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BALLARD SPENT THE rest of the morning running down the names from the yearbook with Hatteras and Maddie. Hatteras worked the social media and genealogy sites while Ballard and Maddie worked the DMV and law enforcement databases.

Ballard split the list with Maddie, telling her to start with the two girls Robin Richardson had identified as her daughter's best friends. Ballard began with Rodney Van Ness, but she could find no current California license or criminal record in local, state, or national databases. From there, she moved on to the names of other boys in the class.

An hour into the project, Hatteras came to Ballard's desk.

"Can I see the yearbook?" she asked. "Are there any pictures from the prom?"

"Yes and yes," Ballard said. "There's two pages of photos from the prom, but I already checked and Mallory isn't in any of them." She handed the book to Hatteras. "Is that what you're looking for?" Ballard asked.

"Not really," Hatteras said. "I just wanted to get…"

"A feel for it?"

"Sort of."

Ballard was tired of trying to rein in Colleen's "feelings." "Have at it," she said.

"I did the math," Hatteras said. "I just think the prom is important."

"The math?"

"Nicholas Purcell was born January twenty-ninth, 2000. You go back nine months from there and you are in April or May of 1999. Most proms are near the end of the school year."

"You think something could have happened at the actual prom?"

"I do."

Ballard was annoyed with herself for not having thought of doing the math.

"That's good, Colleen," she said. "Run with it. After you're finished with the yearbook, see what you can find on Mallory's date, Rodney Van Ness. He's got a clean record, so I haven't found him. His last California driver's license expired in 2009. I think he moved out of state."

"I'm on it," Hatteras said.

Hatteras went back to her pod and Ballard checked her watch. She'd have to leave soon. Dr. Elingburg had texted her to say that she'd decided to keep her office open on the holiday because so many of her clients had expressed concern about missing their weekly therapy sessions and didn't want to have them over Zoom. Ballard was not among those who had complained, but she was relieved when she read the text.

Elingburg had moved her usual noon appointment to one o'clock, so Ballard still had time to run a few names through the National Crime Information Center index. So far she had found only one senior boy with a criminal record, and that was for financial crimes.

After a few minutes Hatteras came back with the yearbook open to the two-page spread of photos from the senior prom.

"Look," she said. "I think this was at the Huntington."

The Huntington was an upscale hotel in a residential section of Pasadena. "Pretty nice for a prom," Ballard said. "What makes you think it's the Huntington?"

"I've been there for weddings over the years, including one about a month ago," Hatteras said. "I remember these arched French doors leading out to the courtyard with the fountain."

She pointed to the French doors that lined the wall behind the slow-dancing couples.

"Okay, so it was at the Huntington," Ballard said. "What's that get us?"

"It goes with the math," Hatteras said. "The prom was at a hotel. Did you go to your prom?"

"Uh, no, I didn't."

"Me neither. But I know that when a prom is at a hotel, the kids—the boys, mostly—get hotel rooms and that's where they sneak back for alcohol, drugs, and other things."

"Like sex."

"Exactly. I think something happened to Mallory at the prom, whether it was consensual or not. I really feel it."

Ballard nodded. She was impressed by the way Colleen was putting things together. "Then we really need to find Rodney Van Ness," she said.

"I already did," Hatteras said. "He's on LinkedIn. He lives in Las Vegas and is a security supervisor at the Cleopatra Casino."

"You found him that quick?"

"Almost all these people have LinkedIn accounts. They're in their early forties and in the business world. LinkedIn's a better starting point than Facebook or Instagram."

"What else does it say about him?"

"He's been there nine years. He worked at Caesars before that."

"What about a home address?"

"It doesn't give that. But it has a work phone for him and a second number that I think might be a cell. Should we call him?"

"No, not yet. We have to think about the best approach to him. We might only get one shot. Did it say anything about him being in law enforcement before casino security?"

"Let me pull up his whole résumé and check."

"If you're locating a lot of these people, are you making a chart?"

"Oh, yes. I'm writing it all down."

Ballard raised her voice so Maddie could hear her on the other side of the privacy wall: "Maddie, what about Mallory's friends? Have you found them?"

"Found one—Jacqueline Todd," Maddie said. "Has a clean record and is still local. By the way, my prom was at a hotel that was in the Galleria in the Valley. A lot of people got rooms, and all I'm saying is there were a lot of drugs."

"That was where the prom was in Valley Girl, " Hatteras said.

"Love that movie," Maddie said. "Nicolas Cage was awesome."

"Okay, so, on the names," Ballard said, bringing the conversation back to the point. "Let's go see Mallory's friend who stayed local."

"When?" Maddie asked.

"I have a one o'clock appointment for an hour," Ballard said. "Let's go after that."

"What about going to the DA on the Dahlia case?" Maddie asked.

"They're dark today," Ballard said. "We'll think about that tomorrow."

Ballard's cell phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and saw that it was Harry Bosch. "I have to take this," she said.

She grabbed the phone and headed for the evidence room, where her conversation would not be overheard.

"Hey," she said on her way, purposely not saying his name.

"Can you talk?" Bosch asked.

"Yes. Let me just get to… hold on."

She unlocked the room, entered, and closed the door behind her.

"Sorry—I can talk now," she said. "What's up?"

"Let me guess," Bosch said. "Colleen was hanging around listening."

"Well, your daughter's here too and she hasn't said anything about what happened Saturday, so I'm assuming you don't want her to know."

"Might not be able to prevent that now. I just heard from a reporter at the L.A. Times. That's why I'm calling, to give you a heads-up that somebody in the FBI is leaking."

"Damn. Who was the reporter?"

"Scott Anderson. I neither confirmed nor denied."

"I saw that he wrote a couple of the initial stories. So he's plugged in. What did he ask that you didn't answer?"

"Somehow he knows I was the CI. He asked how I knew about these guys wanting to buy machine guns."

"Ugh. Did he mention me?"

"No, but I didn't give him a chance to. I no-commented and hung up on him. But even if he doesn't know about you, if they run a story about me, there are people in the department who know that you and I are tight. So that's the heads-up."

"Okay, got it. I appreciate the call."

"Let me know if you hear from him."

"I will."

"How's Maddie doing? I thought she worked Mondays at Hollywood."

"She's doing really good. She does work Monday PMs, but she came in today and I didn't even ask why. She's going to be a good detective, Harry. You're gonna be proud."

"I already am."

"Good. Talk to you later, then."

Ballard disconnected and looked at her watch. She needed to leave for her appointment with Dr. Elingburg, but first she put in a call to Agent Olmstead.

"Ballard, how are you doing?"

"I'm good. You still basking in the glow of your domestic-terrorist takedown?"

"Well, you could say that the powers that be around here are my new best friends."

"Good to hear. But what's not good to hear is that the L.A. fucking Times is calling Harry Bosch about him being your undercover informant on the caper."

There was a pause while Olmstead considered this news.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Today," Ballard said.

"I hope he declined to comment."

"Of course he did, but here's the thing—his name should have never gotten to the media. He's a confidential informant, for Chrissake, Gordon. If the Times comes out with a story, it could put him in danger. Who knows how many sympathizers and yahoos think that what Dehaven was planning was patriotic."

"I know, I know. All I can tell you is that it wasn't me and I'm going to jump on this and find out who the fuck it was."

Ballard was not sure she believed him. It seemed to her that the feds always had ulterior motives. Her prior experiences with Olmstead made her think that he could be trusted, but if she was wrong about that, it wouldn't be the first time.

"The other thing is that if your leak is giving me up too, you're going to have a PR problem," she said. "Because if I get named, I won't hold back. I'll tell the Times that I gave you this on a silver platter after I did the groundwork and ID'd Dehaven and his merry band of roaming terrorists. The powers that be won't think you're walking on water anymore when that comes out."

There was another silence before Olmstead responded.

"Understood," he finally said.

"Good," Ballard said. "Let me know when you've shut it down."

She disconnected without a goodbye to emphasize her anger over the situation. She called Harry Bosch back.

"I just read Olmstead the riot act. He might not care too much about you, but he is worried about keeping this as a big fat FBI and Gordon Olmstead win. All of that goes down the tubes if you and I get pulled into the media on it."

"I knew you'd know how to handle it."

"Well, hopefully he'll take care of it."

"You think there's any chance he's the leak?"

"I thought about that but it doesn't make sense. Right now he's a hero. If the whole truth comes out, he doesn't look as good. It's probably someone in that office who's jealous of the attention he's getting from this."

"I think so too. But thanks for setting him right, Renée."

"All in a day's work."

After disconnecting, Ballard checked her watch. She needed to get going. She noticed the old-style suitcase on the floor next to the file cabinet holding what was left of the Black Dahlia files. The suitcase, which contained Elizabeth Short's clothes, had been found in a locker at the bus station in Hollywood several weeks after her murder in 1947. The locker's rental time had expired and the janitor was cleaning it out. No one knew who had stored the suitcase there—it could have been Elizabeth or her killer.

Forensic analysts at the time had failed to find any fingerprints or other evidence on or in the case that might lead to a suspect. The suitcase and its contents had not been pilfered over the decades because the case was stored in the department's secured evidence archive, whereas the file cabinet containing the investigative files was kept in the homicide unit offices, to which many people had access.

Seeing the suitcase gave Ballard an idea. She decided that she would follow up on it after the appointment with her therapist.