The Night Fire (Renée Ballard, #3)(98)

It was another question out of the blue but Wells answered.

“I know I should,” she said. “But it doesn’t seem to matter in California.”

“So you’re not registered to vote,” Bosch said.

“Not really,” Wells answered. “But why do you ask me that? What does it have to do with—”

“We think the person who stole your ID may have impersonated you during jury duty,” Bosch said. “You have to be registered to vote to be included in the jury pool. She may have registered to vote as you and then gotten picked for jury duty.”

“God, I wonder if she made me a Republican or a Democrat.”

Back in the car Bosch and Ballard talked it out before making their next move.

“We need to get the address off her voter registration,” Bosch said.

“It will tell us where the jury notice would have gone.”

“I can handle that,” Ballard said. “But what are we thinking here? This whole setup—this hit—relied on the killer getting a jury summons? That seems … I don’t know. Like a long shot, if you ask me.”

“Yes, but maybe not as long as you think. My daughter got a jury summons less than two months after she registered to vote. It’s supposed to be random selection. But every time they pull out a new pool of jurors, they winnow out those who have recently served, or who haven’t responded to summons in the past and have been referred for action. So the new voter has a better chance than others to get the call.”

Ballard nodded in a way that showed she was unconvinced.

“We also don’t know how long this was planned or how it was planned,” Bosch continued. “Laurie gets her wallet stolen last year and maybe they applied for the full setup. A voter registration card could be useful in a scam as a second ID. The thief could have had this idea for a long time and then things fell into place.”

“We have to find out whether there’s a connection between Devil’s Den and Batman Butino.”

“And talk to the detective with Metro Vegas. See how much he tracked this.”

“Maybe he got photos or video of the phony Laurie Lee Wells,” said Ballard. “What else?”

“We need to talk to Orlando Reyes,” Bosch said. “He interviewed her.”

“That’s what I don’t get. She killed the judge and then just reported for jury duty? Why? Why didn’t she get the hell out of there?”

“To complete the job.”

“What does that mean?”

“To complete the cover. If she had walked in one door of the courthouse and out the other, they would have known it was her. She stayed around so Reyes could find her, interview her, and move on.”

“It’s like buying the Tito’s vodka. She could have done it anywhere, but she bought it two blocks from where Banks was murdered—and at a place she knew had cameras that we would eventually get to. I said this to Olivas and the others. There is a psychology there. She’s a show-off. I think she gets off on hiding in plain sight. I don’t know why but it’s there.”

Bosch nodded. He believed Ballard was correct in her assessment.

“It will be interesting to hear Reyes’s take on her,” he said.

“I thought those guys weren’t talking to you,” Ballard said. “Maybe I should take Reyes.”

“No. You do and the case gets grabbed by them and RHD. Let me do it. When I explain that this could end up being very embarrassing for him, I think he’ll agree to meet me off campus and talk.”

“Perfect. You take him and I’ll work on the other stuff.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, my badge gives me better access on all of it. You take Reyes, I’ll take the rest.”

Bosch started the Jeep so he could get her back to her own car in Hollywood.

“And we also need to figure out how to approach Clayton Manley,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

“I thought you said he was onto you,” Ballard said. “You’re not thinking about going back in there posing as a client, are you?”

“No, that’s burned. But if I can get Manley somewhere by himself, I might be able to lay it on the line for him and make him see that his options are dwindling.”

“I’d like to be there for that.”

“I want you there showing off your badge and gun. Then he’ll know his ass is hanging out there in the wind.”

“The times you were with him in his office …”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t do anything I need to know about, right? Nothing that could cause blowback on the case?”

Bosch thought about what he should tell her. About what he did and what could be proved that he did.

“The only thing I did was read an e-mail that came up on his screen,” he finally said. “I told you this before. It was when he left the room to make copies. I heard a ding and looked at his e-mail and it was from his boss, Michaelson, calling him a fool for letting a fox into the henhouse. That sort of thing.”

“And you’re the fox.”

“I’m the fox.”

“And that’s it?”

“Well, then I deleted it.”

“You deleted the message?”