“A white girl from Pasadena has Black and brown BFFs,” Ballard said.
“Interesting,” Masser said. “Think they know anything that will help us?”
“Who knows? But sometimes the besties know more than the parents.”
Ballard closed the book. The conversation made her think about her mother. She needed to call Dan Farley in Maui to get an update on the ongoing search. She decided she would do it once they got back to L.A. and she could make the call in private.
“You thinking about your mother?” Masser asked.
“Jeez, don’t go all Colleen on me, Masser,” Ballard said. “How did you guess that?”
“That look on your face. Wistful, I’d call it. I’ve seen it before.”
“You should keep your eyes on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. She didn’t recognize the number but took the call.
“Detective, it’s Robin Richardson. You were just in my home and left your business card.”
“Yes, Mrs. Richardson, is something wrong?”
“Uh, no. It’s just that I remembered Rodney’s last name. Rodney Van Ness.”
“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”
“Will you let me know what you find out? I really need to know.”
“Of course I will. Thank you for calling.”
Ballard disconnected and told Masser that the prom date was Rodney Van Ness. She opened the yearbook again and flipped the pages until she was looking at his photo.
“You think it’s him?” Masser asked.
“Maybe. That would be too easy,” Ballard said. “And so far nothing about this case has been easy.”
Monday, 9:54 A.M
33
Because it was a holiday and she had moved the weekly team meeting to Tuesday, Ballard didn’t expect to find anyone on the raft when she arrived at Ahmanson Center with Mallory Richardson’s yearbook under her arm on Monday morning. Instead, she found Colleen Hatteras and Maddie Bosch sitting side by side in front of Colleen’s large computer screen.
“You guys know it’s a holiday, right?” Ballard said.
“I thought crime fighting never took a day off,” Hatteras said.
“We found Elyse Ford’s family,” Maddie said.
There was excitement in her voice. Ballard stayed standing at her desk. She slowly put the yearbook down on an envelope that had been sent from the photo lab.
“What do you mean, you found the family?” she asked.
“Colleen started with the name of Elyse’s mother — it was in the newspaper stories back then,” Maddie said. “She found a granddaughter online, the daughter of Elyse’s little sister.”
Colleen said, “She’s Elyse’s niece. I DM’d her and she responded and said her mother — Elyse’s sister — was still living. She’s in her eighties but still sharp, according to her daughter, and she agreed to talk to us, so we set up a Zoom.”
“When are you Zooming?” Ballard asked.
“In five minutes,” Hatteras said.
“Really?” Ballard said. “Last I heard, I was running this unit. Didn’t you think to clear this with me first?”
“Uh, we’re just going to talk to her,” Maddie said. “We’ll show her the photo from Thawyer’s files. The first shot. See if we can confirm ID.”
“Have you ever done this, told a family that their loved one was murdered?” Ballard asked. “Either of you?”
“Uh, no,” Hatteras said.
Maddie timidly shook her head. “My partner has,” she said. “After a TA. I was there but he did the talking.”
“This was no traffic accident,” Ballard said. “It doesn’t matter how much time has gone by. You tell someone her sister was murdered seventy years ago or seven hours ago, you’d better be prepared. You should have talked to me first.”
“I’m sorry,” Maddie said. “Should we cancel it?”
“It’s too late,” Ballard said. “It will be worse to leave her hanging.”
“And it’s time,” Maddie said. “The Zoom’s set for ten. Would you rather handle it?”
Ballard shook her head. “No, you do it,” she said. “It’ll be good for you to get the experience.”
Ballard sat down and moved the yearbook off the manila envelope from the lab. She opened it while listening to Maddie and Hatteras get ready for the Zoom call. The envelope contained a one-page lab report paper-clipped to Thawyer’s photos of the woman they believed was Elizabeth Short. Her eyes went to the summary box at the bottom of the page. It said that digital analysis of the photographs submitted and the photographs of Elizabeth Short in evidence and available online indicated a 92 percent probability that the photos were of the same woman.
Ballard sat up straight and looked over the privacy wall at Hatteras and Maddie. They had made the Zoom connection and were staring at the screen.
“Mrs. Fanning, my name is Madeline Bosch and this is Colleen Hatteras. We’re investigators with the Open-Unsolved Unit of the Los Angeles Police Department. We would like to talk to you about your sister, Elyse.”
“Yes, Martha told me. This is Martha. I wanted her here with me.”
“That’s fine, ma’am,” Maddie said. “Your sister was reported missing in Los Angeles in 1950. Do you remember that time?”
“I was a little girl. Elyse was my big sister, eight years older. But I remember those days well. It was an awful time for my family.”
“I understand. Uh, it was your parents in Wichita who reported her missing from Los Angeles?”
“Yes. I remember my father went out there to look for her because he didn’t think the police were trying very hard to find her. But he didn’t find anything and when he came back... he wasn’t the same man. He’d sit in the dark by himself a lot. I remember we felt helpless. There was nothing we could do but wait and hope and pray. We thought someday that she would just come home or call and say she was all right. We waited... but that never happened. My mother stopped coming out of her room. I remember having to make dinner for my father and me.”
“Martha told us you have photos of your sister from back then. Do you have them now? Could you show us?”
“I have these. This one is the whole family. That’s Elyse. She was a beautiful girl. Everyone said she should be in the movies.”
Ballard did not have to see the expression on the face of the old woman holding up the photos to know the pain of waiting that she and her family had been through.
“This one my father took when Lysie — that’s what I called her — was leaving on the train for Los Angeles. She called it the City of Angels.”
“Mrs. Fanning, we’re going to arrange to get copies of those photos. We would also like to show you a photo to see if you can confirm that it’s Elyse.”
Ballard watched Hatteras hold up what was likely the last photo taken of Elyse Ford when she was alive and unscathed.
“Yes,” the old woman said. “That’s Elyse.”
“Are you sure?” Maddie said.
“That’s my big sister. I’d know her anywhere.”
“Okay. Thank you for confirming that for us.”
“Did you find her?”
“No, ma’am, we haven’t. But, uh, we believe she was a victim of a man we’re investigating. I’m very sorry.”
“I guess our waiting is over. Did this man... make her suffer?”
“We don’t know, ma’am,” Maddie said.
Ballard could tell by the looks on the faces of Maddie and Hatteras that the two women on the screen were crying. She could hear Elyse’s sister and niece attempting to console each other. There were never enough decades to ease the pain of the murder victim’s loved ones.