“What do you mean? We got the Santa Clara River right over that ridge.”
“Yeah, I’m talking about an ocean. The Pacific Ocean. Last I heard, you can’t surf the Santa Clara River — even when there is water in it.”
“But it’s a good counterpoint, mountains and oceans, isn’t it? The desert and beach have got at least one thing in common.”
“Sand?”
“You guessed it.”
Single laughed, and when he stopped, Ballard could hear her phone buzzing on the kitchen counter inside. It was the first time in thirty-six hours, and she had thought she was outside the limit of her cell service, but here it was: a call.
“Let me try to grab that,” she said.
“Come on,” Single said. “We’re talking about the future here.”
She hurried in through the door but the phone’s buzz died before she reached it. She saw the number was a city exchange but didn’t recognize it. She hesitated calling back blindly. It could be about her Board of Rights hearing. She still didn’t know if it would take place as scheduled after she had been taken off suspension and then placed back on. She waited and soon a voice-mail message notice appeared on the screen. She reluctantly played it back.
“Detective Ballard, Carl Schaeffer here from the Bureau of Street Lighting. I saw all the fuss on the news about the so-called Midnight Men and I’m guessing that’s your case and the cat is sort of out of the bag. But just in case it still matters, I wanted to let you know we got a maintenance call today on a light over in Hancock Park and I’m here if you want to know the details.”
Ballard immediately called Schaeffer back.
“Detective, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Schaeffer. I got your message. Did you send anyone out to repair the light?”
“No, not yet. I thought I’d check with you first.”
“Who called it in?”
“A guy we know over there — we sort of call him the mayor of Windsor Square. It’s not on his street but people there just sort of know he’s the go-to guy on streetlights and other neighborhood stuff. He called it in this morning. Just now, in fact. Right before I called you.”
“Can I get his name?”
“John Welborne.”
Schaeffer also gave Ballard the phone number Welborne had called from to initiate the maintenance request.
“Was I right about the Midnight Men — them being why you came here about the lights?”
“What makes you say that? Was there something in the paper about streetlights?”
“Not that I saw. I just kinda put two and two together. The paper said three different women were attacked, and you had asked about three different streetlights.”
“Mr. Schaeffer — Carl — I think you could’ve been a smart detective, but please don’t talk to anyone about this. That is not fully confirmed and it could hurt the investigation if it becomes public knowledge.”
“Completely understood, Detective. I have not told a soul and I certainly won’t. But thanks for the compliment. I thought about being a cop way back in the day.”
Single came in from outside and saw the serious look on Ballard’s face. He held his hands wide as if to ask if there was anything he could do. Ballard shook her head and continued with Schaeffer.
“Can you give me the address of the streetlight we’re talking about, Mr. Schaeffer?” she asked.
“Sure can,” Schaeffer said. “Let me look it up here.”
He read off an address on North Citrus Avenue.
“Between Melrose and Beverly,” he added helpfully.
Ballard thanked him and disconnected. She looked at Single.
“I’ve gotta go,” she said.
“You sure?” he said. “I don’t go back in till tomorrow. I thought maybe we’d take the dog and — ”
“I have to. This is my case.”
“I thought you didn’t have any cases anymore.”
Ballard didn’t answer. She went back to his bedroom to gather her things and get Pinto out of his travel crate, where he was sleeping. She had been using clothes out of the surf bag she kept in the car, while Pinto had been treated to canned food from a mini-market in what passed for the town center of Acton. Her stay with Single had started as just a home-cooked meal from Single’s backyard barbecue — he had revealed in Elysian Park that he prided himself on good barbecue and she had put him to the test.
After walking Pinto in the scrub area surrounding Single’s home, she loaded her things and the dog into the Defender and was ready to go.
At the open door, he kissed her goodbye.
“You know, this could work,” Single said. “You keep your place in town and surf when I’m on shift. Three days on the water, four in the mountains.”
“So you think because you make a great pulled chicken sandwich that a girl’s just gonna swoon and fall into your arms, huh?” she said.
“Well, I also make a great brisket if you’d go back on the red meat.”
“Maybe next time I’ll break down.”
“So there will be a next time?”
“A lot’s going to ride on that brisket.”
She gently pushed him away and got in the Defender.
“You be careful,” he said.
“You too,” she replied.
On the way south to the city she waited until she cleared the Santa Clarita Valley and had solid phone service before calling the number she had been given for John Welborne. The call went to the Larchmont Chronicle, the community newspaper that served Hancock Park and its surrounding neighborhoods, for which, she learned, he was the publisher, editor, and reporter. That he was a member of the media made the call a bit tricky. Ballard needed information from him but didn’t want it to end up in his paper.
“Mr. Welborne, this is Detective Ballard with the LAPD. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Yes, of course. Is this about the article?”
“Which article?”
“We published a story Thursday about the fundraiser for the Wilshire Division officer who lost his wife to Covid.”
“Oh, no, not that. I’m with Hollywood Division. I need to talk to you off the record about something unrelated to the newspaper. I don’t want it in your paper — not yet, at least. This is an off-the-record conversation. Okay?”
“Not a problem, Detective Ballard. We’re a monthly, and it’s a couple weeks till deadline anyway.”
“Good. Thank you. I want to ask you about your call this morning to the Bureau of Street Lighting. You left a message reporting that there’s a streetlight out on North Citrus Avenue.”
“Uh, yes, I did leave a message, but Detective, I didn’t suggest that any crime had been committed.”
“Of course not. But it may have some connection to a case we’re investigating. That’s why we were alerted and that’s also the part I want to keep quiet.”
“I understand.”
“Can you tell me who told you about the light being out?”
“It was a good friend of my wife, Martha’s. Her name is Hannah Stovall. She knew she could call me and I’d alert the appropriate authorities. Most people don’t even know we have a Bureau of Street Lighting. But they know that I know people who know people. They come to me.”
“And she called you?”
“Actually, no, she sent an email to my wife, asking for advice. I took it from there.”
“I understand. Can you tell me what you know about Hannah Stovall? For example, how old do you think she is?”
“Oh, I would say early thirties. She’s young.”
“Is she married, lives alone, has roommates — what?”
“She’s not married and I’m pretty sure she lives by herself.”
“And do you know what she does for a living?”
“Yes, she’s an engineer. She works for the Department of Transportation. I’m not sure what she does but I could ask Martha. This sounds like you are seeing if she fits into some sort of profile.”
“Mr. Welborne, I can’t really share with you what the investigation is about at this time.”
“I understand, but of course I’m dying to know what is going on with our friend. Is she in danger? Can you tell me that?”
“I — ”