The Dark Hours (Harry Bosch #23)(72)



After dropping off the bullet that killed Javier Raffa at the Ballistics Unit, Ballard drove to Outpost and located the streetlight in question. She stopped the car at the curb to get out and take a closer look. It was an acorn-style light like those in the Dell. She saw no obvious signs of tampering on the access plate at the bottom of the post. The light was located directly across the street from the house from which the complaint had come. The woman who lived there and had called in the complaint was named Abigail Cena. The house was what Ballard always called a Spanish rambler. It was one level and spread wide, with a red barrel-tile roof and a white stucco facade. There were bushes and other vegetation lining the front, going beneath every window. There was also an attached garage that reminded Ballard of Cindy Carpenter’s house and the suspected access route of the men who assaulted her.

Ballard first called the Forensics Unit to request that the print car come out and process the streetlight’s access plate. She then called Matt Neumayer and told him about the call from Carl Schaeffer at the BSL yard.

“What do you think?” Neumayer asked. “Are they changing things up? This MO doesn’t fit.”

“I can’t tell,” Ballard said. “But we also have to consider that if this is them, it may have already happened over this past weekend. That they hit two women, and the streetlight’s just been reported now.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. It could be a nonreported case.”

“I can come out and sit on the neighborhood tonight — not being obvious about it — but I have to get some downtime now. I’m running on fumes. I was thinking your crew could run down who lives in the neighborhood, maybe determine if this Abigail Cena lives alone or if any other women do in this immediate quad of homes.”

“Yeah, we’ll do it. You go get some sleep. And don’t worry about tonight. I know you’re off. If we want to stake the place, we’ll set it up. Maybe I should get Lisa used to working nights.”

That told Ballard that Robinson-Reynolds had not told Neumayer that he was rescinding Moore’s reassignment to the late show. She felt bad about holding it as a secret from a good guy like Neumayer, but she was bound by the order from the lieutenant. And she wanted no part in the command games he was playing.

“Roger that,” Ballard said. “Shoot me an email if you set it up. I’d just like to know what’s happening.”

“You got it, Renée. Pleasant dreams.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about — Oh, wait, did Lisa and Ronin pick up the other Lambkin surveys?”

“They’re out now getting them. They went together rather than split up.”

“Got it. Well, let me know about that too. It would be nice if we found a triple cross with all three of them.”

“Would make our job easier.”

“Roger that.”

Ballard disconnected and decided she had to stop using “Roger that” as a sign-off. It was getting old. As she was leaning forward to turn the key in the ignition, she saw movement to her left and turned to see the garage door at Abigail Cena’s house going up.

There was a silver Mercedes G-wagon in the bay and soon she saw its brake lights flare, followed by its reverse lights. The Mercedes backed out of the garage and then the big door rolled back down. Ballard could only see a silhouette of the driver because of the tinting of the windows, but she thought the hair profile indicated a woman. The Mercedes backed into the street and then headed down to the traffic signal at Franklin two blocks away.

Ballard was dead tired but her investigator’s curiosity — both a blessing and a curse — got the better of her. She made a U-turn and followed the G-wagon. She wanted to get a look at Abigail Cena — if it was her — and see if she fit the victim profile established with the first three victims of the Midnight Men.

She trailed the Mercedes east on Franklin toward Los Feliz. Ballard thought that at least she would be near home when this little exercise ended.

A call came in on her cell from an unknown number. She answered with a simple hello since she was technically off duty.

“Detective Ballard, Ross Bettany, West Bureau Homicide. We need to get together so I can pick up that gangbanger case and see what you’ve got.”

Ballard paused to compose an answer.

“I just left the autopsy and it’s not a gangbanger case.”

“I was told the guy was Las Palmas.”

“Was. He got out of the gang a long time ago. This wasn’t a gang thing.”

“Well, my last two were, so this will be a welcome change. When can we get together? My partner, Denise Kirkwood, is out today — added a vacay day to the weekend — but back tomorrow. Maybe we could come see you then?”

Ballard was relieved. She needed to get some sleep. She saw the Mercedes she was following turn off Franklin into the parking lot of the Gelson’s supermarket at Canyon Drive. A little charge of adrenaline sparked in her exhaustion because she knew from Cindy Carpenter’s Lambkin survey that she shopped at this Gelson’s as did one of the other victims.

“Tomorrow would be good,” Ballard said. “I’m heading home to sleep for the first time in about twenty-four hours. What time? Where?”

“We’ll come see you at Hollywood,” Bettany said. “Then we can go scope things out, pick up where you left off. How is nine at Hollywood Division? Will you have gotten enough sleep?”

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