The Late Show

32

In the courtyard in front of the PAB, Ballard thanked Towson for saving her career. He said she had done that herself.

“You following the reporter last night — that was genius,” he said. “That’s all we needed, and the beauty of it is, it will keep Feltzer in line. As long as you have that, you’re in good shape.”

Ballard turned back to look up at the PAB. The tower of City Hall was reflected in the glass facade.

“My partner on the late show, he says PAB stands for Politics and Bullshit,” she said. “This is one of the days I think he’s right.”

“You take care, Renée,” Towson said. “Call if you need anything.”

“You’re going to invoice me, right?”

“I’ll think about that. This is a situation where the accomplishment is its own reward. The look on Feltzer’s face after he saw the loop? That was worth a million dollars.”

“I’m not a pro bono case, Counselor. Send me a bill — just not for a million dollars.”

“All right. I will.”

The mention of money reminded Ballard of something.

“By the way, do you have a business card?” she asked. “I’m going to recommend you to someone.”

“Sure do,” Towson replied.

He dug into his suit coat pocket and gave her a short stack of cards.

“Take a few,” he said. “They’re free.”

She smiled and thanked him.

“You know, I forgot to ask: Has anyone from the Dancers case come to talk to you about Fabian?”

“I assume I have you to thank for that. Yes, I was interviewed.”

“Who came?”

“A detective named Carr.”

Ballard nodded.

“You tell him anything you didn’t already tell me?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Towson said. “As I recall, you were quite thorough.”

Ballard smiled again and they headed their separate ways, Towson across the courtyard toward the federal courthouse a block away, and Ballard to the steps that were to the east side of the PAB. She was pleased to hear that Carr had followed up with Towson. Maybe that meant he also was finally buying into her suggestion that a cop was involved in the shooting.

At the top of the stairs, Ballard turned right and went to the Memorial for Fallen Officers. It was a contemporary sculpture in which the names of officers killed in the line of duty were etched on brass plates and attached to a cagelike wooden edifice. Most of the brass plates had weathered over time, leaving those marking recent deaths brighter than the others. It was easy for her to pick out the brightest and shiniest plate. She stepped up and saw that it had the name Ken Chastain on it.

She stood there somberly for a few moments, until her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her back pocket. It was Rob Compton.

“Renée, I just heard! What the fuck! Are you okay?”

“I’m good.”

“Why didn’t you call me, baby? I just read about this in the fricking paper.”

“Well, don’t believe everything you read. That’s not the whole story, and it’s going to get fixed. I didn’t call you yesterday because I didn’t have my phone most of the day. I finally got to it last night. What’s the story with the ATF?”

“Never mind, that can wait. I just want to make sure you’re okay. When can we get together?”

“I don’t want the ATF to wait, Robby. I need to stay busy. What’ve you got?”

She started walking down the steps and back to the courtyard. Her rental car was still in a lot behind the Times Building and she headed that way.

“Well, an agent from over there called me on the weapon search we put in,” Compton said. “His name is John Welborne. You know him?”

“I can count on one finger the number of ATF agents I know,” Ballard said. “I don’t know him.”

“Do you know it’s now called the ATFE? They added Explosives.”

“Nobody calls it that. Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Okay, well, this guy Welborne called about the stolen Glock that Nettles had. It’s got a big-time flag on it. It was taken off a Brinks guard during an armored-car takedown two years ago in Dallas. I don’t remember the case, but the guard it was taken from? He was executed with it. Same with his partner.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. So at first they were thinking we had the guy — you know, Nettles. But Nettles was in prison at the time of this thing in Dallas. So the gun had to have been stolen a second time in one of the burglaries he committed.”

“And probably a caper that went unreported. Because if you had a gun stolen that was used in a double murder armored-car job, you wouldn’t call the cops and report a burglary. You’d lie low and hope that gun disappeared.”

“Right. So here’s the thing. These feds, they wouldn’t normally stop to ask a parole agent shit. They’d just blow on by me. But we put these guns into the computer before we knew what was what — you know, like which house they were stolen from. So Welborne’s calling me up, chomping at the bit, wanting to move on this.”

“But he can’t.”

“Nope, he’s stuck, waiting on me.”

“Where is Nettles? Did he get sent back up yet?”

“Not yet. He’s still in County and scheduled to go in front of the judge tomorrow.”

Ballard was quiet as she thought through the situation. She was technically relieved of duty pending the psych exam and the FID case. She wondered if she could move her BSU appointment up and get it out of the way. She would really be counting on Feltzer to come through with the forced agreement to streamline everything.

“I’m supposed to be riding the pine because of this other thing,” she said. “But I’m hoping it clears today.”

“No way they clear you that quick,” he said. “Not with what’s in the paper today.”

“I’ve got somebody working on that. We’ll see.”

“So then, what do you want to do?”

“How much discretion do you have with Nettles?”

“Some, yeah. It’s the weapons: felon with a firearm. That’s the play.”

“Well, I’m downtown right now. I have an appointment with Behavioral and then I could clear. We could go see Nettles at County and find out if he wants to help himself by telling us where he got the Glock. When he finds out it was used in a two-bagger, he’ll probably be more than happy to disown it and tell us where it came from.”

“Okay, I need a couple hours myself. I have something unrelated going and I need to clear a move like this. I don’t think it will be a problem, but I just have to follow protocol and talk to the boss about trading with Nettles. How about we meet at Men’s Central at twelve? That’ll be lunch and they should be able to grab him up for us.”

“See you then.”

As Ballard headed to her car, she called Lieutenant McAdams at Hollywood Detectives.

“L-T, I’m not sure when or if I’ll make it in today,” she said.

“Ballard, you’re supposed to be on the bench till this FID thing clears,” McAdams said.

“I know. I’m down here at FID right now.”

“What’s going on?”

“I got called in for more questions. And after this, I go to BSU for the psych exam. I don’t know how long this will take.”

“Did you see the Times today? More importantly, did FID see it?”

“Yeah, everybody’s seen the Times and it’s bullshit.”

“Then where the fuck did it come from?”

“Good question, L-T.”

“Ballard, a word to the wise, watch your ass.”

“Roger that.”

The Behavioral Science Unit was located in Chinatown. Ballard’s appointment wasn’t until 10:30, so she called to see if she could get it bumped up by a half hour or more. The phone receptionist almost laughed before telling her the request could not be accommodated.

With time to kill, Ballard got her car out of the pay lot and drove over to County-USC. She found that Ramona was no longer in the acute-care ward. She had been upgraded to fair condition, and with that came a change of rooms. She was now sharing a room with another patient. She was conscious and alert. The swelling around her eyes was way down and the bruising had moved to the yellow-green stage. The stitches had been removed from her lower lip as well. Ballard entered the room and smiled at her, but there didn’t seem to be any recognition.

“Ramona, I’m Detective Ballard. I’m assigned to your case. I came by on Monday. Do you remember?”

“Not really.”

The voice was unmistakably male.

“I showed you photos? To see if one was of the man who hurt you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. In fact, it doesn’t really matter now. That’s why I came by. To tell you that the man who hurt you is dead. So you don’t have to be afraid or worry about him anymore. He’s gone.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“Very sure, Ramona.”

“Okay.”

She looked down as though she might be about to cry at the news. Ballard knew Ramona was safe now, but only from one predator. She was leading a life that was sure to bring more. Ballard pulled one of the cards she got from Towson out of her pocket and held it up.

“I wanted to give you this. This is a lawyer I’ve worked with, and I think he’s pretty good.”

“Why do I need a lawyer? What do they say I did?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I’m not supposed to give out legal advice, but if I was, I would tell you that you should sue the estate of the man who did this to you. I am pretty sure he had a large amount of money invested in his house. I think you should get a lawyer and go after some of that money. He victimized you, and you should collect from his estate before anybody else does.”

“Okay.”

But Ramona did not reach out for the business card. Ballard put it down on the table next to her bed.

“It’s right there when you need it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I’m going to leave my own card too. Later on, you will probably have questions. You can give me a call.”

“Okay.”

It was an awkward exit, because with the case concluded by Trent’s death, there was no need for Ballard to spend more time with Ramona. As she left the hospital, Ballard wondered if she would ever see her again. Perhaps, she thought, she had suggested the lawsuit against Trent’s estate because she knew she would be called in to testify about the case.

She wondered if it was a subconscious move to seek the kind of fulfillment that came from taking a case from beginning to end. Trent was dead but Ballard might still be able to take him to trial and get a guilty verdict.