“His and his wife’s. He may blow a gasket, but he might also see that we had no choice. We did what we had to do.”
“Hopefully. But how are we going to get him to talk if he was involved in some sort of shady deal getting the kid?”
“You mean like a black-market baby?”
“Maybe. I still don’t see how the birth was recorded so quickly. That means somebody at the hospital was somehow involved in making this work.”
“There’s something we don’t know here. Even if we could get into adoption records, I have a feeling there wouldn’t be any for Nicholas Purcell.”
“So when do we go to the judge?”
“That’s your call. That’s why you get a salary and we don’t.”
“Right.”
Ballard went silent as she mulled the question. Intruding into these thoughts was the reminder that Captain Gandle had directly ordered her to keep him in the loop. She knew she should inform him of the DOJ results and the plan to brace the judge. But by doing so she risked Gandle telling her to stand down until he got clarity from the tenth floor. That move could take days and maybe even weeks. Ballard was not interested in stalling the case while the command staff considered the political gain or fallout from asking the presiding judge of the superior court questions about the possibly illegal adoption of his son.
“What are you thinking?” Masser finally asked.
“I’m thinking if we left now, we could get to the CCB before the judge takes off for the weekend,” Ballard said.
“So you want to do it today?”
“Why not?”
“Because if the judge gets mad and throws us in jail, we probably won’t get out till Monday.”
“More like Tuesday because of the holiday.”
“Yes, Tuesday.”
“Fuck it. Let’s go.”
“I’ll drive. My keys are on my desk.”
“Let’s not tell the others what we’re doing. I don’t want Colleen calling every ten minutes.”
“She’ll do that whether she knows what we’re doing or not.”
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot. Go get your keys.”
As Ballard walked out of the building toward the row of parking spaces assigned to the unit, she pulled her phone to call Captain Gandle. Then she thought better of it. Calling him now before the hour’s drive into downtown was too risky. He could shut down her plan before it even started.
Instead, she used the phone to google a phone number for the clerk of the superior court. By the time Masser showed up at his car with the keys, she had already called the courthouse and been transferred to Purcell’s clerk, who confirmed that the judge was still working.
“Purcell’s still in chambers,” Ballard said.
“Good,” Masser said. “I think.”
27
Ballard and Masser parked in the garage at the PAB and walked the block up Spring Street to the courthouse. Along the way, Ballard pulled her phone and called Ashley Fellows, who was one of the last friends she had in the Robbery-Homicide Division.
“Hey, girl, whatcha doin’?” Fellows said.
“Biding my time till it’s time,” Ballard said.
It was their routine greeting.
“You still in the same desk over there?” Ballard asked.
“Sure am,” Fellows said. “What’s up?”
“You’ve got eyes on the captain’s office, right?”
“I do.”
“Is he in there at the moment?”
“No, but he’s right outside it talking to Broom-Hilda.”
That was the name they used for Captain Gandle’s bully of an adjutant, who sat at a desk outside the captain’s glass-walled office and guarded it like it was Checkpoint Charlie. Her name was actually Hildy McManus.
“I need to call him but I don’t want him to answer,” Ballard said.
“One of those,” Fellows said. “Well, he asked me this morning for an update on a case I’m working. I told him to give me a few hours. I could call him over to look at what I got spread all over my desk. But you still got Hilda to worry about. She could pick up.”
“He gave me his direct line once. I think she doesn’t have that on her phone.”
“Then give me three minutes before you call. I’ll get him over here.”
“Thanks, Ash.” Ballard disconnected.
“What was that about?” Masser asked.
“If we confront the judge without approval from the captain, there could be hell to pay. But I don’t want to wait for him to take it to command staff. So I’m going to call him and leave a message to cover my ass.”
They got up to Temple Street, and Ballard made the call. She held her breath until it went through to voicemail.
“Captain, it’s Renée. The analysis on the judge’s DNA came back negative — Nick Purcell’s not a match to him or his wife. That leaves us no alternative but to talk to the judge about his son. I need to do that before he goes off for a three-day weekend. Heading to the CCB now. Just keeping you in the loop like you asked.”
She disconnected, hoping that her casual tone implied that this was a routine interview, even though she knew there was nothing routine about an interview with the presiding judge of Los Angeles Superior Court.
In the Criminal Courts Building, they took the law enforcement — only elevator up to save time. Purcell’s courtroom was on the sixth floor in Division 101. The courtroom was literally dark when Ballard and Masser entered. There was one overhead light on and it was shining down on the clerk’s corral, where a woman with short brown hair sat. She looked up when she heard them enter.
“We’re dark today,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“We’re with the LAPD Open-Unsolved Unit,” Ballard said. “We’d like to talk to Judge Purcell.”
“He’s on a deadline writing orders before the weekend,” the clerk said. “You need an appointment, and he has no room on his calendar this afternoon. If you need a search warrant signed, I would suggest that you go see Judge Coen for that. He handles criminal matters.”
“It’s about his son, Nicholas,” Ballard said. “I think you should ask him if he wants to see us.”
Without responding to Ballard, the clerk picked up a phone, hit one button, and then whispered behind a hand cupped around her mouth. Ballard made out the word Nicholas but otherwise could not pick up on the conversation. The clerk put down the phone and got up. She walked to a half door in the corral and pulled it open.
“The judge will see you,” she said. “Come through here and then go through that door and down the hallway. His chambers are the first door on the right.”
Ballard led the way. The clerk’s directions were not needed because the judge was standing in the doorway of his chambers. He was wearing a white shirt and tie but no jacket or robe. Ballard watched his eyes for any hint of recognition of Masser or herself from the surveillance at the Parkway Grill.
She saw nothing.
They followed Purcell into the office. He sat down behind a desk covered with legal documents. He pointed to the two chairs across from him, and Ballard and Masser sat.
“Thank you for seeing us, Judge,” Ballard began.
“Never mind that,” Purcell asked. “What’s my son done this time?”
“Uh, nothing, sir. As far as we know.”
“Then if this is about the DA dropping those charges against him, I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t even make a call.”
“It’s not about that, sir.”
“Then why are you here on a Friday afternoon before a holiday weekend? What is so important about my son?”
“Well, sir, we are from the Open-Unsolved Unit and we think your son is key to identifying and arresting a serial rapist and murderer.”