Gandle hesitated. “By Friday, you think?” he asked.
“Our lab liaison put a rush on it,” Ballard said, deciding not to mention Darcy Troy’s name.
“Okay, but I want to be informed of every move you make between now and then.”
“Well, that’s easy. We’re not making any moves until we get the results back. My IGG person is building a genetic tree, but that’s internet work. We’re not out there knocking on any doors.”
“That’s Hatteras? Tell her to stop the IGG. Do nothing more until the results are in. Understood?”
“Yes, understood.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“I’m sitting in my car making calls about a prospective volunteer. I’ll let you know if she pans out and I want to bring her on.”
“A she — that’s good. Just make sure she can kick a door open.”
“I already know that she can, Captain.”
“Good. Let me know.”
He disconnected and Ballard sat there staring through the windshield, reviewing the call and hoping she had headed off a problem with the captain. It was a long moment before she realized that there was a man standing on the balcony of the Delsey apartment.
She grabbed the binoculars from the center console and focused on him.
It was Dean. He was wearing a blue-and-white Hawaiian shirt. He looked older than his license photo, and his hair was shorter now, but he was definitely in his twenties, not his forties. He was holding a bottle of beer and smoking a joint, blowing the smoke out across Speedway. Ballard watched, waiting to see if he was joined on the balcony by his father or someone else from the apartment. But no one came out.
Dean Delsey finished smoking and flicked what was left of the joint down onto Speedway. He then disappeared back inside.
Ballard did some quick detective math. It appeared that Dean Delsey was alone in the apartment. If the father and son were responsible for the string of thefts, it stood to reason that between the two, the son would be the one she had the better chance of breaking. He had an arrest record but had repeatedly been given second chances by the system. The father had done hard time. Dean was on probation; Robert was on parole. Dean was the weak link.
Ballard reached under her seat and grabbed her handcuffs, then lowered the front visor and got out of the car.
12
Ballard stealthily approached the door to apartment 211, then leaned her right ear toward the jamb. She heard music playing inside but again couldn’t identify it.
She took a step back and checked for a peephole or a Ring camera. There was none. She used the side of her fist to pound loudly on the door.
“Parole, open up!”
She leaned forward again but heard no movement inside — no toilet flushing, no footsteps of someone rushing around trying to hide contraband. She pounded on the door again, this time harder.
“Department of Parole. Open the door or we’ll kick it in.”
Now she heard the music cut off and footsteps approaching. She unholstered her weapon and held it down at her side.
The door opened and the man from the balcony stood there.
“He’s not here,” he said.
“Step back,” Ballard said.
Dean Delsey saw the gun at her side and raised his hands as he stepped back.
“Whoa, no need for that,” he said. “Bobby’s not here.”
“Are you Dean Delsey?” Ballard asked.
“That’s me but—”
“Against the wall. Now.”
“Okay, okay.”
Delsey turned, spread his hands at shoulder height, and put them on the wall, a move he had clearly made in the past. Ballard used a foot to kick his legs farther apart. She holstered her gun, then placed one hand on his back to keep him in position while using the other to pat him down for weapons.
“Where’s your father?”
“I don’t know. He went out, didn’t tell me where.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Give me your right hand behind your back.”
“Look, you don’t need—”
“Right hand behind your back. Now.”
He complied. She took the handcuffs out of the waistband at the back of her pants and snapped one around his wrist.
“Now the left.”
Delsey complied again, but not without complaint. “I’m just saying, if you’re here for him, you don’t have to hook me up,” he said.
“Who said I’m here for him?” Ballard said. “Move.”
She pulled him away from the wall and walked him to the center of the apartment’s living room. There was a threadbare couch, a beat-up La-Z-Boy chair with its faux leather cracked and split on the armrests, and a flat-screen TV tuned to a muted music channel.
“On your knees,” Ballard said.
“Aw, come on,” Delsey said.
“Knees.”
“Fuck it.”
Delsey dropped to his knees on the uncarpeted terrazzo floor. Ballard grabbed the chain between the cuffs with one hand and the back collar of his Hawaiian shirt with the other.
“Okay, I’m going to lower you onto your belly now. This is for my safety and yours.”
“Yeah, bullshit.”
Ballard pushed him forward and he went down easily.
“Okay, what is this?” Delsey protested. “Are you here for me or him?”
“For you, Dino,” Ballard said. “And I could violate you right now and put you in the pen. I watched you drinking and toking on the balcony ten minutes ago.”
“I got news for you: I’m over twenty-one, and recreational use of marijuana is legal.”
“And I got news for you: Read the terms of your probation. No alcohol and no drugs, even legal ones, without permission of the court. You want to show me your court permission to get high?”
She waited. Delsey was silent.
“I didn’t think so. You are fucked, my friend. I own you.”
“Fuck this. I want to see some ID right the fuck now.”
“That’s funny. I want to see some ID too. My ID. But you took it.”
Delsey strained to look up at Ballard standing over him. She saw that he recognized her from the LAPD ID card stolen from her car.
“Yeah, it didn’t take me long,” Ballard said. “I found your ass.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Delsey said.
“Sure you do. But you know what? This is your lucky day, Dino. If you make it right, you can stay out of jail. Otherwise, we wait here for dear old Dad to come home and see if he wants to make a deal instead. He still has five years on his parole tail. You have eighteen months on your suspended sentence. I’m guessing he’ll throw you under the bus to avoid going back to Soledad for the full nickel.”
Delsey was silent. Ballard waited.
“What do you want?” he finally said.
Ballard moved over, sat on the couch, and leaned down toward him. His face was on the terrazzo, turned to the side.
“I want my shit back,” she said. “All of it.”
“Impossible,” Delsey said.
“Why is that?”
“Because we don’t keep it, okay? I mean, I’ve still got the wallet and ID card but everything else is long gone, so you’re out of luck, Officer.”
“If that’s the case, then you’re the one who’s out of luck. You’ve got one shot here, Dino. Tell me where it went and I cut you loose. Nobody needs to know, not even your father.”
Delsey thought about it. After a moment Ballard prodded him.
“The clock is ticking,” she said. “All bets are off the minute Daddy comes through that door. What’s it going to be, Dino?”