Ballard proceeded to give the same instructions she’d given earlier to Cindy Carpenter. Being given a task that would distract her from her fears at least temporarily seemed to calm Klein and she finally agreed to fill out the questionnaire. Ballard, in turn, promised to come by to pick it up and to do a security survey of the house. By the time the call ended, Bobbi Klein was talking calmly and seemed ready to go to work.
Ballard was wrung out after the call, and she was feeling exhaustion creeping into her muscles. She decided to put off phoning the second victim. She got up and went to the station break room, where she brewed a cup of coffee on the Keurig machine. It was not as good as Bosch’s blend nor as strong. She then went to the watch office and asked Rivera to have the car assigned to the RA encompassing Bobbi Klein’s neighborhood do a few extra drive-bys on her street. Rivera said that he would.
When Ballard got back to the desk, she decided to follow through on an idea that had been gestating since she had received Cindy Carpenter’s call about her rapists possibly taking a photo of her.
She went on the desk computer, signed in, and pulled up the original crime report and victim addendum. She found the listing for Reggie Carpenter, Cindy’s ex-husband, and ran his name through the DMV database. There were several hits, but only one of them carried an address in Venice, where Cindy had said her ex lived. She then ran the name and birth date through the crime database and learned that Reginald Carpenter had both a DUI arrest and an assault on his record from seven years earlier. He got probation for both and had apparently kept a clean record ever since.
Ballard called the number on the victim information sheet that Cindy had provided for her ex-husband. When it was answered, Ballard heard multiple voices — men and women — in the background before one said hello.
“Mr. Carpenter, this is Detective Ballard with the LAPD. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“Wait — Shut the fuck up! Hello? Who is this?”
“I said, this is Detective Ballard with the LAPD. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Uh, well, what’s this about?”
Ballard decided to use a play to see if it would elicit information.
“I’m investigating a crime in your neighborhood — a breakin.”
“Really? When?”
“Last night. Shortly after midnight — which I guess would technically make it today. I’m calling to see if you were home at that time and whether you happened to see any suspicious activity on your street.”
“Uh, no. I wasn’t here. I didn’t get home till pretty late.”
“Were you nearby? Maybe you saw something from wherever — ”
“No, I wasn’t nearby. I was in Palm Springs for New Year’s and just got back a couple hours ago. Which place got hit?”
“One-fifteen Deep Dell Terrace. We do think that the perpetrators watched the place before choosing when to — ”
“Let me stop you right there. I don’t live on Deep Dell anymore. Your information is bad.”
“Really. My mistake. So, you have not been in that neighborhood?”
“No, my ex-wife lives there, so I make it a practice to stay away.”
There was laughter in the background. It emboldened Carpenter.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Ballard. Detective Ballard.”
“Well, I can’t help you, Detective Ballard. What happens there is really not my concern anymore.”
He said it in an officious way that drew more laughter from the people he was with. Ballard maintained a flat tone, thanked him for his time, and disconnected. She was unsure why she had even made the call. She was riffing off something she had picked up in Cindy Carpenter’s voice when she spoke of her ex-husband. It had been a note of apprehension, maybe even fear.
Back on the computer, Ballard opened the county courts system’s database and went through the portal to the family courts division. She looked up the Carpenter’s divorce, but as she expected, the records were sealed, other than the front page of the original petition to dissolve the marriage. This was not unusual. Ballard knew that most divorce cases were sealed because the parties usually hurled negative accusations at each other, and public dissemination of these could damage reputations, especially without offers of proof.
Ballard was able to glean two facts from the limited information. One was that the divorce action had been initiated by Cindy, and the other was the name, address, and phone number of her attorney. Ballard googled the attorney’s name — Evelyn Edwards — which led her to a website for a law firm called Edwards & Edwards specializing in family law. According to the website, the law firm offered its services twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Ballard pulled up the bio on Edwards and saw a smiling photo of an African-American woman in her late thirties. Ballard decided to test the firm’s claim of being there for you 24/7.