The Night Fire (Renée Ballard, #3)(80)

“Yeah, well, fuck that. There is no valid reason for this.”

“No, there isn’t. Just be careful about going back to Talis.”

“Why should I? Don’t tell me you’re sticking up for that old-school bullshit.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just thinking about the case. Selma Robinson might have to bring him down to testify. You don’t want to turn him into a hostile witness for the prosecution.”

“Right. I didn’t think about that. And sorry about that ‘old-school’ crack, Harry. I know you’re not like that.”

“Good.”

They were both quiet again for a long moment before Bosch spoke.

“So who do you think redacted the report in the murder book?” he asked. “And why?”

“Talis will never own up to it now,” Ballard said. “But my guess is they interviewed Hilton’s mother and stepfather, were told the real father was Thompson, and put it in the report. They inform Thompson and he asks them to wipe all mention of it out of the murder book. You know—professional courtesy, scumbag to scumbag.”

Bosch thought that was a harsh assessment, even while feeling that what John Jack had done to his own son was unforgivable.

“Or it was in the book all along and Thompson did it after he stole it,” Ballard added. “Maybe that was why he stole it. To make sure any mention of the biological father’s identity was removed or redacted.”

“Then why not just throw the book away or destroy it?” Bosch asked. “Then there would be no chance any of this would ever come to surface.”

“We’ll never know about that. He died with that secret.”

“I’m hoping there was still enough detective in him to think someone would get the book after he was gone and look into the case.”

“That someone being you.”

Bosch was silent.

“You know what I wonder?” Ballard said. “Whether Thompson even knew about the kid before the murder. You have an unwed mother. Did she tell him? Or did she just go off and have the kid and put his name on the birth certificate? Maybe Thompson never knew till Talis and Hunter came around on the case and asked him about it.”

“It’s a possibility,” Bosch said.

More silence followed as both detectives contemplated the angles on this part of the case. Bosch knew there were always unanswered questions in every murder, every investigation. Those who were naive called them loose ends, but they were never loose. They stuck with him, clinging to him as he moved on, sometimes waking him up in the night. But they were never loose and he could never get free of them.

“Okay, I’m gonna go,” Bosch finally said. “My kid’s only free till seven and I want to get down there.”

“Okay, Harry,” Ballard said. “I forgot to ask. Did you go down there Saturday night?”

“I did. It was all clear.”

“Well, I guess that’s good.”

“Yeah. So let me know how it goes tomorrow with Kidd. Think he’ll talk?”

“I don’t know. You?”

“I think he’s one of those guys who will waive but then won’t say a thing of value and will try to work you to see what you’ve got on him.”

“Probably. I’ll be ready for that.”

“And don’t forget his wife. She either knows everything or doesn’t know anything, and either way you might be able to work some good stuff out of her.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I had this case once. Arrested the guy on an old one-eighty-seven and at the preliminary the judge held him over but said the evidence was so thin he was going to set a low bail till the trial. So the guy makes bail and proceeds to do everything he can to delay the trial: he fires lawyers right and left, and every new guy asks the judge for more prep time. It goes on and on like that.”

“Enjoy your freedom as long as you can.”

“Right. I mean, why not if you’re out and about on bail? So enjoying his freedom includes meeting this woman and marrying her, apparently never telling her, ‘Oh by the way, baby, someday, eventually, I have to go on trial for murder.’ So—”

“No! You’re kidding?”

“No, this is what he did. I found out after. And so finally, four years into all of these delays, the judge has had enough, says no more delays, and the guy finally goes to trial. But he’s still out on bail and he had a shirt-and-tie job—he was like a Realtor or something. So every day he put on his suit and tie at home and told his wife he was going to work, but he was really going to his own murder trial and keeping it a secret from her. He was hoping he’d get a Not Guilty and she would never know.”

“What happened?”

“Guilty. Bail revoked on the spot and he’s taken away to jail. Can you imagine that? You get a collect call from your husband at the county jail and he says, ‘Honey, I won’t be home for dinner—I just got convicted of murder.’”

Ballard started laughing.

“Men are devious,” Bosch said.

“No,” Ballard said. “Everybody’s devious.”

“But I always wish I’d known the wife had been kept in the dark. Because I think I could have used that. You know—talked to her, enlightened her, maybe gotten her on my side, and who knows what would’ve come out. It’s a funny story but I always thought I should’ve known.”