She soon saw Javier Raffa’s silent partner, Dr. Dennis Hoyle, emerge in the line from the chapel. Ballard recognized him from the studio photos on his family dentistry website. He was all angles: thin, sharp shoulders and elbows. He had graying hair and a salt-and-pepper goatee.
Ballard realized this might be the best time to talk to him, when he least expected to be questioned by the police. She quickly texted Bosch her plan and then watched when it was Hoyle’s turn to go down the family line. It was clear he was meeting them for the first time, even the widow. He hugged none of them and gave the widow a two-handed sympathy grasp. He leaned forward to say something to her or possibly identify himself, but Ballard’s read on the widow’s facial expression and body language was that she had no idea who he was.
Javier Raffa’s son, Gabriel, was at the end of the receiving line. Hoyle simply nodded once and gave the young man a hang-in-there clap on the shoulder, then headed away with a look of pure relief on his face. Ballard used her arm to hold her jacket closed over the badge on her belt. She let Hoyle pass by and then turned to follow him.
As Hoyle headed toward the street, Ballard could see Bosch standing out on the sidewalk. He was wearing a suit, just in case he needed to go into the memorial service. But the suit also worked for what they were about to do.
Ballard followed Hoyle out and picked up speed to catch up. Bosch positioned himself in the middle of the sidewalk, slowing Hoyle down as he decided which way to go.
“Dr. Hoyle?” Ballard said.
Hoyle spun around as if shocked that anyone in this part of town would know him by name.
“Uh, yes?” he said.
Ballard pulled her jacket open to show the badge as well as her gun holstered on her hip.
“I’m Detective Ballard with the LAPD. This is my colleague Harry Bosch.”
She gestured to Bosch, who was now behind Hoyle. The dentist whipped back to look at Bosch and then forward again at Ballard.
“Yes?” he said.
“I’m investigating the murder of Javier Raffa,” Ballard said. “I would like to ask you a few questions, if you have the time.”
“Me?” Hoyle said. “Why would you want to ask me questions?”
“Well, for starters, you were his partner, were you not?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t know anything about what happened. I mean, I wasn’t even there.”
“That’s okay. We need to be thorough and talk to anybody who knew him. If you were his partner, you must have known him pretty well.”
“It was a business investment, that’s all.”
“Okay, that’s good to know. Where are you parked? Maybe we should get away from the church and talk.”
“Um, I’m over here but I — ”
“Lead the way.”
Hoyle drove a four-door Mercedes and by coincidence had parked right behind Bosch’s old Jeep. Neither Bosch nor Ballard mentioned this, because it would possibly put cracks in the charade that Bosch was an LAPD detective. When they got to Hoyle’s car, he pulled the remote key from his pocket and unlocked the doors. He then turned to Ballard and Bosch.
“You know, right now is not a good time to talk,” he said. “I’ve just been to my friend’s memorial and I’m kind of emotional about it. I just want to go home. Can we — ”
“How did you know?” Ballard interrupted.
“How did I know he was dead?” Hoyle said. “It was in the paper — online.”
Ballard paused for a moment in case Hoyle sputtered out something else. He didn’t.
“No, I mean how did you know he was looking for a partner?” she said. “An investor. Somebody to buy him out of the gang.”
For a second, Hoyle’s eyes widened. He was surprised by her knowledge.
“I … Well, I have advisers for this sort of thing,” Hoyle said.
“Really?” Ballard asked. “Who is that? I’d like to speak to them.”
“I told you, now is not a good time. Can I go?”
Ballard held her hands wide as if to say she wasn’t keeping him from leaving.
“So I can go?” Hoyle said.
“It would be better for you, Dr. Hoyle, if we cleared some of this up now,” Ballard said.
“Cleared up what? You just said I could go.”
“No, I said it would be better for you to talk to us right now, right here. I don’t think you want us coming by your office, do you?”
Hoyle flung the door of his car open and it promptly swung back closed. Exasperated, he opened it again and held it.
“I’ve done nothing wrong and you are harassing me!”
He jumped in the car and slammed the door. He fired up the engine and took off from the curb, driving by Ballard and Bosch.
“If he thinks that was harassment, he hasn’t seen anything yet,” Ballard said.
Bosch stood next to her and they watched the Mercedes drive north on Occidental.
“Did I come on too strong?” Ballard asked.
“He thinks so,” said Bosch.
“Fuck ’im.”
“He’s probably calling his partners right now. Did you want that?”
“I wanted them to know I’m here.”
21
Ballard and Bosch went back to the church to see if the family was finished with the procession of well-wishers. There was no one at the door of the chapel. Ballard looked inside and saw the widow and the daughters but not the son, Gabriel.
“I need to find Gabriel so he can translate if needed,” she said. “Stay here in case they start to leave.”
“I’ll stall them,” Bosch said.
Ballard went back down the hallway and looked through the double doors leading to the larger cathedral. She saw Gabriel sitting in a pew by himself. She entered and quietly walked down the center aisle. Gabriel was using a penknife to scratch something into the wooden bench. It said “GOD S,” and she didn’t think after the last three days that he was working on the word “SAVES.”
“Gabriel,” she said. “Stop.”
He was so badly startled that he dropped the knife and it clattered to the marble floor. Ballard could see smeared tears on his face.
“Look,” she said. “I know what has happened to your family is horrible. If you want to help do something about it, help me talk to your mother. Come.”
She stepped back into the aisle. He hesitated, then started to reach down for his knife.
“Give me that,” Ballard said. “You don’t need it, and it will only get you into trouble. Let’s go talk to your mother.”
Gabriel came out of the pew and handed her the knife. He walked with his head down all the way to the chapel. Ballard folded the knife closed and put it in her pocket.
“What was done to your father wasn’t right,” Ballard said. “But he got out of the street life and that’s what he wanted for you. Don’t let him down, Gabriel.”
“I won’t,” Gabriel said.
“You told me the other night that your father had a partner — a white guy from Malibu. Did he come to the memorial today?”
“I think so. He was the white guy, right?”
“I don’t know, Gabriel. I’m asking you. Do you know his name?”
“No, I don’t remember it. I only saw him one time when he came to the shop.”
Bosch was waiting outside the door of the chapel. He nodded to Ballard, indicating that the rest of the family was still inside.
Ballard and Gabriel entered. Bosch followed but hung back by the door. Ballard reintroduced herself to the family and said she needed to ask some questions. She said Gabriel had volunteered to translate if necessary. The mother was named Josefina and she agreed to talk to Ballard. She looked as if the tears of the last days had left permanent lines on her brown face. She had the look that Ballard had seen a hundred times before on women whose men were taken by violence — the look that asks, How do I live? How do I take care of my family?
“First, I want to assure you that we are doing everything we can to find out who did this to Javier,” Ballard began, speaking slowly. “We have some leads that we are following and hopefully they will bring us to an arrest. I can’t tell you everything we’re doing, so some of my questions might seem strange. I just ask you to be patient and to know the information you provide is important. Do you understand, or would you like Gabriel to translate?”
“I understand, yes,” Josefina said.
“Good. Thank you. Let me start with what we asked the other night at the hospital. Do you know of anyone who wanted to harm Javier?”