The Dark Hours (Harry Bosch #23)(75)

Ballard did as instructed and felt the tube break through and into the windpipe.

“Okay, I’m in. Does he just start breathing, or what?”

“No, you have to get him started. Breathe into the tube. Check his chest, make sure it’s rising. Not too hard. Be gentle.”

Ballard jumped off Bonner and moved to his side. She gently blew into the tube and saw his chest rise.

“Okay,” she said.

“All right, watch his chest,” Single said. “You want to see if he breathes on his own.”

“It went down, that’s it.”

“Try it again, try it again.”

Ballard repeated the procedure, with no result.

“Nothing. Trying again.”

“You may have to breathe for him until the rescue gets there.”

Ballard tried again and then crouched low so she could watch the profile of Bonner’s chest. She saw it go down as air escaped through the tube. But then it rose again on its own.

“I think … he’s breathing. Yes, he’s breathing.”

“Well done, Detective. How’s his color?”

Ballard looked at Bonner’s face. The purple was leaching out of it. Fresh blood was circulating.

“It’s good. It’s getting there.”

“Okay, what I want you to do is call me back on FaceTime so I can look at him. Can you do that?”

Ballard disconnected the call without replying and then called back on FaceTime. While she waited for the call to go through, she reached up to the top of the bed table to grab her handcuffs. She snapped one cuff around Bonner’s right wrist and clamped the other around the metal bed frame half a foot away.

She looked down at Bonner. His eyes were slits and he showed no sign of being conscious, but there was no doubt that he was breathing. There was a low whistling sound coming from the tube she had inserted into his neck.

Single answered the call and Ballard saw his face. It looked like he was outside, and she could see the yellow brick of the fire station behind him.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “Are you okay?”

For the first time, Ballard remembered the barrel of the gun being dragged down her chin. She brought her hand up to touch the wound and felt blood.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Take a look at him.”

She flipped the camera so Single could see Bonner on the floor. She could now hear sirens but was unsure whether they were on her end of the call or Single’s.

“You see him?”

“Yes. Uh, it looks good. Actually, it looks perfect. He’s breathing and his color is good. You got rescue on the way?”

“Yeah, I think I hear them now.”

“Yeah, that’s them. They’re coming. Who is this guy? You handcuffed him?”

“I just did that in case he woke up. I was sleeping and he broke in. He was going to kill me with my own gun — I think to make it look like suicide.”

“Jesus, why?”

“He’s a murder suspect. Somehow he found out I was onto him and where I live.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah.”

Ballard tried to think of how Bonner could have known about her and the investigation. The easy answer was Dennis Hoyle. She had spooked Hoyle, and he in turn sent Bonner after her. That reminded her — Bosch had been there as well.

“Listen, Garrett, I need to make another call,” she said. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

“I don’t know if I should have, if this guy was trying to kill you,” he said.

Ballard smiled.

“That might be the sweetest thing anybody’s ever said to me. I’ll call you later.”

“I’m here. And Renée, I’m glad you’re okay.”

After hanging up, Ballard immediately called Bosch. He picked up, and there was no indication of stress in his voice.

“Harry, you’re okay?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Because Bonner just tried to take me out. He’s on the floor of my apartment.”

“Give me the address. I’m on my way.”

“No, it’s handled. But you’re okay? I thought maybe he went to you first.”

“All good. You sure you’re safe?”

“Yeah. I almost killed him. But I’ve got people coming. You stay back but be ready. After I clear this, I want to pay a visit to Dr. Hoyle.”

“I want to be there for that.”

Ballard disconnected. She heard the sirens cut off in front of the building. She knew she had to work quickly. She crouched down and started going through the pockets of Bonner’s pants. She found a phone that looked like a cheap convenience-store burner in one pocket and a small leather wallet holding a set of lockpicks — Bonner’s way into the apartment — in another. There was no vehicle key or anything else.

She put the pick set back in the pocket where she found it but buried the phone under the junk in the bed table drawer. The rattle of jewelry and other belongings made Bonner stir. There was a louder sound of rushing air from the breathing tube and he opened his eyes as Ballard pulled back from the drawer. He made a move to raise his upper body but then quickly stopped as he sensed something was wrong. He tried to move his right hand but it was cuffed to the bed frame. He brought his left hand up to his throat and found the protruding tube.