The Dark Hours (Harry Bosch #23)(84)

“Hope so,” Bosch said.

They dropped back into silence and after a while she heard Bosch’s measured breathing. She looked over. He had just dropped his chin and gone to sleep. He still held his empty cup. That was a real skill.

She took out her phone and checked messages and texts. Garrett Single had emailed her the recording of their FaceTime call when he had checked to see whether Bonner was properly intubated during the field trach. Ballard cut the volume on her phone and started to watch it, but then stopped the playback when she realized she didn’t want to see Bonner.

Instead, she flipped over to her phone’s browser and went to the Wags and Walks website. She navigated to the page for Pinto, the dog she would soon meet. There were several photos of him taken at the shelter.

One short video showed the dog interacting with his foster caretakers. He seemed attentive and wanting to please but he also seemed wary and maybe scarred by past experience. Still, Ballard had a good feeling about Pinto. She couldn’t wait to meet him and take him home.

She closed the video when she heard a ping. At first she thought it was on Bosch’s phone. But then it sounded again and she realized it was coming from Bonner’s burner in the Ziploc, which was in her coat pocket. She pulled the bag out and managed to open the phone without taking it out of the plastic.

The text was just three letters: WTF?

Ballard looked at Bosch. He was still head down and asleep. She wanted to answer the text and attempt to draw the person texting Bonner to a meeting. She could use Bosch’s advice here — there were legal considerations to answering the text — but she didn’t want to wake him up.

Looking at the burner phone, she saw that the battery was running low and its charging port didn’t look like it would fit an iPhone charger. Soon the phone would become useless until charged.

On impulse she started typing a return text on the burner: Complications. Meet at the lab.

She waited and within a minute the phone started to buzz with a call from the number she had sent the text to. She declined the call and sent a new text.


Can’t talk. On the move.

She got an immediate text return:


What complications?

She immediately typed a response.


Tell you at crown. Y or N?

More than a minute went by, then:


When?

Without delay, she typed:


Now. Leave gate open.

She waited for a response but none came. She had to assume the meeting was on. She turned the key on the Mustang and then looked at Bosch. The thrum of the engine was bringing him up out of sleep. He opened his eyes.

“We’re on the move,” Ballard said. “I set up a meeting at Crown Labs.”

“With who?” Bosch said.

“I don’t know yet.”





35


The security gate at Crown Labs had been left open as instructed. There was a single car in the lot when Ballard and Bosch arrived. It was a Tesla Model S with a vanity plate that said 2th doc. Ballard parked close behind it so it could not leave.

“Let’s see if Hoyle was telling us the truth,” Ballard said.

She pulled the rover out of its charger and ran the plate through the com center. It came back as a corporate registration. The car was owned by a company called 2th-Doc LLC.

“That was one of the companies I traced ownership of the lab through,” Bosch said. “Jason Abbott is CEO.”

“There you go,” Ballard said.

They got out and approached the door with the cartoon tooth on it. Ballard could tell they were under a flight path to the Burbank Airport. There were no flights operating at this hour but the slight scent of jet fuel still hung in the air.

Ballard checked the roofline and noted the cameras at the front corners of the building and over the door. They would not be surprising anybody inside with their arrival.

The door was unlocked. Ballard opened it and went through first, Bosch close behind her. They stepped into a small empty reception area that appeared to be a place for receiving deliveries of lab supplies, not people. It was totally silent.

Ballard looked at Bosch. He nodded toward a darkened hallway behind the reception counter. Ballard pulled the gun she had borrowed from Bosch out of her belt holster and held it down at her side as she moved around the counter.

The overhead lights of the hallway were off but Ballard saw no switch on the wall for turning them on. There were several open doors that led to darkened spaces and one lighted entranceway on the left near the end of the hallway. Ballard moved slowly past the first doorway. She reached in and ran her hand up the interior wall where she thought a light switch might be. She found it, and overhead lights came on, revealing the room to be a large lab with several workstations and assorted equipment and supplies for building dental implants and crowns.

She moved along the hallway, becoming increasingly aware of their precarious position and exposure there.

“LAPD,” she called out. “Jason Abbott, show yourself.”

There was a long silence followed by what sounded like a muffled scream from the end of the hallway. Ballard started moving swiftly toward the lighted door, raising the gun up in a two-handed grip.

“LAPD!” she yelled. “Coming in!”

She crouched low as she went through the door. She could hear Bosch’s steps right behind her.