Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(39)

“Three months. No, four.”

“How well did you know the woman who lived across the street?”

“I didn’t. Not really. Just to say hello to. That sort of thing.”

“I think at this point I need to advise you of your rights.”

“What? Are you arresting me?”

He looked genuinely surprised.

“Mr. Bechtel, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney to represent you. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?”

“I don’t understand. I was being a good neighbor.”

“Do you understand your rights as I have recited them to you?”

“Yes, shit, I understand. But this is completely unnecessary. I have a business. I didn’t do—”

“Sit down in that chair, please.”

Ballard pointed to a chair that was against the wall. She kept pointing until Bechtel reluctantly sat down.

“This is amazing,” he said. “You try to do a good thing and you get hassled for it.”

Ballard pulled her phone and speed-dialed the watch office. Before knocking on Bechtel’s door, she had requested backup because Felsen and Torborg had been sent to another call while she had been down the street looking at video. Now she was facing a situation where she had to make a felony arrest without backup. Her call wasn’t answered for six rings. While she waited, she casually took a few steps farther back from Bechtel so she would have more time to react should he decide he didn’t want to be arrested.

Finally, her call was answered by a voice she didn’t recognize.

“This is two-whiskey-twenty-five, where’s my backup?”

“Uh…I don’t see that here on the board. You sure you called for backup?”

“Yes, fifteen minutes ago. Send it. Now. No delay. And keep this connection open.”

Ballard barked the address into the phone, then refocused on Bechtel. She would find out about the missing backup later.

Bechtel was sitting with both hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“I want you to take your hands out of the hoodie and keep them where I can see them,” she said.

Bechtel complied but shook his head like this whole thing was a misunderstanding.

“Are you really arresting me?”

“Do you want to explain why you climbed over the roof of the house across the street, broke in on the back deck, and took three artworks worth several hundred thousand dollars?”

Bechtel didn’t speak. He seemed surprised by her knowledge.

“Yeah, there’s video,” Ballard said.

“Well, I had to get in there somehow,” he said. “Otherwise, somebody else would’ve and then the paintings would be gone.”

“They’re prints, actually.”

“Whatever. I didn’t steal them.”

“Did you take anything else besides the prints?”

“No, why would I do that? I just cared about the paintings. The prints, I mean.”

Ballard had to decide whether to cuff Bechtel to neutralize the threat or to wait for backup, which now might be another ten to fifteen minutes away. It was a long time to wait with a suspect not fully controlled.

“The District Attorney’s Office will decide whether a crime was committed. But I will be arresting you. Right now I want you—”

“This is such bullshit—”

“—to get up from the chair and face the wall. I want you to kneel on the floor and lace your fingers behind your head.”

Bechtel stood up but didn’t move any further.

“Kneel down, sir.”

“No, I’m not kneeling down. I didn’t do anything.”

“You are under arrest, sir. Kneel down on the ground and lace your—”

She didn’t finish. Bechtel started moving toward her. It was crystal clear in the moment that if Ballard pulled her gun, she would probably have to use it, and it would most likely be the end of her career, no matter how justified a shooting it would be.

But what wasn’t clear was whether Bechtel was coming at her or trying simply to walk around her and leave the room.

He moved as if heading toward the door but then suddenly pivoted toward her. Ballard tried to use his advantage—his weight and muscles—against him.

As Bechtel advanced, Ballard placed a well-directed kick to his groin, then took two steps back and to the side as he doubled over and lurched forward, emitting a sharp groan. She grabbed his right wrist and elbow, pushed the wrist down and pulled the elbow up as she pivoted him over her leg. He went down face-first and she dropped all 120 pounds of her weight through her knees onto the small of his back.

“Don’t fucking move!”

But he did. He groaned like a monster and attempted to rise, doing a push-up off the floor. Ballard drove a knee into his ribs and he dropped to the floor again with an oof. She quickly grabbed the cuffs off her belt and clasped one over his right wrist before he realized he was being cuffed. He struggled against the next one but Ballard had the leverage. She pulled the wrists together against his spine and closed the second cuff around the left. Bechtel was now controlled.

Ballard got up, exhausted but exhilarated that she had taken the stronger man to ground.