Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(38)

She turned in a circle, scanning the immediate neighborhood. She knew it was a city of cameras. Finding them was always high on any investigative protocol. Nowadays you looked for video before witnesses. Cameras didn’t lie or get confused.

Hollywood Boulevard curved in and out along the mountain’s edge. The house she stood on was at a sharp bend around a blind curve. Ballard spotted a house on the curve that had a camera ostensibly aimed at a side stairway down to a landing below street level. But she knew that depending on the camera’s angle, there was a chance its field of view included the roof she stood on.

The print car arrived as Ballard was descending the ladder, again with Dillon holding it steady for her. She first walked the tech through the house and deck, pointing out as possible spots for latents the wall where the three Warhols had been located as well as the AC unit left on the back deck. Then she stepped out front and introduced Dillon, asking the tech to take his prints first for exclusionary purposes. She thanked Dillon for his time and the use of his ladder and told him he was clear to leave as soon as he was printed.

“You sure I’m not going to be able to do the cleaning tonight?” he asked. “I’ll wait around.”

“It’s not possible,” Ballard said. “Ms. Clark is going to have to do the walk-through with somebody from dayside burglary. We don’t want the place cleaned before that.”

“Okay, thought I’d try.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries. Make sure you use those cards.”

He gave a little wave and went to the back of his truck to close it. Ballard headed down the street in the direction of the camera she had spotted. Ten minutes later she was talking to the owner of the home around the blind curve and looking over his shoulder at the video playback from the camera located on the side of his house. It had a full but digitally murky capture of the entire roof of the home that had been burglarized.

“Let’s start at midnight,” Ballard said.





17



Ballard had her badge out and up when the door was opened. The man standing there looked concerned but not surprised. He was in sweats and one hand was in the front warmer of the sleeveless hoodie. Ballard could tell he was a “better living through science” guy. He had thick arms and the pronounced neck veins and hard eyes of a ’roid rider. His brown hair was slicked back over his head. His green eyes were glassy. He was shorter than Ballard but probably out-weighed her two to one.

“Mr. Bechtel? Theodore Bechtel?”

“It’s Ted. Yes?”

“I’m Detective Ballard, LAPD. I would like to ask you a few questions. Can I come in?”

Bechtel didn’t answer. He stepped back to allow her room to enter. Ballard walked in, turning slightly sideways as she passed him so she wouldn’t lose direct sight of him. At this point, she considered him to be a burglar. She didn’t want to give him the chance to add assault or murder to the list.

Bechtel reached over to close the door after she entered. She stopped him.

“Can we leave that open if you don’t mind?” she said. “A couple of my colleagues will be coming.”

“Uh, I guess so.”

She turned in the circular entry area to look at him and accept further direction. But Bechtel just looked at her.

“You’ve come for the Warhols, right?” he asked.

She wasn’t expecting that. She hesitated, then composed a response.

“Are you saying you have them?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. “They’re in my study. Where they’re nice and safe.”

He nodded as if to confirm a job well done.

“Can you show me?”

“Of course. Follow me.”

Bechtel led Ballard down a short hallway into a home office. Sure enough, the three red lips prints were leaning against the wall. Bechtel spread his hands as if to present them.

“I think those are Marilyn Monroes,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Ballard responded.

“The lips. Warhol used Marilyn’s lips. I read it online.”

“Mr. Bechtel, I need you to explain why these are in your house and not on the wall of the house across the street.”

“I took them for safekeeping.”

“Safekeeping. Who told you to do that?”

“Well, nobody told me to do it. I just knew somebody needed to do it.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, because everybody knew she had them in there, and they were going to get stolen.”

“So, you stole them first?”

“No, I didn’t steal them. I told you. I brought them over here for safekeeping. To keep them for the rightful heir. I hear she had a niece in New York who gets everything.”

“That’s the story you want to go with? That this was some kind of neighborly act of kindness?”

“It’s what happened.”

Ballard stepped back from him and took stock of what she knew and what she had in terms of witnesses and evidence.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Bechtel?”

“Nutrition. I sell supplements. I have a store down in the flats.”

“Do you own this house?”

“I rent.”

“How long have you been up here?”