Bosch had always been a sort of homicide guru to Ballard. Ever since the night she caught him going through files in the D-bureau — long after he’d retired. She wasn’t sure whether it was wisdom or experience, or if experience brought the wisdom, but she knew he was never just backup. He was her go-to guy and she trusted him.
They didn’t get to Jason Abbott’s house until after one. The house was dark, and there was no answer to repeated knocks on his door. They debated whether he knew what was closing in around him and had fled. But that didn’t fit with the known facts. He may have learned that Bonner was dead, but even that was a stretch, as the man who had killed himself in Ballard’s apartment had no ID on his person. Ballard knew it was Bonner because she recognized him. But his identity would not have been released by the coroner’s office until it had been confirmed through fingerprints and other means.
Ballard believed that, at best, Abbott would know only that Bonner was missing in action. The hit man had not responded to the text or reported back to him in any other way. Abbott may have cruised Ballard’s neighborhood and seen the police activity, but again, it didn’t seem likely that he had enough information to cause him to flee. Ballard was the only one who had the whole picture, and she had shared it with no one but Bosch.
They decided to stay awhile and watch for Abbott’s return. And that was where the coffee in the thermos came in.
“How did you know we would end up out here — maybe all night?” Ballard asked.
“I didn’t,” Bosch said. “I just came prepared.”
“You’re like that guy in the Wambaugh books. The Original. No, the Oracle. They called him the Oracle ’cause he’s already seen everything twice.”
“I like the Original.”
“Harry Bosch, the Original. Nice.”
He reached to the back for the thermos.
“You ever see yourself stopping?” Ballard asked.
“I guess when I stop, it all stops, you know?” he said.
He put the two cups on the dashboard and got ready to pour.
“You want some?”
“Sure, but you can sleep if you want. These are my normal hours, so I’ll be fine.”
“The dark hours belong to you.”
“You got it.”
He handed her a cup of black coffee.
“It’s hot,” he warned.
“Thanks,” Ballard said, accepting it. “But really. I got good sleep until Bonner woke me up. One cup and I’ll be good to go all night. You can sleep.”
“We’ll see. I’ll keep you company for at least a while. What about the car? Aren’t the narcs going to need it back in the morning?”
“If you’d asked me that a year ago, the answer would’ve been... well, I wouldn’t have gotten the car in the first place. But now, post George Floyd and knee-deep in Covid and defunding the department and everything else? Nobody’s doing shit. I didn’t even ask for this car. I just took it because it’s not going to be missed.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“A lot of people are mailing it in. Crime is up but arrests are down. And a lot of people are quitting. I gotta be honest, I’m even thinking of quitting, Harry. Think you could use a partner?”
She said it with a laugh, but in many ways she was serious.
“Anytime — as long as you don’t need a regular paycheck. You’re pretty short of a pension, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but at least I’d get back the money I’ve put in the fund so far. I guess I could also go back to sleeping on the beach.”
“You’d need to get another dog.”
Ballard smiled and then thought of Pinto, the dog she was supposed to meet soon. He wouldn’t make much of a guard dog, though.
“Still,” Bosch said. “It’s always easier to change an organization from within. Street protests won’t do it.”
“You think I’m command staff material?” Ballard asked. “You gotta be on the tenth floor if you’re going to change anything.”
“Not necessarily. I always thought if you fight the good fight, it gets noticed. And then maybe the next guy does the same thing. The right thing.”
“I don’t think it’s that kind of department anymore.”
She sipped her hot coffee and thought she recognized the blend right away. She held the cup up like a toast.
“Where do you get this stuff?” she asked.
“My daughter,” Bosch said. “She’s always trying different things, then passes them on to me. This stuck. I like it.”
“Me too. Maddie’s got great taste. You said she has a boyfriend?”
“Yeah, they moved in together. In your neighborhood, in fact. I haven’t been there yet. Haven’t been invited.”
“Whereabouts?”
“You go down Franklin and take the first left after the Shakespeare Bridge at St. George. Up there by the reservoir.”
“But you said you’ve never been there.”
“Well, you know, I had to check it out. I haven’t been inside — put it that way.”
“You’re such a dad. Who’s the guy? Are you worried?”
“No, he’s a good kid. Works in the industry as a set builder.”
“That’s a union gig, right?”
“Yep. IATSE, Local thirty-three. He does pretty well, and that’s all they have coming in with her in the academy. It was slow for him last year but now stuff is picking up. I gave them a little bit to get through.”
“You rented that place for them, didn’t you?”
“Well, I got ’em started, yeah.”
“You’re such a dad.”
“You said that. Feel more like a grandfather these days.”
“Come on. You’ve got a lot of cases still to work, Harry.”
“Especially if I take on a partner.”
Ballard smiled and they lapsed into an easy silence. But then she felt bad about castigating the department his daughter was in training to join.
“Sorry about what I said before about the department,” she said. “It’s just a cycle, and when Maddie gets out of the academy, she’ll be part of the new LAPD.”
“Hope so,” Bosch said.
They dropped back into silence and after a while she heard Bosch’s measured breathing. She looked over. He had just dropped his chin and gone to sleep. He still held his empty cup. That was a real skill.
She took out her phone and checked messages and texts. Garrett Single had emailed her the recording of their FaceTime call when he had checked to see whether Bonner was properly intubated during the field trach. Ballard cut the volume on her phone and started to watch it, but then stopped the playback when she realized she didn’t want to see Bonner.
Instead, she flipped over to her phone’s browser and went to the Wags and Walks website. She navigated to the page for Pinto, the dog she would soon meet. There were several photos of him taken at the shelter.
One short video showed the dog interacting with his foster caretakers. He seemed attentive and wanting to please but he also seemed wary and maybe scarred by past experience. Still, Ballard had a good feeling about Pinto. She couldn’t wait to meet him and take him home.
She closed the video when she heard a ping. At first she thought it was on Bosch’s phone. But then it sounded again and she realized it was coming from Bonner’s burner in the Ziploc, which was in her coat pocket. She pulled the bag out and managed to open the phone without taking it out of the plastic.
The text was just three letters: WTF?
Ballard looked at Bosch. He was still head down and asleep. She wanted to answer the text and attempt to draw the person texting Bonner to a meeting. She could use Bosch’s advice here — there were legal considerations to answering the text — but she didn’t want to wake him up.
Looking at the burner phone, she saw that the battery was running low and its charging port didn’t look like it would fit an iPhone charger. Soon the phone would become useless until charged.