49

49

BALLARD'S FIRST STOP after leaving the west side was Harry Bosch's house up in the hills. She hadn't called, emailed, or texted ahead of her arrival. Any one of those would have left a trail. She had thought about making an end-around play by calling Maddie Bosch and having her check to make sure her father was home, but that would have left a trail of its own. It would also bring Maddie into the matter, giving her knowledge of the badge-recovery scheme that she would be better off without. So Ballard turned her phone off and drove up Woodrow Wilson to the Bosch house unannounced. She knew there would be Ring cameras in the neighborhood and other ways to document her visit, but she counted on Internal Affairs making only a lazy effort from a desk to investigate possible collusion between her and Bosch. They'd check phone and email records but would likely not go out and knock on doors.

She was in luck. Bosch was home and welcomed her in.

"What's going on?" he asked as he closed the front door. "You could've just called instead of driving all the way up here."

"No, I didn't want to call," Ballard said. "And you'll understand when you hear why."

They spent the next half hour working out a story. Then Bosch disappeared into his bedroom to get something from a drawer that he believed would seal the deal with Captain Gandle. Ballard was waiting for him at the door when he put it in her hand.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. "I can't believe all of this happened just because I didn't want to report a stolen badge."

"I'm glad you didn't," Bosch said. "Remember, those guys didn't need your badge to do what they were going to do. The badge was just part of a possible escape plan. But it never got to that point, and people are alive today because you didn't want to report a stolen badge."

"I guess so. I'll take that."

"Nobody else will ever know, but I will."

"And I hope it stays that way."

"Let me know how it goes with your captain."

"No, I won't be able to."

"Right. But if I get pulled in to verify, I'll get the word to you somehow."

"Okay. Be safe."

"You too."

Forty minutes later, Ballard was sitting in front of Captain Gandle in his office at the PAB. He had never sent her the video taken by the roller-hockey player. He claimed he forgot, but Ballard knew that it was probably intentional. He had not wanted her to see it in advance and have time to make up a plausible explanation.

He played it for her now, turning his computer screen so they could watch together. Though the video was taken from a distance, it was clearly Ballard waiting at the police tape when the camera tracked Bosch walking from the center of the crime scene. Then came a short conversation, the hug, and the hand dropping into the pocket of her coat. Ballard was grateful for two things. First, that it was not clear what, if anything, Bosch had put in her pocket. And second, that the hockey player hadn't started taking video on his phone while she and Agent Olmstead were talking at the crime scene tape. With nothing to connect her to the agent in charge of the op, Ballard saw daylight.

"That is you, right?" Gandle said. "You were there."

"Yep, that's me," Ballard said. "I was there."

"Jesus Christ, and you didn't come forward with this?"

"I was off duty. I was there because Harry Bosch asked me to be there."

"Why? Why would he do that?"

"You said you knew Harry back in the day. So you know he has a thing about the feds. He didn't trust them when he was a cop, and he trusts them even less now. He wanted some sort of backup. Somebody who wasn't an FBI agent who could be a witness if things went sideways and they tried to put the blame on him."

"So you were just an observer. Not part of it."

"You see that on the video. I'm outside the tape. If I were part of what went down, don't you think I'd be inside the tape?"

Gandle didn't say anything as he contemplated that. His next question revealed to Ballard that he was finding her story plausible.

"What did he put in your pocket?" he asked.

Ballard reached into her pocket and took out the medal and chain Bosch had given her at his front door. She held it out to him across the desk and he took it. One side of the medal depicted Saint Michael, the patron saint of police officers. The other side was customized. It showed an LAPD badge with a 6 underneath it. Many officers in the department had side gigs. They sold insurance or real estate or gave self-defense lessons. An officer at Hollywood Division—LAPD's Sixth Division—sold the medals, and Bosch had one from his days in Hollywood Homicide.

"I got that when I worked the late show at Hollywood," she said. "I gave it to him to keep with him because I guess I wasn't so trusting that the FBI was going to watch out for him if shit went down."

Gandle dangled the chain, and the medal swung in front of his eyes.

"Saint Michael," he said. "You never struck me as religious, Ballard."

"When you're on the street in the middle of the night, you take every edge you can get," Ballard said. "If this becomes a full internal investigation, I want to make sure I get that back."

Gandle looked at her for a long moment, trying to get a read on whether she was telling the truth.

"So if I bring Bosch in, he's going to tell the same story?"

"It is the story, so, yeah, he will."

"One last question. On the video, your jacket's all dirty. How come? What happened there?"

It was the one part of the story she and Bosch had not gone over. Though her shoulder was still sore, she forgot to tell Bosch she had fallen out of the FBI van and landed hard on the street. Her mind raced to come up with an answer that didn't knock down any of the previous explanations.

"Oh… yeah, I fell."

"You fell? Where?"

"I was up on Ocean Avenue on a bench, watching the meet between Bosch and those guys who wanted the guns. Ocean Avenue is above the parking lot, so that made it a good vantage point. Then when the shooting started, I wanted to get to Bosch. I should have taken the stairs down but they were like a hundred feet to my left. I tried to just run down the embankment and I lost my footing and fell. I got dirty."

"So why didn't you go to Bosch then? Why'd you wait till they were taping the crime scene?"

"Well, I was sort of hurt—I still need to get my shoulder checked out. I can't sleep on it. But the main reason is that there were FBI snipers and they didn't know about me. Only Bosch knew. I suddenly realized that if I ran out there into the parking lot, I might get shot. So I waited until the tape was up and it was safe."

Ballard wasn't completely happy with her quick answer but thought it covered the question. Gandle hesitated, then leaned across the desk and held out the chain, still dangling from his fingers. She opened her palm and he dropped the medal into her hand.

"I don't know, Ballard," he said. "The whole thing sounds sketchy."

"It's what happened," Ballard said. "What are you going to tell the Times ?"

"Fuck the Times. I'm not telling them anything. And if Anderson calls you or Bosch, you both better do the same. Now get out of here. I have work to do and so do you."

Ballard stood up. She felt like she was in the clear.

"Wait a minute," Gandle suddenly said. "Sit back down. What is going on with the case? You said Vegas was good but I don't have a report from you yet."

Ballard sat down again and summarized what she and Maddie Bosch had gotten from Van Ness and told him about the follow-ups being made on the three names he had given them. She said she would check with the coroner's office to see if they still had blood from the late Taylor Weeks.

"Let's hope it's not a match," Gandle said.

"Why?" Ballard asked.

"Because you get no real media traction with a dead suspect. We could use a live one for once. Somebody in cuffs at an arraignment or on a perp walk. A dead suspect just provides answers. A live one provides a shot at justice being carried out. That's what the people want and it makes us look good."

Ballard nodded in agreement. The captain was right.

"Then I hope Weeks is not a match and we find a live one," she said. "Either way, I will close this case."

She stood up again.

"One more thing," Gandle said. "I'm thinking now that bringing Madeline Bosch into the unit was a mistake."

"You approved her," Ballard said.

"Yeah, I know. But now I want you to drop her."

For the third time, Ballard sat down.

"What are you talking about?" she said. "She's great. The Black Dahlia case is all because of her. And she was the one in Vegas who finally got Van Ness to open up and talk. On top of that, she's the only one in the unit other than me who has a badge, and I've been telling you for months I need a second badge in the unit."

"It just doesn't look good," Gandle said. "You and her father and that whole mess at the beach, then you turn around and bring in the daughter. Not good optics, Ballard. Cut her loose."

"It's only bad optics if it gets in the Times, and you said you weren't going to talk to them."

"I'm not, but you never know. This could still blow up. So cut her loose."

"Sir—"

"That's an order, Ballard."

Ballard paused before responding. She was trying to think two moves ahead of the captain.

"Understood," she finally said. "Can I go now?"

"I'm not stopping you," Gandle said. "Go make cases."

"Right."

"And have a good day."

Ballard got up. The hollow feeling in her chest had not gone away. The concern about the Times inquiry had just been replaced with the order from Gandle to cut Maddie Bosch from the unit. She knew she had merely traded one problem for another. She needed to find a way to make the captain rescind his order and let her keep Maddie.