Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(71)

“No, it’s a real name. I think.”

“You think.”

Ballard heard typing.

“He’s not in the database,” Beaupre said. “But it kinda rings a bell. You know, a guy with a name for gay porn but who’s in the straight game. Let me ask around.”

“He went to prison about five years ago for intentionally infecting someone with an STD,” Ballard said.

“Oh, wait a minute,” Beaupre said. “That guy?”

“What guy?”

“I think it’s him. There was a guy back around that time that was mad at a girl—a performer—because she’d talked trash or something about one of his partners. So he hired her for a scene and put himself in it. She ended up getting syph and that forced her out of the business. She went to vice because somebody told her that the producer—sounds like this Gayley guy—did it on purpose. Like he knew he had it when he fucked her. And then vice made a case. They got his medical reports and stuff. Proved he knew it, and he went to jail.”

“Have you heard of him since then? He got out a couple years ago.”

“I don’t think so. I just remember that story. It’s about the scariest thing that can happen in this business.”

Ballard knew she had to pull the files on Gayley to confirm Beaupre’s story. But it sounded like they were talking about the same man.

“On the first guy, Pascal,” she said. “You could hire him for a shoot through that database?”

“I would send his management a message checking on availability,” Beaupre said.

“Would there be like an audition or something?”

“No. In this business, you look at his reel, which the manager will send me, and you either hire him or you don’t. He gets three hundred a pop. It says it right here in the database.”

“Can you hire him for a shoot today?”

“What are you talking about? What shoot?”

“There is no shoot. I just want to get him to your place so I can talk to him.”

There was a pause before Beaupre responded.

“I don’t know, Ballard. If it gets out I did this for the cops, it might hurt me, being able to hire people in the future. Especially with that management group. It’s one of the big ones.”

Now Ballard paused, hoping her silence would communicate what she didn’t want to say: You owe me, Beaupre.

The strategy worked.

“Okay, I guess I could claim innocence,” Beaupre said. “Say I thought you were a valid producer or something.”

“Whatever you need to do,” Ballard said.

“What day?”

“How about today?”

“Same-day booking is kind of suspect. Nobody does that.”

“Okay, what about tomorrow?”

“What time?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“At night, right?”

“No, morning.”

“Nobody works in the morning.”

“Okay, tomorrow afternoon, then.”

“Okay, I’ll book him for four o’clock and let you know. And then you’ll be here?”

“I’ll be there.”

They disconnected. Ballard then tried Bosch again and once more the call went directly to message.

It was as if Bosch’s phone had been turned off.





33



Traffic was a bear getting down to USC. Even with her city car allowing her access to a no-parking zone on campus, Ballard didn’t get to Professor Calder’s office until he was locking the door to go to his lab.

“Professor, I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said to his back. “Any chance I can pick up the GRASP data?”

Ballard realized she had adopted the imploring tone of a student. It was embarrassing.

Calder turned and saw it was her and unlocked his door.

“Come in, Detective.”

Calder put a backpack down on a chair and went behind his desk, where he stayed standing while opening the middle drawer.

“You know, I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he said. “The LAPD did not treat me well.”

He took a thumb drive from the drawer and held it out across the desk to Ballard.

“I know,” she said. “It was the politics of the moment.”

She took the drive from him and held it up.

“But I can assure you,” she said. “If this helps us catch a killer, I will make sure people know it.”

“I hope so,” Calder said. “You’ll have to print hard copies for your partner yourself. It’s the end of the semester and it turns out I don’t have the budget or the paper.”

“Not a problem, Professor. Thanks.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

When Ballard got back to the car, no more than ten minutes after leaving it, there was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper.

“Are you kidding me?” she said.

She yanked the envelope out from under the windshield wiper and did a complete circle, looking for the parking enforcement officer who had issued it. There were only students on their way to classes.

“It’s a fricking cop car!” she yelled.

Students stared at her for a moment but then moved on. Ballard got in the car and tossed the envelope onto the dashboard.