The Night Fire (Renée Ballard, #3)(69)

“I think Kidd gave Dupree something. I want to see if I got it.”

“You were videoing?”

“Trying to. Let me check and I’ll hit you back.”

She disconnected and ten seconds later was at her van.

She sat and watched the video she had taken. The playback was jumpy but she had Kidd on the screen and Dupree in side profile at times. Even with the volume on Max she could not make out what was said until Kidd’s outburst—“I am not fucking around”—came through loud and clear.

She then watched as Kidd got up from the table and started walking toward the camera. His body partially obscured the angle, and the frame jostled as Ballard grabbed the phone to kill the camera. A split second before the recording ended, Kidd cleared enough of the frame to reveal the table he had just left. A white envelope was lying on the red-and-white-checked tablecloth at the spot he had vacated. It looked like a folded napkin for a place setting.

The video ended but Ballard knew that Dupree had then picked the envelope up.

She called Bosch back.

“I think Kidd gave Dupree some money. He left an envelope on the table and Dupree took it.”

“Money for what?”

“Let’s ask him.”





34


Ballard called the detective commander at South Bureau, explained who she was, and asked whether there was a free interview room she could borrow to talk to a local. The lieutenant said that all interview rooms were free at the moment and she was welcome to take her pick. She called Bosch back and said they were all set.

“Only one problem,” Bosch said.

“What’s that?” Ballard asked.

“I’m not a cop. They’re not going to let me waltz in there with you and a custody.”

“Come on, Harry—if anybody says cop, it’s you. But can you leave your cane in the car?”

“I didn’t even bring it.”

“Good, then we’re in business. Where are you? I want my rover so I can call in a traffic stop on Dupree.”

“I see your van. I’ll meet you there.”

“Dupree’s still not moving?”

“Still on the phone. And I can see it’s a flip.”

“A burner. Perfect. I wonder what he’s up to.”

“We should have someone on the wire.”

“But we don’t, and besides, I doubt he’s talking to Kidd. He just left him. They already talked.”

“Roger that.”

Ballard waited, and soon enough Bosch pulled up beside her and handed her the rover through the window. She called for a patrol unit to meet her at the corner where Dupree was still parked.

It was twenty minutes before a patrol unit shook loose of another call and arrived. All the while Dupree remained in his car, working his phone. Ballard flagged down the patrol car, badge in hand, and leaned down to look in at the two officers inside.

“Hey. Ballard, Hollywood Division.”

The patrol car’s driver did the talking. He wore short sleeves but had three hash marks tattooed on his left forearm. A veteran street copper who was serious about it. The other uni was a black woman who didn’t look old enough to have more than a few years on the job.

“You guys know Marcel Dupree, Rolling 60s?”

Both shook their heads.

“Okay, well, that’s him parked up the block in the black Chrysler 300 with the low profile. You see what I’m talking about?”

The driver’s name tag said DEVLIN. Ballard could guess what nicknames he had garnered over the years.

“Got it,” he said.

“Okay, he’s wanted on a child support warrant,” Ballard said. “That’s our in. Arrest him, take him to South Bureau, and put him in a room. I’ll take it from there.”

“Weapons?”

“I don’t know. I just saw him outside the car and he didn’t look like he was carrying. But he has a weapons record and he might have a piece in the car. I’m actually hoping so. Then we’d have something to really work with. He’s also got a burner he’s talking on right now. I want that.”

“You got it. Now?”

“Go get him. Be careful. Oh, and one other thing: when you pull him out, don’t let him close the car door.”

“Roger that.”

Ballard stepped back and the patrol car took off. She quickly went to her van, where Bosch was waiting. They got in and she pulled into traffic. She made a U-turn that brought a chorus of angry honks. She hit the flashers and sped down the street until she pulled in behind the patrol car. It had parked off the rear side of Dupree’s Chrysler at an angle that would make it difficult for him to flee in his car without hitting either the patrol car or the vehicle parked in front of him.

Devlin was standing at the driver’s door, speaking to Dupree through the open window. His partner was on the other side of the car in a ready stance, her hand on her holstered weapon.

Ballard and Bosch stayed in the van and watched, ready if needed.

“You carrying, Harry?” Ballard asked.

“Nope,” Bosch said.

“If you need it, I’ve got a backup under the dash behind the glove box. You just have to reach up under there.”

“Nice. Roger that.”