“Fuck you, Ballard,” Moore said. “You know I’m a single mother. I’ve got kids — how the hell am I going to work midnights? And all because you got pissed that you had to cover for me.”
“Lisa, I did cover for you,” Ballard said. “I did not tell the lieutenant one thing about you or this — ”
“He already knew, Lisa,” Neumayer said. “He knew about the Miramar.”
Moore jerked her laser focus off Ballard and onto Neumayer.
“What?” she asked.
“He knew,” Neumayer said. “The Miramar, right? Santa Barbara? Dash told me Thursday he was going up there for the weekend. If that’s where you were when you should have been working with Ballard, then he probably saw you. Did he just ask you how the weekend was?”
Moore didn’t answer but didn’t have to. Her face betrayed her. She was realizing that the trap she had just walked into in the lieutenant’s office had been set by herself.
“Bang, the penny drops,” Clarke said. “You fucked up, Moore.”
“Shut up, Clarke,” Moore said.
“Okay, can we put this little dustup aside for now?” Neumayer said. “Let’s all go to the TFR. We’ve got a pair of rapists to catch.”
There was a lull before Moore made a sweep of her hand toward the hallway that led to the task force room.
“Lead the way,” she said.
The men got up from their stations and Neumayer did lead the way, a white binder tucked under his arm. Clarke quickly caught up to him, perhaps sensing that the tension between the two women was not something he wanted to get in the middle of.
Ballard followed at a ten-yard distance and Moore took fourth position in the parade. She spoke to Ballard’s back as they walked.
“I suppose you want an apology,” she said.
“I don’t want anything from you, Lisa,” Ballard said.
Ballard suddenly stopped short and turned to Moore. They were standing in the back hallway where only the shoeshine guy could hear them.
“You know, you may have fucked yourself but you also fucked me,” Ballard said. “I like my job. I like the dark hours and now I’m going to be dayside thanks to you.”
Ballard turned and continued down the hall, passing by the shoeshine station.
Once all four of them were settled in the TFR, Neumayer asked Ballard to summarize the weekend’s occurrences, since it was now apparent that Moore had played hooky. Ballard gave a concise update and told them about her reaching out to the three victims.
“I have victim three’s Lambkin survey here,” she said. “The other two should be completed by now. You just have to call them today to collect. When you compare them, see if we get any triple matches. Or even double matches.”
Clarke groaned at the idea of desk work.
“Thanks, Ballard,” he said. “Why don’t you stick around to help?”
“Because I’m going to be sleeping, Clarke,” Ballard said. “I worked all night and I’ve been working this case all weekend. I’m out of here as soon as we’re done with this meeting.”
“You’re cool, Renée,” Neumayer said. “We’ll handle it from here.”
“Good, because I’m supposed to have the next three days off,” Ballard said.
“All right,” Neumayer said. “Why don’t you give us victim three’s survey and we’ll take it from there. You can go home.”
“We also may have caught a break,” Ballard said. “These scumbags cut the power to the streetlights near each victim’s house. They wanted it dark.”
“Holy shit,” Clarke said.
“How’d you get that?” Neumayer asked.
“A resident up in the Dell told me the light outside the victim’s house was out the night before the attack. This morning I went to the BSL to check work orders and — ”
“BSL?” Moore asked.
“Bureau of Street Lighting,” Ballard said. “On Santa Monica near Virgil. I checked work orders, and lights on the other victims’ streets were cut around the same time as the attacks. Exact times are not known, because they work off complaints. But the complaint records are in line. I think these guys cut the lights to darken the streets for when they came back to do their evil shit. I asked Forensics to print the posts and access plates on the lights, but my guess is that’s a long shot.”
“That’s good, Renée,” Neumayer said.
“But what’s it get us?” Clarke asked.
“Dipshit, MLK weekend is in, like, two weeks,” Moore said. “We need to wire the BSL, and maybe we get up on them for their next hit.”
Ballard nodded.
“Exactly,” she said. “And they’re already wired. I’ll get a call every time a light is reported out between now and then.”
Clarke looked hurt that he had not put the obvious together.
“Sounds excellent,” Neumayer said. “Maybe we’re getting the upper hand on these guys. But we still have to run with the surveys. Ronin and Lisa, pick a vic. Go get the surveys and then let’s meet back here and start cross-referencing. Renée, good work. You go home and get some sleep now.”
Ballard nodded. She didn’t mention that she had an autopsy to go to.
“Call me if you come up with something,” she said.
“Oh, one thing before we grab and go,” Neumayer said. “I wanted to talk about the media. We’ve been lucky that they haven’t picked up on this. But now, a third case, it’s going to get out. Somehow it always does. Now that we have this streetlight lead, I’m still inclined to try to keep the investigation under wraps. But it’s dangerous.”
It was always a no-win situation. Going public alerted your suspects and allowed them to change the MO being used to track them. Not going public left the department wide open to criticism for not warning people of the menace that was out there. In typically cynical fashion, the decision of whether to go public would be made purely along political lines for the department and with no consideration of the victims who might have been saved from trauma.
“I’ll talk to the L-T about it,” Neumayer said. “But if this leaks, we are not going to look good. They’ll scream that we should have warned the public.”
“Maybe we should,” Ballard said. “These two are already looking at life for multiple rapes. As soon as they figure that out, they’ll probably escalate. They’ll stop leaving live victims.”
“And that’s the risk we take,” Neumayer said. “Let me talk to the lieutenant, and he may want to talk to media relations. I’ll let you know what is decided.”
As they returned to the squad room, Moore said nothing to Ballard. The friendly and professional relationship they once shared seemed completely and permanently gone.
Ballard crossed the room and knocked on Robinson-Reynolds’s open door. He signaled her in.
“Ballard, I thought you’d left.”
“I stayed around to brief the Sex team. And now I have the autopsy to go to.”
“Then you probably heard about the next deployment. You’re off midnights, Ballard. I was going to tell you myself.”
“Yeah, I heard. And L-T, I gotta ask, Why am I getting punished for Lisa’s sins?”
“What are you talking about? You’re not being punished.”
“She said I’m off the late show and she’s on.”
“That’s exactly right. You go to the Sex table, where I’m sure we’ll see vast improvements. You and Neumayer will make a great team. Clarke is a deadweight but generally harmless.”
“That’s the point. I like the late show. By punishing Lisa, you’re punishing me. I wasn’t looking to leave midnights.”
Robinson-Reynolds paused. Ballard saw his mind churning. He had started with the assumption that no detective liked working the midnight shift. But that was his view of it, not Ballard’s.
“I see where I may have fucked up,” he said. “You don’t want to move.”
Ballard shook her head.
“The only move I’d want is back to Homicide downtown, and we know that isn’t going to happen. So, I like midnights. Good variety of cases, no deadweight partner to carry, out of sight and out of mind. It’s perfect for me.”
“Okay, I’ll rescind the order. When the next deployment comes out, you’ll still be third watch.”
“What about Lisa?”
“I don’t know about her. Probably she’ll stay where she is and I’ll ding her personnel jacket. But Ballard, don’t tell her I rescinded. I want her to stew about it for a week till the new DP is posted. That’ll be her punishment.”