Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(59)

Prada spread his arms to prove the point that Cady was not there.

“Satisfied?”

“Why don’t you show me the bedrooms?” Ballard said.

“I mean, don’t you have to have a warrant to conduct a search?”

“Not on a welfare check. If Mr. Cady is hurt or needs help, we need to find him.”

“Well, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“Can I see the bedrooms?”

Prada showed her through the home, and as she expected, there was no sign of Jacob Cady. She pulled her mini-light out of a pocket and used it to check the closet in the bedroom Prada said was Cady’s. It was full of clothing, and there was an empty suitcase on a shelf. Stepping back out she noticed that the bed was crisply made and unslept in.

Prada’s bedroom was more lived in, with the bed unmade and clothes hanging over a chair in front of a makeup table Ballard would’ve expected to see in a woman’s room. The closet door was open and clothes were piled on the floor inside.

“Not all of us are as neat as Jacob,” Prada said.

Ballard heard voices from the living room and turned toward the door.

“Coming out,” Ballard called down the hallway.

Ballard and Prada returned to the living room and were met by Officers Herrera and Dyson. Ballard gave a nod.

“Glad you could make it,” she said.

Prada spoke impatiently before either officer could respond.

“Are we finished now?” he asked. “I’d like to get some sleep. I have appointments tomorrow.”

“Not quite,” Ballard said. “I have to fill out full reports this time. Can I see your driver’s license or passport, please?”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, sir, it is. I’m sure you want to keep cooperating. It’s the quickest way to get us out of here.”

Prada disappeared back down the short hallway toward his bedroom. Ballard nodded to Herrera to follow and watch.

Ballard assessed the living room again. It had been carefully composed but something didn’t seem right. She realized that the area rug was too small for the space and the furniture and that its abstract design of overlapping gray, black, and brown squares clashed with the striped pattern of the upholstery. She checked the adjacent dining room and noticed for the first time that there was no rug under the square table with stainless steel legs.

“What are you thinking here?” Dyson whispered.

“Something’s not right,” Ballard whispered back.

Prada and Herrera returned to the living room and Herrera handed Ballard a driver’s license.

“I want you to know that my lawyer has filed the paperwork to officially change my name,” Prada said. “I was not lying. I’m a DJ and I need a better name.”

Ballard looked at the license. It had been issued in New Jersey, and the photo matched Prada but the name on it was Tyler Tyldus. Ballard put the flashlight down on the coffee table next to a small sculpture of a woman’s torso. She pulled a small notebook and pen from her pocket and wrote down the information from the license.

“What’s wrong with Tyler Tyldus?” she asked as she wrote.

“No imagination,” Prada said.

Ballard checked the date of birth and saw that he had been lying about his age as well. The documents left for her had him at twenty-six years old. The DL said he was twenty-two.

“What are your appointments tomorrow, Mr. Prada?” she asked.

“Personal business,” Prada said. “Nothing that concerns the police.”

Ballard nodded. She finished writing and handed the license to Prada. She then handed him one of her business cards.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said. “If you hear from Mr. Cady, please call me at that number and ask Mr. Cady to call me as well.”

“Of course,” Prada said, his voice friendlier now that he saw the end of the intrusion in sight.

“You can go back to sleep now,” Ballard said.

“Thank you,” Prada said.

As she waited for Herrera and Dyson to head to the door, Ballard looked down at the area rug. It was too small for the space it was in. She also saw what first looked like an imperfection in the design, a place where the material had knotted in manufacture. But then she realized it was just an indentation. The rug had been switched from the dining room so recently that the depression left by one of the legs of the table remained apparent.

Prada followed them to the door and closed it behind them. Ballard heard him turn a deadbolt.

The three women were silent until they got in the elevator and closed the door.

“So?” Dyson said.

Ballard was still holding her notebook. She tore the page out with the info on Tyler Tyldus and handed it to Herrera.

“Run that name and see what comes up,” she said. “I’m going to call a judge. I want to see what’s under that rug in there.”

“Couldn’t you just look?” Herrera asked. “Exigent circumstances.”

Ballard shook her head. Using exigent circumstances was a tricky thing and you didn’t want it to come back and bite you on a case.

“EC refers to the missing man and possible danger to him,” Ballard said. “You don’t look under a rug for a missing man. You look under a rug for evidence. I’m going to call a judge, and that way there are no issues down the road.”