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THE RIDE OUT to the desert took two hours. Masser did the driving while Ballard typed a case summary on her laptop. She was far behind on the digital paperwork on the Pillowcase Rapist investigation and knew if she got something filed by the end of the day, it would buy her time with Captain Gandle. Once she was finished, they stopped for a quick lunch at an In-N-Out in Cabazon—Ballard had gone back to eating meat after being vegetarian for some time. They sat in the car, and while Ballard ate her hamburger, she pulled up the L.A. Times website on her phone and checked the news stories on the shootout in Santa Monica the day before.

The violent takedown of two men, Thomas Dehaven and Frederic Standard, and the arrest of four of their coconspirators quickly became national news Saturday when the FBI announced that the group had been planning a mass shooting on Presidents' Day at the Malibu pier. But so far Ballard had received no inquiries from the media, so Olmstead must have been keeping his promise. Ballard held an ace in that Olmstead knew that if he leaked any information and she was dragged into the media frenzy, she could reveal things that were not consistent with the narrative the feds were spinning publicly.

She looked at the top stories on the site and saw that there were already two follow-up reports on the events of the day before. One was a profile of Thomas Dehaven, the ringleader of the group that had come to Los Angeles in a caravan of vans and RVs.

TERROR SUSPECT ROAMED COUNTRY FINDING RECRUITS

By Scott Anderson, Times Staff Writer

The wanted man shot dead Saturday by the FBI while allegedly buying machine guns for a terrorist act had roamed the country over the past two years, avoiding capture and recruiting fellow extremists to his cause, according to federal sources.

Thomas Dehaven, 46, of Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, was being sought in the death of his ex-wife and on charges of sedition in regard to the attack on the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021. According to the FBI, Dehaven fled from Idaho in March of 2021 after allegedly shooting his ex-wife, Kimberly Boyle, when he learned from their son that she had helped the FBI identify him in videos taken during the violent siege at the Capitol.

Dehaven then began a monthslong odyssey that first took him through the South, where he met and recruited Frederic Standard, 31, in Mobile, Alabama, in a scheme to make a violent statement in California. FBI agents are piecing together the path he took and have been contacted by several individuals in Louisiana, Texas, and Arizona who said they heard Dehaven's pitch but did not join the scheme.

"Most of these people didn't take him seriously," Agent Gordon Olmstead said in an interview. "They shined him on, thought he was a bit out there. But we know that others believed in his plan and joined him or gave him money and equipment."

One of those was Tracy Bell, 39, of Shreveport, Louisiana, who joined Dehaven and offered him her camper van, which he was using on Saturday when he and Standard met with an FBI informant to purchase four machine guns. The guns were allegedly going to be used by Dehaven and Standard to fire on people on the crowded Malibu pier during the national holiday on Monday.

Ballard stopped reading.

" Allegedly ," she said. "They always use the word allegedly ."

"You talking about that thing in Santa Monica yesterday?" Masser said.

Ballard realized that she had almost revealed that she knew more about the incident than she should.

"Yes," she said. "Seems from what I've read like there was nothing alleged about their plan to shoot up the pier."

"Yeah, true believers," Masser said. "They'll be martyrs for the cause now, like that woman who got shot at the Capitol."

After finishing their food, they got out of the car and switched seats so Ballard could give Masser a break. They got back on the road into the Coachella Valley.

Smoke Tree Ranch was a small private enclave of mostly historic desert homes passed down from generation to generation by moneyed East Coast, Midwest, and Southern California families. Its best-known resident over the century of its existence was undoubtedly Walt Disney, who had had a home on the ranch until he sold it to raise money to build an amusement park that would be called Disneyland. After the success of the park, Disney came back to the ranch and built a new house. Following a long-held tradition, residents of the ranch referred to themselves as colonists.

Ballard had traced Robin Richardson through DMV records to a home on San Jacinto Trail on the back perimeter of the ranch. The street ran alongside the Palm Canyon Creek wash below the majestic San Jacinto mountain range. There was a guard gate at the ranch's entrance and Ballard used her recovered badge to convince the uniformed security officer to let them through. Ballard didn't mention Robin Richardson. There were guest cabins on the property and she told the guard that they had police business at the management office.

Once they were through the gate, however, they quickly discovered that the Richardson home was difficult to find because there were no street signs or house numbers on the ranch. The only markers were numbers painted on large white rocks at each corner. It was only with the help of a woman walking a dog that Ballard and Masser located the home:

"Robin's house is on rock seventeen, fourth house on your right."

With those directions they found the house and pulled into the gravel driveway. Like almost every home they had passed in the private enclave, it was a sprawling ranch house surrounded by desert landscape and cacti. Its wood siding had been burned gray over the years by the unrelenting sun.

The desert air was crisp and Ballard and Masser put on their jackets after getting out of the car. Ballard's knock on the front door was answered by a diminutive woman in her mid-sixties. Her long gray hair was in a braid. She wore rimless glasses and had the deep tan of a full-time desert resident.

"Mrs. Richardson?" Ballard asked.

"Yes, that's me," she said. "How did you get into the ranch?"

Ballard once again showed her badge. "We're police officers, ma'am," she said. "From Los Angeles. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"About what?"

"Well, we'd rather not talk about it here on the doorstep. Could we come in and sit down with you?"

"Not until you tell me what this is all about."

"It's about your daughter, ma'am. Mallory."

If Richardson had been tipped off to their impending arrival by Judge Purcell, she did a masterful job of covering and looking surprised, then apprehensive. Ballard read the reaction as legit. Richardson opened the door all the way and invited them in.

She led them into a living room with a mid-century design to the furnishings. Richardson took a seat on a couch while Ballard and Masser sat across a glass-topped coffee table in two cushioned chairs.

"We work cold cases for the LAPD," Ballard began. "We were given your name by Judge Purcell, who was your neighbor when you lived in Pasadena."

"Why would he give you my name?" Richardson said. "What is this about?"

"It's about an old case involving sexual assault and murder. We went to Judge Purcell because of his son, Nick. A familial DNA match in our case indicated that Nick's father is our suspect. Only it turns out, Judge Purcell is not Nick's father. And his wife is not Nick's mother. When we found out that Nick was adopted, the judge told us that his biological mother was Mallory."

"You're saying that the son my daughter gave up is a killer?"

"No, not at all. We believe his father is the man we're looking for. We came out here to ask you who that was."

"There must be a mistake. How could this be?"

"The DNA analysis confirms it. Do you know who the father was, Mrs. Richardson? Did your daughter ever tell you?"

"She didn't, because she was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"What my husband might do to him."

"Why? Did someone hurt your daughter, Mrs. Richardson?"

"I don't like talking about this. You're bringing up the worst part of my life."

"I understand and I apologize. But the person we're looking for may still be out there hurting women. We need to find him and I'm sure you want to help. Do you remember anything at all from that time that could tell us who the father might have been?"

"You have to understand that I've blocked so much of it out. Those years—they were the worst years of our lives for my husband and me. And now suddenly you come here and… I don't know anything that can help you."

Ballard leaned in. She knew the next part of her questioning would be especially difficult.

"We understand that your daughter took her own life, Mrs. Richardson. We are very sorry for your loss. Did she leave behind anything that might help us identify the father of her child?"

Richardson's eyes were not focused on anything in front of her. She was time-traveling back to those difficult years. She slowly shook her head. "She was never the same, you know," Richardson said. "After giving up the baby, she wasn't the same. She used my pills. She didn't leave a note."

Ballard nodded. She was aware that she had upended this woman's fragile existence with just a few questions, and she didn't think pushing her further would yield anything useful. It had been a long drive to another dead end.

"Can I ask a question?" Masser said. "Mallory went to school at St. Vincent's, right?"

"That was our church too," Richardson said.

"Was it possible that the father was a boy—a student—from the school? Was she dating anyone at the time?"

"She didn't have a boyfriend. That year a boy asked her to the senior prom and she went, but they weren't dating."

"Do you remember his name?"

"It was Rodney."

"Do you remember a last name?"

She shook her head.

"That's okay," Masser said. "The name Rodney helps us. Was he a senior?"

"Yes, he must have been," Richardson said.

"Did your daughter by any chance have any yearbooks from St. Vincent's?"

"There's one. From when she was in tenth grade. I kept it because she is so beautiful in the photos."

Ballard nodded. She said nothing. Masser was connecting and making headway.

"Do you think we could borrow the yearbook?" Masser said. "I guarantee I will personally get it back to you."

"I can go see if I can find it in the library," Richardson said.

"Thank you, that would be very helpful."

Richardson stood up and left the room. Ballard looked at Masser and nodded.

"Good one on the yearbook," she said. "I hope she can find it."