with no justice in response.

Farley seemed to be taking a long time to locate the murder book. They were filed chronologically, so it seemed like it would be an easy errand to locate the 2013 shelves and find the John William James binder.

Ballard impatiently drummed her fingers on the counter.

“What the hell happened to him?” Bosch asked.

Ballard stopped drumming as some kind of realization came to her.

“It’s not there,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Bosch asked.

“I just realized. The Albert Lee book is gone, so why would they leave this one?”

“They? Who’s they?”

Before Ballard could come up with an answer, Farley returned from his errand without a murder book in his hands. Instead, he had a lined manila checkout card like the one Ballard had seen when she came for the Albert Lee book.

“It’s checked out,” Farley said.

“That makes me oh for two,” Ballard said. “Who checked it out?”

Farley read a name off the checkout card.

“Ted Larkin, Homicide Unit, Pacific Division. But it says he checked it out five years ago. That was before this place was even here. Like the other one you asked for.”

Ballard slapped a hand down on the counter. She could guess that it was probably checked out after Larkin had retired. Somebody had impersonated the lead detectives on the two cases to enter two different police stations and steal the murder books, leaving behind what would be viewed as plausible checkout cards.

“Let’s go,” Ballard said.

She turned from the counter and headed to the door. Bosch followed.

“Thanks, Farley,” she called over her shoulder.

Ballard marched down the wide hallway toward the main entrance, leaving Bosch struggling to keep up.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he called after her. “Where are you running? There’s nothing you — ”

“I want to get out of here,” Ballard said. “So we can talk outside.”

“Then we can only go as fast as I can go. So slow down.”

“Okay. I’m just fucking pissed off.”

Ballard slowed her pace and Bosch caught up.

“I mean, this is bullshit,” she said. “Somebody’s stealing murder books in our own damn department.”

The urgency of her voice caught the attention of two cadets walking by in the hall.

“Just wait,” Bosch said. “You said let’s talk outside.”

“Fine,” Ballard said.

She held her tongue until they were out the doors, down the steps, and heading across the parking lot to her car.

“They have somebody inside,” she said.

“Yeah, we know that.” Bosch said. “But who is ‘they’? The dentists? Or is there a go-between?”

“That’s the question,” Ballard replied.

They got in the Defender, and Ballard tore out of the parking lot like she was on a code 3 call. They drove in silence for a long time, until Ballard drove onto the entrance ramp of the 10 freeway.

“So, now what?” Bosch asked.

“We’re going to make one last stop,” Ballard said. “Then I need to go back to work on my other case. I told the victims I’d be calling.”

“That’s good. What stop are we making?”

“Dodger Stadium.”

“The academy? Why?”

“Not the academy. The stadium. I’m going to get you vaccinated, Harry. You’re eligible, and I get the feeling that if I don’t help you get it done, it will never happen.”

“Look, just take me home. I can get that done on my own time and not waste yours.”

“Nah, we’re going. Get it done now. Trust the science, Harry.” “I do. But there are a hell of a lot of people who deserve it ahead of me. Besides, you need an appointment.”

Ballard pulled the badge off her belt and held it up.

“Here’s your appointment,” she said.





18


After Ballard cleared roll call without being pulled into anything new she told the watch commander that she was going up to the Dell for a second interview with the latest victim of the Midnight Men. He told her to make sure she had a rover.

She could have handled Cindy Carpenter by phone, but face-to-face visits with victims were always better. Not only was it reassuring to them to see a detective in person, but there was a better chance of them sharing newly recalled details of the crime. The brain protects itself by switching to essential life support in a time of physical trauma. Only after safety returns do the full details of the trauma start to come back. Carpenter’s remembering having the sense that she was filmed or photographed was an example of this. Ballard was hoping that a continuation of the bond between detective and victim would emerge in this visit.

But Carpenter, still wearing her work polo with the Native Bean logo on it, answered the door with “What?”

“Hey, everything all right?” Ballard asked.

“Everything’s fine. Why do you keep coming back?”