“You got a minute?”
“Uh, not right — Let me get these orders out. There’s a table on the side.”
Because Ballard had not ordered a fancy coffee concoction, she received her cup right away. She took it around the side of the building, where there were four tables spaced properly along the sidewalk of the cross street. She sat at the table next to the side door of the shop and waited. She didn’t want the coffee she had just bought, even though it was decaf. She wanted to be able to sleep.
Carpenter came out with her own cup of coffee after about five minutes.
“Sorry, we got busy.”
She sat across the table from Ballard. The bruises on her face were spreading and had turned a deep purple. The lacerations were just starting to scab over.
“No problem,” Ballard said. “I didn’t tell you I was coming. I just wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m all right,” Carpenter said. “I guess. Considering.”
“Yeah, you’ve been through something nobody should have to experience.”
“Is there any news? Did you — ”
“No, not really. I mean, no arrests. When we get them, I will let you know right away, day or night.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Did you have time to work on the questionnaire?”
“Yes, but I’m not finished. It’s a lot. I brought it with me and I’ll work on it after the morning rush.”
As if on cue, the screen door of the shop opened and the woman who had taken Ballard’s order at the window leaned out.
“We have orders,” she said.
“Okay,” Carpenter said. “I’ll be in.”
The employee let the door bang shut.
“I’m sorry,” Carpenter said. “I really need to be in there.”
“That’s okay,” Ballard said. “We can talk later when you finish the questionnaire. I just wanted to ask if anything else came to mind. You know, you remembered about the photo, so I wanted to see if more details had come to you.”
Carpenter got up from the table.
“No, not really,” she said. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, nothing to be sorry about,” Ballard said. “But one other thing real quick. One of your neighbors saw a white van on the street before the attack on you. Two men, supposedly working on a streetlight, but the light is definitely out. I was up there. So I think it was them and they were disabling the light to make it darker outside your house.”
“That’s creepy,” Carpenter said. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll check with the Bureau of Street Lighting to see if they had somebody up there, but I kind of doubt it. One of the wires in that lamppost was cut. Anyway, I just wanted to ask. You don’t know anybody who owns a white van, do you?”
“Uh, no.”
“Okay, I’ll let you get back to work.”
After Carpenter went back inside, Ballard got up and dropped her untouched coffee into a trash can. It was time to go to sleep.
16
The buzz from her cell phone infiltrated her sleep, pulling Ballard out of a dream about water. She pushed the sleep mask up onto her forehead and reached for the phone. She saw that it was Bosch calling and it was exactly noon.
“Harry.”
“Shit, you were sleeping. Call me back when you’re awake.”
“I’m awake, I’m awake. What’s going on?”
“I think I found the nexus.”
His use of the word nexus sent Ballard’s thoughts toward the victims of the Midnight Men. That was the case she had been running with until exhaustion drove her down into the deep sleep Bosch had just roused her from. She flipped the comforter over, swung her legs to the edge of the bed, and pulled herself up into a sitting position.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “What are you saying? You connected the three women? How did — ”
“No, not the women,” Bosch said. “The murders. Javier Raffa and Albert Lee.”
“Oh, yeah, got it. Sorry. I have to wake up.”
“When did you go down?”
“About eight.”
“That’s not enough time. Go back to sleep, call me later.”
“No, I won’t be able to sleep now. I’ll be thinking about the case. Tell you what, you hungry? I never ate anything yesterday. I could bring something up to the house.”
“Uh, yeah. If you’re sure.”
“I am. What do you want?”
“I don’t know. Anything.”
“I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll leave. Text me what you want from Birds. It’s on the way. The menu’s online.”
“I already know what I want. Quarter chicken with baked beans and coleslaw. And I’ll take the regular barbecue sauce.”
“Text me anyway so I don’t forget.”
She disconnected, then sat on the bed for a long moment, wondering if she should have taken Bosch’s advice and tried to go back to sleep. She turned and looked back at her pillow. After four years on the night shift, working eight to six four nights a week, she had learned that cheating sleep could have bad consequences.
She pushed herself off the bed and headed to the bathroom.
An hour later she pulled to a stop in front of Bosch’s house. She carried her laptop and the bag from Birds. The restaurant was only a few minutes from her condo and had become her go-to place during the pandemic for takeout. They also gave anybody with a badge a discount, not that LAPD officers were supposed to take such perks.
Bosch took the bag from her and put it on the dining room table, where he had cleared space amid his laptop, printer, and paperwork. He started to take out the cartons containing their food.
“I got the same as you,” Ballard said. “Should be easy. You okay with me taking the mask off to eat? I have the antibodies. Supposedly.”
“Yeah, I’m okay. When did you get it?”
“November.”
“How bad?”
“I was down a few weeks but obviously I was luckier than others. You think the new president’s going to hurry the vaccine along? I don’t know anybody in the department who’s gotten it so far.”
“Hope so.”
“What about you? You’re eligible.”
“I never leave this place. Might be more dangerous for me to go out to get it.”
“You should make an appointment, Harry. Don’t turn it into a thing.”
“You sound like my daughter.”
“Well, your daughter’s right. How is Maddie?”
“Good. She’s doing well in the academy and has a boyfriend now.”
He offered nothing else but Ballard guessed that this meant he didn’t see her very often. She felt bad about that.
They both ate out of the sectioned cartons the meals came in. Bosch already had real silverware out and waiting, so they left the plastic stuff in the bag.
“In the old days, they used to give cops a discount,” Bosch said. “At Birds.”
“They still do,” Ballard said. “They like having cops as customers.”
She gave him some time to savor his first bite of rotisserie chicken slathered in barbecue sauce. It was the kind of food that made you bring a napkin to your mouth after every bite.
“So, tell me about this nexus you found,” she said.
“All I have is the public records that you can get online,” Bosch said. “Corporate records filed with the state. You’re going to have to go deeper with your access to confirm.”
“Okay, and what am I confirming?”
“I think it’s like the factoring that happened in the Albert Lee case. Ownership of the body shop, including the property it sits on, was transferred from Javier Raffa three years ago to a corporation owned by Raffa and a partner.”
“Who’s the partner?”
“A dentist named Dennis Hoyle. Office in Sherman Oaks.”
“Another dentist. Dennis the dentist. The dentist in the Albert Lee case was down in the Marina, right?”
“Yeah, John William James.”
“Any connection between Hoyle and James?”
“That’s the nexus.”
Ballard could tell Bosch was proud of whatever it was he had found, and of doing so without even leaving his house. She hoped she would still have that mojo if she was around and working cases at his age.