She called the com center, identified herself and gave her serial number, then asked for a DMV check on Dario Calvente. She got lucky. There was only one that had a Los Angeles address. She thanked the operator and disconnected.
“Silver Lake,” she said. “You still want to go?”
“Let’s do it,” Bosch said.
It took them fifteen minutes to drive over. Calvente lived in a 1930s Spanish-style house across from the reservoir. They climbed a set of stone stairs to get to the front porch. There was a large picture window with a view of the lake, but it was covered with a sign that said BLACK LIVES MATTER.
Ballard knocked on the door and had her badge off her belt and in her hand. The door was answered by a man of about forty whom Ballard recognized from the receiving line at the memorial. He still had his suit on but the tie was gone. He had a thick mustache and brown eyes as dark as Bosch’s.
“Mr. Calvente, LAPD,” Ballard said. “Sorry to bother you at home, but we left a message at your office and you didn’t return it.”
Calvente pointed at her.
“I saw you today,” he said. “At the memorial for Javier.”
“That’s right,” Ballard said. “My name is Renée Ballard and this is my colleague Harry Bosch. Josefina Raffa told us you were her husband’s attorney and we would like to ask you a few questions.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you,” Calvente said. “I did some work for Javier, yes, but it was in trade for work on my car. I wouldn’t call myself his lawyer per se.”
“Do you know if he had another lawyer?”
“No, I don’t think so. This is why he asked me if I could help.”
“And when was this?”
“Oh, a few months ago. My wife, she had an accident and I had the car towed to Javier’s. When he found out I was a lawyer, he asked me to do some work.”
“What was the work? Can you tell us?”
“There was privilege involved but it was a contract he had signed. He wanted to know how to dissolve a partnership.”
“Was this for his business?”
Calvente looked past them and out at the reservoir. He canted his head back and forth as if weighing whether to answer. Then he looked at Ballard and nodded his head once.
“Were you able to help him?” Ballard asked.
“Contract law is not my specialty,” Calvente said. “I told him that I saw no place in the contract that I thought he could attack. And I told him he should seek a second opinion from a contract attorney. I asked if he wanted a referral and he said no. And for this he gave me a discount on the repairs of our car. That was it.”
“Do you remember, was the partner named Dennis Hoyle?”
“I think that was the name but I can’t be sure. It’s been a few months.”
“Did he tell you anything about why he wanted to break the contract?”
“He just said it was not a good situation, because he had long ago paid off a debt to this man but he had to keep paying him out of the profits. I remember the contract had no termination. It was a full partnership for the life of the business.”
“What was Hoyle’s stake in the business?”
“I think twenty-five percent.”
“If this review was all you did for him, why did you go to the memorial today?”
“Well, I, uh, wanted to express my condolences to the family and say I was available for anything they might need. In a legal capacity, of course.”
“How did you know, by the way, that he had been the victim of a homicide?”
“I saw the memorial scheduled at the church when I attended this morning. I did not know it was a homicide until I was there today. It was a terrible thing for the family.”
Ballard turned to Bosch to see if he had any questions that she had missed. He shook his head and she looked back at Calvente.
“Thank you, Mr. Calvente,” she said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“You’re welcome,” Calvente said.
Bosch took the steps down to the street slowly. Ballard had to wait for him. When he reached the sidewalk, he whispered under his breath.
“Ambulance chaser. He barely knows the guy and he goes to his memorial?”
“Yeah. You ever see that Sidney Lumet movie The Verdict?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t go to a lot of movies anymore.”
“It’s an old one with Paul Newman. I went through a Paul Newman phase. Anyway, he’s a lawyer — a drunk, actually — and he tries to drum up business by going to funerals and passing out business cards.”
Bosch looked back up at the house.
“This guy must go to a lot of funerals,” he said.
“Well, what he gave us was good,” Ballard said. “Javier wanted out of the contract. There’s a motive in that.”
“There is. But Hoyle’s going to be protected by the contract. Calvente said it was legit. We still need to find the factor man and hope he leads us to the man with the Walther P-twenty-two.”
“Tonight I’ll go back to Gang Intel. They had a snitch who told them years ago that Javier bought his way out of Las Palmas. I think it was a woman. They wouldn’t give me her name before but I’ll make them give it to me now. She might know who set him up with Hoyle.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
Fifteen minutes later Ballard had just dropped Bosch at his car and was on her way to the ER at Hollywood Presbyterian when she got a call from EMT Single.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Actually, I’m on my way to the ER,” she said.
“Oh, no, what’s happening?”
“Nothing, I’m fine. My boss won’t let me go back to work tonight unless I get a clean bill from the ER. I told him a very good EMT had cleared me today but they’re making me go anyway.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I was about to invite you to a firehouse dinner.”
“Wow, I’ve never had an invitation like that before. What are you guys having?”
“All kinds of stuff. Grilled cheese, chili. I think somebody dropped off a couple of apple pies. We’ve got some salad, some corn on the cob.”
“Well, I’d take a salad and grilled cheese.”
“Ooh, it sounds like we’ve got a veggie on our hands.”
“Just no red meat anymore.”
“Not a problem, but I thought you’re going to the ER.”
“I’d rather come for dinner and go to the ER on company time.”
“Well, come on over. Dinner’s in thirty-five minutes. Unless we catch a call and go out on a run.”
“On my way. But are you allowed to invite a guest?”
“One of us can. One guest allowed a night. I traded with a guy to get tonight ’cause I hoped you’d like firehouse chili. But grilled cheese is just as good.”
“All right, cool. See you in a bit. One last question...”
“Sure.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Oh, it’s Garrett.”
“Garrett. Cool. I’ll see you soon, Garrett.”
After disconnecting, Ballard created an entry with Single’s full name in her contact list. She hoped it would stay in there for a while. She parked her car behind the police station. Before going over to the firehouse, she ducked into the locker room in the station and put on some light makeup. She was only going to a firehouse for a grilled cheese dinner, but she wanted to make an impression.
22
The dinner was fun, with Single introducing Ballard to his colleagues and her receiving a round of applause. And the grilled cheese was not bad, but the food and fun were cut short when EMT Single and his rescue team were called out on a traffic accident at Highland and Hollywood, one of the busiest intersections in the city. They raced off to the scene, and Ballard carried the second half of her grilled cheese sandwich on a napkin around the wall that separated the firehouse from the police station. She finished eating in the station while sitting in on the mid-watch roll call. Mid-watch rolled out at eight — Ballard’s usual start time — and it was small squad, making roll calls less crowded and more informal. No one objected to her finishing her sandwich.