Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(32)

“He got caught in a rip,” Aaron whispered back. “Took me too long to get out of it once I got him on the board. Shit, the warning signs were out, up and down the beach.”

Aaron sat forward when he saw the EMTs react to getting a pulse on the victim. They started moving quickly and transferred the man to the stretcher.

“Let’s help them,” Ballard said.

She and Hayes moved across the sand and took sides on the stretcher behind the EMTs. They lifted and moved quickly across the sand to the parking lot, where the ambulance waited. One of the EMTs carried his share of the weight one-handed while continuing to squeeze the air bag.

Three minutes later the rescue ambulance was gone and Ballard and Hayes stood there, hands on their hips and winded. Soon the family and friends caught up, and Aaron told them which hospital the victim was being taken to. The hysterical woman hugged him and then followed the others to their cars.

“That was weird to see,” Ballard said.

“Yeah,” Hayes said. “Third one for me this month. The riptides have been off the charts.”

Ballard was thinking of something else, of a time many years before on a beach far away. The image of a broken surfboard carried in by the waves. Young Renée searching the diamonds on the surface for her father.

“You okay?” Hayes asked.

Ballard came out of the memory and noticed the strange look on his face.

“Fine,” she said.

She checked her watch. Most days she tried to get six hours in the tent after a morning on the water, whether it be surfing or paddling. But the commotion from the rescue had gotten her up after just four. The adrenaline rush with the rescue and run across the beach guaranteed she would not be going back to sleep.

She decided on an early start to work. There was follow-up to do on John the Baptist and several boxes of shake cards still to get through, whether or not the man from the Moonlight Mission turned out to be a valid suspect.

“Don’t you have a debriefing now or something?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “The beach captain will come interview me and we’ll write it up.”

“Let me know if you need anything from me.”

“Thanks. Will do.”

She hesitantly gave him a hug, then turned and walked back toward her tent to collect her things and her dog. The memory of Hawaii returned as she looked out at the sea: her lost father and the need to be by the water’s edge, waiting for something that could never be.





15



Before heading into the station, Ballard parked her van on Selma a half block from the Moonlight Mission. Through the iron bars of the gate surrounding the back parking area she could see John the Baptist’s van. It meant he was presumably home.

Bosch had gotten a look inside the van during the traffic stop and had shared the cell phone photos he had taken. There had been nothing of an incriminating nature. Not that they would have expected it after nine years. But she had noticed that the parking enclosure at the rear of the mission house gave the van close access to the back door. If the van was backed in, a body could be transferred from it and into the house quickly with only a split-second exposure outside. Additionally, she was curious about the stand-alone garage on the other side of the parking apron. Both times she had seen the van, it had been in the driveway and not in the garage. Why wasn’t the garage used? What was in there that prevented the van from being parked inside?

Ballard’s instinct about John McMullen was that he wasn’t the guy. He had seemed sincere in his defense and his complaint during their confrontation early that morning. Detectives develop a sixth sense about character and often had to rely on these fleeting takes to judge people. She had shared her take on McMullen with Bosch as they drove away following the roust. Bosch didn’t disagree but said the preacher still needed to be cleared beyond a quick search of his van before they moved on.

Now she was sitting in her own van, looking at the Moonlight Mission and needing to get a look inside. She could wait and do it with Bosch but she had no idea when he would be available. She had sent him a text checking on his status but had gotten no reply.

Ballard’s rover was in its charging slot back at the station. She didn’t like the idea of going in alone and without that electronic link to the mother ship, but the option of waiting made her even more uncomfortable. Seeing the drowning man and being reminded of her father had put her on edge. She needed to crowd out those thoughts and knew that making this move would do it. Work was always the distraction. She could lose herself in the work.

She pulled her phone and called the inside line to the watch office. It was almost five and the PM watch shift was on. A lieutenant named Hannah Chavez picked up the call.

“It’s Renée Ballard. I’m following up on something from the late show and don’t have a rover with me. Just wanted to let you know I’m going to be code six at the Moonlight Mission at Selma and Cherokee. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, can you send a backup?”

“Roger that, Ballard. But while I got you, you handled the DB up in the hills the other night, right?”

“Yeah, that was me. It was accidental.”

“Right, what I heard. But we just got a B and E call from that location. The burglary table has checked out for the day and I was going to shelve it till tomorrow but now I’m thinking—”