Dark Sacred Night (Harry Bosch Universe #31)(84)

“He was making street movies,” he said. “Shorts. He had a name for them. It was like a series. I think it was called Hollywood Whores or something like that. He hired me in a room like this after seeing my package, you know? And then we went driving around, and he’d pay street girls to get in and fuck me while he filmed it. That was how I got my start in the business, you know?”

Ballard and Bosch stared at him for a long moment before Ballard continued the questioning.

“When was this?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Pascal said. “Ten years ago. Thereabouts.”

“What kind of vehicle did you use?” Bosch asked.

“Vehicle? It was a van,” Pascal said. “It was an old VW like they had on that show Lost. People always made that connection. Two-tone. White on the top, blue on the bottom.”

“And the women? Who talked them into getting in the van?” Ballard asked.

“That was him mostly,” Pascal said. “He had a silver tongue. He used to say he could sell matches to the devil. But there was no shortage of women who would get in. Most of them were pros, anyway.”

“Prostitutes,” Ballard said.

“That’s right,” Pascal said.

“Were some of them runaways?” Ballard asked.

“I suppose so,” Pascal said. “We didn’t really ask a bunch of questions, you know? If they got in the van, they got paid, and they knew what they had to do.”

“Underage girls?” Ballard tried.

“Uh…no,” Pascal said. “That would be illegal.”

“It’s all right,” Ballard said. “Ten years ago—the statute of limitations has passed. You can tell us.”

Ballard’s statement about the statute of limitations wasn’t exactly true but it didn’t matter. Pascal wasn’t going there.

“No, nobody underage,” he said. “I mean, we checked IDs but somebody here and there could’ve had a phony, you know what I’m saying? Not our fault if they were lying.”

“How often did you do this?” Bosch asked.

“I don’t know,” Pascal said. “A couple times a month. He’d call me up when he needed me. But he was going out with different guys on different nights. To have variety in the product, you know?”

“You know any names of those other guys?” Bosch asked.

“No, not really,” Pascal said. “Been a long time. But Wilson would.”

“But you don’t know where he is?”

“No, I don’t. Scout’s honor.”

He pulled his right hand out of the hoodie’s front pocket and held it up as if to show his sincerity. Ballard noticed that he was getting happy feet—involuntarily shaking his foot as he got increasingly nervous about the interview. She was sure Bosch had picked up on it as well.

“Did you ever see Gayley get mad or upset with any of the women in the van?” Ballard asked.

“Not that I remember,” Pascal said. “So, all these questions. What’s this all about? I thought you wanted me to help with an investigation or something.”

“You are helping,” Ballard said. “I can’t tell you how because of the case, but you are definitely helping. The thing is, we really need to locate Gayley. Are you sure you can’t help us with that? Give us a name. Somebody else who knows him.”

“I got no names,” Pascal said. “And I really need to go.”

He stood up again but Bosch took his hands off the back of his chair once more and moved a few steps toward the door to block Pascal’s angle to it. Pascal immediately read the situation and sat back down. He slapped his palms down on his thighs.

“You can’t hold me like this,” he said. “You haven’t even given me my rights or anything.”

“We’re not holding you, Mr. Pascal,” Ballard said. “We’re just talking here, and there’s no need for rights at this stage. You’re not a suspect. You are a citizen aiding the police.”

Pascal reluctantly nodded.

“I’m now going to show you some photos of individuals and I want to see if you recognize any of them,” Ballard said. “We want to know if any of these women were ever with Wilson Gayley.”

From her briefcase Ballard pulled out a standard six-pack—a file with six windows cut into it and displaying six photos of different young women. One of the photos was a shot of Daisy Clayton that Ballard had gotten out of the online murder book. It was a posed shot taken at her school in Modesto when Daisy was in the seventh grade. She was smiling at the camera, makeup covering acne on her cheeks, but she looked older than her years and there was already a distant look in her eyes.

Another photo was a mug shot of Tanya Vickers, the prostitute who had been with Pascal and Gayley on the night they had been rousted by the cops and their shake cards were written. While their interaction probably amounted to just that one night, including her photo was intended as a test of Pascal’s veracity.

Ballard flipped the cover of the file back and handed it to Pascal.

“Take your time,” Ballard said.

“I don’t need to,” Pascal said. “I don’t know any of them.”

He reached out to hand the file back but Ballard didn’t take it.