Ballard held up her mug.
“I’m going up for a refill, and then I’m heading downtown. So I’ll see you tomorrow or maybe even Monday.”
“What about Laguna Beach?”
“I haven’t decided on Laguna Beach. Going down there and back would take up a whole day and I’m not sure I want to invest that kind of time yet. There’s still a lot to do here. I’ll let you know when I go.”
“Okay, fine.”
“I’ll see you, Colleen.”
“See you.”
Ballard went up to the coffee room and found the urn empty. She had to brew a fresh batch. By the time she got back to the unit, there was no sign of Hatteras. She was finally alone. She sat down at her desk, blocked the ID on her phone, and called Olu Olu in Kona. It was three hours earlier in Hawaii, but Ballard was hopeful that as head chef and kitchen manager of a restaurant that was open for lunch and dinner, Best would be there.
The call was answered by a woman who said that Victor was in his office and that she’d put the call through. He answered right away.
“This is Victor.”
Ballard quickly put her phone on speaker and pulled out her mini-recorder. As she spoke she started a new recording.
“Hello, Mr. Best. This is Claudia Gimble with the Pasadena Star-News in California. I was wondering if you had a few minutes for an interview.”
“Interview? For what?”
“As you probably remember from growing up here in Pasadena, we’re a small community paper and we’re doing a story on the twenty-fifth reunion of the St. Vincent’s class of ’99. Would this be a good time to ask you a few questions?”
“That’s a story? Or is this some kind of a prank?”
“No, sir, not a prank. It’s a feature, a where-are-they-now story, which people love to read. And I wanted to talk to you because you living all the way over in Hawaii makes you one of the most far-flung and exotic members of the class of ’99. My first question is, what made you make the move to Hawaii?”
“Look, I’m not sure I want to be involved in this... feature. Who else have you talked to from the class?”
Ballard recited three names of female classmates from the yearbook. She knew it was a risky maneuver; Best might be in contact with one of the randomly chosen women. But Best’s response didn’t indicate that he was.
“All right, I guess,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, let’s see,” Ballard said. “When did you move to Hawaii and why?”
“Uh, that would have been... 2003, and to be honest, I did it for a job. I went to the CIA — the Culinary Institute of America, not the spy agency — and the job here was a referral from the school. It was a sous-chef gig in Oahu and I thought, why not? It’s an adventure, right? And I’ve been here ever since. About nine years ago I moved from Oahu to the Big Island to work at a new restaurant, and it’s doing very well. And I can tell you this: I’m never leaving Hawaii. In fact, I’m looking for investors so I can open my own restaurant.”
“That’s great. Do you get back to Pasadena very often?”
“Hate to say it but no. My parents followed me over here when my dad retired, so there isn’t a big reason to go back.”
“What about for the twenty-fifth reunion?”
“Uh, I’m thinking about it, yeah. Not sure if I can swing it. We’re pretty busy here.”
Ballard suddenly heard typing and realized it wasn’t coming from Best’s side of the call.
“Mr. Best, can I put you on hold for a moment?” she said quickly. “It won’t be long.”
“Uh, sure,” Best said.
Ballard put her phone on mute and paused the recorder. She stood up and looked over the divider. Hatteras was at her workstation, typing something on her computer.
“Colleen, I thought you left,” she said, unable to hide her irritation.
“No, I was just putting murder books back on the shelves,” Hatteras said. “That is so cool how you got him talking. Like you’re undercover. I love it.”
“Look, you need to go home. You’re throwing off my concentration, Colleen, and this conversation is not something I want you hearing, because that could be an issue down the line.”
“Really? How? I’m just listening and learning.”
“I don’t want to get into it, but if this guy ends up being the guy, you could be called as a witness to the conversation. I don’t want that, you understand?”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll just finish this email and send it and then I’m leaving.”
“That would be good.”
Hatteras moved her eyes back to the screen and the now-familiar pouting look returned to her face. Ballard sat back down, started the recorder again, and took her phone off mute.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Best,” she said. “Where were we?”
49
Ballard’s first stop after leaving the west side was Harry Bosch’s house up in the hills. She hadn’t called, emailed, or texted ahead of her arrival. Any one of those would have left a trail. She had thought about making an end-around play by calling Maddie Bosch and having her check to make sure her father was home, but that would have left a trail of its own. It would also bring Maddie into the matter, giving her knowledge of the badge-recovery scheme that she would be better off without. So Ballard turned her phone off and drove up Woodrow Wilson to the Bosch house unannounced. She knew there would be Ring cameras in the neighborhood and other ways to document her visit, but she counted on Internal Affairs making only a lazy effort from a desk to investigate possible collusion between her and Bosch. They’d check phone and email records but would likely not go out and knock on doors.
She was in luck. Bosch was home and welcomed her in.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he closed the front door. “You could’ve just called instead of driving all the way up here.”
“No, I didn’t want to call,” Ballard said. “And you’ll understand when you hear why.”
They spent the next half hour working out a story. Then Bosch disappeared into his bedroom to get something from a drawer that he believed would seal the deal with Captain Gandle. Ballard was waiting for him at the door when he put it in her hand.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said. “I can’t believe all of this happened just because I didn’t want to report a stolen badge.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Bosch said. “Remember, those guys didn’t need your badge to do what they were going to do. The badge was just part of a possible escape plan. But it never got to that point, and people are alive today because you didn’t want to report a stolen badge.”
“I guess so. I’ll take that.”
“Nobody else will ever know, but I will.”
“And I hope it stays that way.”
“Let me know how it goes with your captain.”
“No, I won’t be able to.”
“Right. But if I get pulled in to verify, I’ll get the word to you somehow.”
“Okay. Be safe.”
“You too.”
Forty minutes later, Ballard was sitting in front of Captain Gandle in his office at the PAB. He had never sent her the video taken by the roller-hockey player. He claimed he forgot, but Ballard knew that it was probably intentional. He had not wanted her to see it in advance and have time to make up a plausible explanation.
He played it for her now, turning his computer screen so they could watch together. Though the video was taken from a distance, it was clearly Ballard waiting at the police tape when the camera tracked Bosch walking from the center of the crime scene. Then came a short conversation, the hug, and the hand dropping into the pocket of her coat. Ballard was grateful for two things. First, that it was not clear what, if anything, Bosch had put in her pocket. And second, that the hockey player hadn’t started taking video on his phone while she and Agent Olmstead were talking at the crime scene tape. With nothing to connect her to the agent in charge of the op, Ballard saw daylight.