“Keep going,” she said.
“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning to stop and say, ‘How y’all doin’?’” Masser said.
“Sorry.”
“No worries. Who are they?”
“RHD.”
“Robbery-Homicide? Why would they call him away from dinner?”
“Search warrant. Must be a case that can’t wait.”
“So what do we do?”
“I think we call it a night. He’ll probably stay in after this and we got what we came for.”
“Up to you.”
“Yep.”
“You recognized those two guys, didn’t you?”
“One of them. Gil Perado. He’s an old bull.”
“You have a history with him?”
Ballard didn’t answer, so Masser did.
“That’s right. You have a history with everybody.”
“Used to. Let’s head back downtown. To your car. I want you to take the samples to Darcy Troy first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay. But you usually do that.”
“I have something to do in the morning. And I want no delays in getting that to the lab. I’ll call Darcy. She’ll be ready for it.”
“You got it.”
“After that, I need you to run down Nicholas Purcell’s birth certificate. We need to cover all bases, make damn sure he’s the judge’s son. You might have to go down to Norwalk for that. We’ll need the date the birth certificate was filed to be sure.”
The main offices of the county registrar were down in Norwalk in the south county. While Ballard knew from prior cases that it was difficult and time-consuming to break through the seal on adoption records, the date that a birth certificate was filed with the registrar — meaning how many days after the birth — was a strong indicator of whether an adoption had occurred.
“Sure, I’ll go straight there from the lab,” Masser said.
“Thanks,” Ballard said. “I might not be in till later, but let me know what you get.”
“Of course.”
Tuesday, 12:14 A.M
8
Ballard woke to the sound of her phone buzzing on the bedside table. She checked the number but didn’t recognize it. She answered anyway.
“Ballard.”
“This is Seth.”
“Okay. Seth who?”
“Dawson. You left me a message, said call anytime. I just got off work.”
Ballard put it together.
“Oh, right, yes. Sorry, I leave a lot of messages for a lot of people. Anyway, I wanted to ask a few questions about the burg—”
“Did you catch them?”
“Uh, no, we didn’t. But why do you say ‘them’?” Ballard pivoted to a sitting position, put her feet on the floor. She turned on the bed-table light and reached for her notebook next to it.
“Had to be more than one,” Dawson said. “To hit all of those cars that morning. At least, that’s what the cop said.”
“Wait a minute,” Ballard said. “There was more than one auto burglary? I only have your report.”
“Yeah, see, I was the only one who waited around for the cops to show up. It took them like an hour. But I had insurance, so I needed a police report. I knew that. The other guys got tired of waiting and took off.”
“How many others got ripped off?”
“There was four of us, including me.”
“Do you recall what was taken from the other cars?”
“I think just phones, maybe a little bit of cash.”
“Do you know the other three?”
“Not really. I mean, I saw them on the water, but we didn’t really talk. Just stayed out of each other’s way, mostly.”
“Okay, Seth. The police report says you live in Venice. Do you go up to Topanga often?”
“Hardly ever. And after that shit, never again, man. My insurance had a five-hundred-dollar deductible, so that cost me.”
“I understand. You lost a phone and a watch?”
“Yeah, the Breitling was from my dad. He spent three grand on it.”
“I’m sure it was of great sentimental value to you.”
“It was.”
“So, if you hardly ever went up to the Topanga break, how come you went there that morning?”
“It was like glass down by me in Venice. So I checked the app and it said that was where the waves were that morning. I went.”
“Which app do you use?”
“I used to use Dawn Patrol but then I switched to Surf’s Up. I think, if I remember... yeah, I had switched by then. It woulda been Surf’s Up.”
It was the same app that Ballard used and that had led her to Staircases yesterday morning. She wrote it down in her notebook even though she knew she wouldn’t forget. It was a solid lead. If the thieves were using a surf app to determine which breaks were hot and drawing surfers, she could do the same thing in her search for whoever had stolen her badge and gun.
“You said you just got off work,” she said. “Where do you work, Seth?”
“The FedEx at the airport,” he said. “I’m a cargo coordinator. I make sure the right packages go to the right planes going to the right airports. It’s just a job.”
“You work nights to keep your days for surfing?”
“Exactly.”
“I know the drill. Listen, I’d appreciate it if you kept this conversation between us. It’s an active investigation, so it would be better if people didn’t know what we’re doing.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch when we get these guys.”
“Cool.”
Ballard disconnected and thought about things for a moment. She was energized by the lead regarding the surf app. She lay back down on the bed. It took her only thirty seconds to know sleep was not happening. She got up to take a shower.
9
Surf’s up reported that for a second straight day, the break at Staircases was where the juiciest waves in the Southland were rolling in. While Ballard didn’t believe the thieves she was looking for were the smartest criminals she had ever hunted, she did think that they were probably wise enough not to return to the same spot a day after stealing a police officer’s badge and gun. But she headed up the Pacific Coast Highway anyway, just to scope it out through eyes that had a better understanding of the setup.
She had spent a good part of the night working online, matching theft reports against the wave history on the Surf’s Up app. With only one exception, every theft reported by a surfer in the previous twelve months had occurred at the break where the app said the best waves were to be found. It was clear when her analysis was completed that the thieves — and she, too, was convinced it was more than one culprit — were using the Surf’s Up app to plot their crimes.
And now she was driving in predawn darkness toward Staircases on the off chance that the thieves were not as smart as she’d assumed.
It was still dark when she got there. The parking area behind the bluffs was empty. She got out and walked the length of the lot, looking at the ridgeline that ran behind it. There had to be an observation point where both the water and the parking area could be seen. This would allow the thieves to watch their intended victims hide their vehicle keys and know exactly when they were out on the water so they could make their move.
The bluff between the parking lot and the water was at its highest point at the north end of the lot. Ballard instinctively knew that it would be the best observation spot. She turned on a mini-flashlight she had retrieved from her equipment bag and trudged up the sandy incline. At the top she found a small clearing in the seagrass where the parking area and the beach were easily viewed. The litter of cans and bottles and other trash seemed to be proof that she was right.