Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(33)

“You might want me to handle it.”

“Read my mind, Ballard.”

“Not really, but I’ll cruise over after I clear the mission.”

“I’ll tell my guys to hang till you get there.”

“How’d we get the call?”

“The family had arranged for some bio cleaners to get in there after the death. They apparently found the place ransacked and called it in.”

“Roger that. Remember, back me up in an hour if I don’t hit you back.”

“Moonlight Mission—you got it.”

Ballard climbed out of the driver’s seat and into the back of her van. Last week’s dry cleaning was on hangers on an equipment hook. She changed into what she considered her third-string work outfit, a chocolate Van Heusen blazer with a chalk pinstripe over the usual white blouse and black slacks. She emerged from the back of the van, locked it, and headed down the street to the mission.

She just wanted to take a look around inside, get a sense of the place, and maybe brace McMullen again. The direct approach was called for. She walked in through the front gate and up the steps to the porch. A sign on the door said WELCOME, so she opened it and entered without knocking.

Ballard stepped into a wide entry area with arched passages to rooms to the right and left and a wide, winding staircase in front of her. She walked into the center and waited a moment, expecting McMullen or someone else to appear.

Nothing.

She looked through the archway to the right and saw that the room was lined with couches, with a single chair in the middle, where the facilitator of a group discussion might sit. She turned to check the other room. Banners with Bible quotations and images of Jesus hung side by side on the far wall. At the center of the room was what looked like a free-standing sink with a crucifix rising from the porcelain sill where a faucet was intended to be.

Ballard stepped into the room and looked into the sink. It was half filled with water. She looked up at the banners and realized that not all the images were of Jesus. At least two featured drawings of the man she had met that morning.

Ballard turned to go back into the entrance hall and almost walked into McMullen. She startled, stepped back, and then quickly recovered.

“Mr. McMullen,” she said. “You snuck up on me.”

“I did not,” McMullen said. “And in here I am Pastor McMullen.”

“Okay. Pastor McMullen.”

“Why are you here, Detective?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Ballard turned and gestured toward the sink.

“This is where you do your work,” she said.

“It’s not work,” he said. “This is where I save souls for Jesus Christ.”

“Well, where is everybody? The house seems empty.”

“Each night I seek a new flock. Anyone I bring in to feed and clothe must be on their own by this time. This is just a way station on the journey to salvation.”

“Right. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Follow me.”

McMullen turned and headed out of the room. His heels kicked up from under his robe and Ballard saw that he was barefoot. They went around the staircase and down a short hallway into a kitchen with a large eating space taken up by a long picnic table and benches. McMullen stepped into a side room that might have been a servant’s pantry when the house was originally built but now served as an office or perhaps a confessional. It was spartan, with a small table and folding chairs on either side of it. Prominent on the wall opposite the doorway was a paper calendar with a photo of the heavenly skies and a verse from the Bible printed on it.

“Please sit,” McMullen said.

He took one chair and Ballard sat opposite him, leaving her right hand down by her hip and her weapon.

She saw that the wall behind McMullen was lined with cork. Pinned to it was a collage of photos of young people wearing layers of sometimes ragged clothing. Many had dirty faces, some were missing teeth, some had drug-glazed eyes, and all of them comprised the homeless flock that McMullen brought to his baptismal font. The people on the wall were diverse in gender and ethnicity. They shared one thing: each smiled for the camera. Some of the photos were old and faded, others were covered by new shots pinned over them. There were first names and dates handwritten on the photos. Ballard assumed these were the dates of their acceptance of Jesus Christ.

“If you are here to talk me out of a complaint, then you can save your words,” he said. “I decided that charity would be more useful than anger.”

Ballard thought about Bosch’s saying that it would be suspicious if McMullen did not make a complaint.

“Thank you,” she said. “I was coming to apologize if we offended you. We had an incomplete description of the van we were looking for.”

“I understand,” McMullen said.

Ballard nodded at the wall behind him.

“Those are the people you’ve baptized?” she asked.

McMullen glanced behind him at the wall and smiled.

“Just some of them,” he said. “There are many more.”

Ballard looked up at the calendar. The photo showed a gold and maroon sunset and a quote:

Commit your way to the LORD. Trust HIM and HE will help you.



Her eyes scanned down to the dates and she noticed that a number was scribbled in each day’s square. Most were single digits but on some days the number was higher.