10

10

HATTERAS LET BALLARD into the unit through the emergency door, and Ballard went right to the phone at her desk at the end of the raft. Beltran had not answered a call from her on the drive out to the west side and Ballard believed it was because he knew her cell number and chose to ignore her when he saw it on the caller ID screen.

She dialed his direct line now and tried to slow her breathing. She was frustrated with Beltran but knew this was not the time to confront him. This was an off-the-books investigation that she did not want to draw any attention to. As she'd expected, Beltran picked up on the first ring. Ballard swallowed her frustration and went with her routine-casework voice.

"Rico, it's Ballard. Just checking to see if you've got something for me."

"Yeah, what I got, Ballard, is a complete waste of my time."

"Yeah? How so?"

"There's no way this is your guy from that '88 case. He wasn't even born in '88."

Ballard realized that she'd told Beltran that the Red Bull can had been handled by a suspect in the case. That was a misstep. She tried to cover the discrepancy with a quick comeback question. "Well, then, who is he?" she asked.

"The prints on that can came back to a Dean Delsey, age twenty-fucking-two. You can't pull me off the important shit on my plate to run down these long shots that are a complete waste of time."

Ballard did a slow burn in silence.

"Ballard, you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Give me his DOB and anything else you came up with."

Beltran grudgingly gave her Delsey's birth date and added that he had a record of arrests for minor crimes and assaults. No prison time but he was currently on probation for an auto-theft conviction.

"Thank you," Ballard said with zero sincerity. "What I'll do is talk to Doreen and ask her to put Open-Unsolved cases with a different print tech from now on."

Even though this was an off-the-books investigation, Ballard felt she had to draw a line with Beltran because his attitude could hinder her unit's legitimate investigations. Doreen was Doreen Hudson, the longtime director of the LAPD crime lab and a woman who had undoubtedly put up with her share of obstructive male tactics in her rise from an entry-level criminalist nearly four decades before. By referring to her by her first name, Ballard was signaling that she knew Hudson well and that the sisterhood was not to be fucked with. The truth was that she didn't know Hudson well enough to call her directly and complain about Beltran or ask for a new tech to be assigned. She was counting on Beltran's not knowing that.

"Oh, well, you don't have to do that," Beltran said quickly. "We can—"

"It's not a problem," Ballard said sweetly, cutting him off. "If you think what we're doing out here is a complete waste of time, then that's not a great fit and I'll take care of it. Have a good one!"

Before Beltran could respond, Ballard pushed the button to disconnect the call.

"Whoa, who was that?" Hatteras said.

Ballard glanced up to see Hatteras looking over the partition, as usual.

"Never mind, Colleen," Ballard said. "Just some jerk. Is Paul back yet?"

"Here," Masser said.

Ballard turned in her chair and saw him walking in. He held up a document and came right to Ballard's station.

"Got a copy of the birth certificate," he said.

He put the document on her desk and pointed to the date of birth for Nicholas Purcell and then to a second date in a box marked RECORDED . The birth certificate had been recorded two days after his birth at St. Joseph's Medical Center in Burbank.

"What's it mean?" Hatteras asked.

"It means Nicholas Purcell was not adopted," Masser said. "To adopt, a judge issues a decree, and a new birth certificate is created. The giveaway is that it's usually weeks between the date of birth and the date of recording at the county registrar. Two days between dates means no adoption. Nicholas is the son of Jonathan and Vivian Purcell."

"So that means… the judge is definitely our guy?" Hatteras said.

Masser nodded. "Looks like it," he said.

"But we stick with protocol," Ballard said. "We wait for the DNA confirmation."

"And we should have that by Friday," Masser said.

"Then we make our move," Ballard said.

They fell into a solemn silence for a long moment, the gravity of knowing they were going after a superior court judge weighing on them. Masser finally broke the silence, but only to add more weight to their thoughts.

"The repercussions will be massive," he said. "Any case he ruled on will be vulnerable to appeal. I guess it's lucky he's always been on the civil side. But still, the appeals that come out of this will clog things up for years."

"That's not our concern," Ballard said. "If he's the guy, he's the guy, and we take him down."

"Absolutely," Masser said.

Hatteras cleared her throat to draw Ballard's attention.

"What is it, Colleen?"

"Well, one thing you should know is that I've been building a heritage pattern using—"

"You mean a family tree?"

"Yes, the genetic tree, starting with the DNA sequence we got from Darcy."

"Nicholas's DNA."

"Right. And what's strange is that I'm not connecting anything to the judge so far."

"What are you saying? We might be barking up the wrong family tree?"

"Funny, but yes, something doesn't fit. I feel like I should be making connections, and so far they're not there."

"Well, keep at it, Colleen. It will probably be Friday before we know anything for sure about the DNA."

"Okay, boss."

"And don't call me that."

"Okay, Renée."

"Better."

Hatteras dropped down behind the partition to go back to work, and Masser went to his module as well. Ballard looked at the info she had written down during the call with Beltran.

She opened up the DMV link and typed in Dean Delsey's name and DOB. She knew she was creating a DMV search record that could be found should her off-the-books investigation blow up in her face. Unlike the crime report searches she'd conducted during the night, the department assiduously monitored DMV searches because of past abuses involving officers taking cash to conduct such searches for private investigators and lawyers. But Delsey was Ballard's only lead at the moment and she was willing to risk it. She felt confident that should she be questioned, she'd be able to come up with an adequate cover story.

The address Delsey had on his driver's license was on Park Court right off Speedway in Venice. That fit the profile she was building in her mind for the people who had ripped her off. Delsey was a small-time criminal living close to the beach and the surfing culture he was preying on. The photo on his driver's license supported this as well. He was white, with the sun-bleached hair and ruddy complexion of a surfer.

The fact that Delsey's fingerprints were on a can that was found in a small clearing on a bluff overlooking a prime surfing beach was evidence of nothing. But Ballard instinctively believed she was closing in on her target.

She thought of something and picked up the desk phone, then thought better of it and used her cell. This would be a test. She called Beltran's direct line, and this time he picked up the call from her cell immediately.

"Hey, Detective, I think we got cut off before."

"No, actually, I hung up."

"Oh. Did you already talk to the director?"

"No, not yet. I'll do it later. But I forgot to ask before—did you figure out what was in the Red Bull can?"

"Yes, I was just writing up the report for you. There were two cigarette butts and the tip of a cannabis joint. I preserved it all. You need me to pack it all up and send it over to genetics?"

"No, just hold everything there and I'll be by at some point to grab it."

"I'll have it here when you need it."

"Thanks, Rico."

She disconnected. She wasn't sure whether she preferred the old resentful Rico or the new obsequious Rico, but confirming that there was a joint in the Red Bull can was helpful intel for when she confronted Delsey.

"Paul?" she called without looking over the wall.

Masser appeared above the partition. "Yes?"

"Thanks for everything this morning. Can you mind the store for a while? I'm going to run an errand."

"Not a problem. I want to do more legal vetting on Judge Purcell."

"Meaning what?"

"You know, look at the trials he's handled, how he's ruled. I mean, I'm fascinated. What a double life—assuming he's our guy. You know he was appointed to the bench the same year Pillowcase went inactive on the rapes?"

"Yeah, I saw that."

"Anyway, I want to know everything there is to know about him."

"Good. When you're ready, we'll do an all-hands meeting to talk about what you got."

"Good by me."

Ballard stood up. "Okay, I'll be back."

She was about to step away when the desk phone buzzed. She reached down and answered it. "Open-Unsolved."

"Landry at the front desk. You've got a visitor. An Officer Bosch."

Ballard froze for a moment.

"A female Bosch?" she asked.

"Female," Landry confirmed. "Madeline Bosch. Should I send her back?"

"Uh, no, I'll come out."

"I'll tell her."

Ballard disconnected and for a moment just stared at the phone.

"What is it?" Hatteras said. She'd stood up again. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ballard shook her head. "No, I'm fine," Ballard said.

She walked away toward the entrance to the unit, trepidation building with every step. Once she exited, she walked down the long central hallway of the complex to the front, where there was a reception desk and a row of chairs. The Ahmanson Center was the LAPD's main training center, and most days many of those chairs were occupied by applicants who wanted to wear the badge.

Maddie Bosch was there in street clothes. There appeared to be no stress or sadness on her face.

"Maddie, is Harry all right?" Ballard asked.

Maddie stood up. "Uh, yeah, as far as I know," she said. "I haven't talked to him in a couple of days. Did you hear something?"

"No," Ballard said. "I just thought that if you came to see me in person, there might be something—"

"No. Sorry if I scared you—that's not why I'm here. As far as I know, Dad's fine. He's Harry."

"Okay, good."

Harry Bosch had been a mentor of sorts to Ballard and had worked with the Open-Unsolved Unit at its start. He was now battling cancer and Ballard had not gotten an update recently.

"I'm here because I want to volunteer," Maddie said.

Ballard was not expecting that. "What, you mean for the unit?" she asked.

"Yes, the unit," Maddie said. "I'm on a four-on-three-off schedule at Hollywood Division, and they have me working PM watch Friday to Monday. It gives me a lot of free time during the week and I thought this might be good, you know? I want to be a detective one day and this can give me some experience."

"Did you talk to Harry about it?"

"No. Harry's retired and I make my own decisions."

"Right. Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay. I just don't need his permission. I'd like to volunteer. Can we talk about it? Do you have time?"

"Yes, of course. Let's go to the cafeteria so we can sit down and talk a little more privately. There's not a lot of privacy in the bullpen here."

They walked down the main hall and turned right to a smaller hallway that led to the cafeteria. Ballard got a coffee and Maddie a hot tea. The place was largely deserted because it was between the breakfast and lunch rushes. There was a sea of empty tables and they took one that would afford the most privacy for their conversation.

"I haven't been back here since I was in the academy," Maddie said.

"I trained in the old place in Chavez Ravine," Ballard said.

"I almost never go there."

"So, I take it you know what we do here."

"Well, you work cold cases. Murders mostly. From what I understand, you have all the murder books right here. You review them to see if modern forensic technology can be used to identify suspects and bring closure to families that lost people."

"We close cases but I'm not sure we ever bring closure to the families. We give answers, but answers don't end the grief people carry."

"Harry always said the same thing."

"Then you know. A lot of the people who want to volunteer for the unit come with a specific case in mind. Like a friend or a family member, someone from the neighborhood where they grew up. Is there a case like that with you?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay, well, I know I could talk to Harry about a recommendation and—"

"I'd rather you didn't. I'd really like to do this on my own."

"I understand that, but Harry's my friend and I think it would be odd if I didn't at least tell him we're going to work together."

"Can you do that after you decide? I brought a sheet with me." She took a printed sheet of paper from her pocket and unfolded it.

"This has the names and numbers of my supervisors," she said. "Has my TO on there, though I'm no longer a boot. But she could tell you what a quick learner I am and how I react under pressure."

Ballard took the paper and looked at it. She didn't recognize any of the names, even though, until just a few years ago, she had been assigned to Hollywood Division as the midnight-shift detective.

"Man, it looks like a complete turnover of command staff since I was there," she said.

"Yeah, just about everybody is new," Maddie said.

Ballard nodded and continued to stare at the paper.

"So, what do you think?" Maddie prompted.

Ballard looked up at her. "Well, a couple of things I want you to know first," she said. "I expect members of the unit to put in one day a week. I prefer two but I'll take one. They don't have to be eight-hour shifts, but I want to see you in here at least once a week. Will that be a problem?"

"No, not at all," Maddie said. "Like I said, I have a lot of free time. The only thing that might be a scheduling conflict is if I have court. But that doesn't happen a lot. What else?"

"If you're running with a case, you stick with it or hand it off. And if you're not running down a case, I want you pulling cases and reviewing them to see if there's a shot at getting something done. We have a whole protocol for determining that. But there are six thousand unsolved cases going back to 1960. Right now the sweet spot is the eighties and early nineties. The cases are recent enough that there might be a live suspect out there, and those cases were originally worked before DNA was part of the landscape."

"Okay."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Um, the cases here, they go back only to 1960?"

"No, we've got cases from way earlier than that, but our cutoff point is currently 1975. With anything before that, it's unlikely that anyone involved would be alive—suspects or immediate family."

"Oh, right. I get it."

"Yeah. So, anything else I can answer?"

"Not really… except when will you decide if you'll take me on?"

"Well, I have to do a couple of things first. I have to talk to my captain and see if he'll approve taking on someone who's already full-time in the department. That hasn't happened before. But I'll tell you, and I'll tell him: It would be really good to have someone else in the unit with a badge. It would take a lot of stuff off my shoulders. A lot of things come up that only a badge can do, like make arrests and testify in court. And I'm the only one. It would be nice to have you in the unit. Real nice, in fact."

"Well, good. I hope you can convince the captain."

"Me too."

Ballard held out the paper she had been given. "Do these people know that I might call them?" she asked.

"Not really," Maddie said. "Should I tell them?"

"Uh, no, it will be better if I call them cold. Do you want to see the unit and where you'll be if this works out? A couple of the other volunteers are here today."

"Sure."

"Okay, let's go."