“That’s kind of weird.”
“I wasn’t too happy about it myself. She’s out of the gang life and lives out there. I had no choice, according to Davenport.”
“And this is going down now?”
“In about forty-five minutes. I’m on my way there.”
“Okay, look, if something goes wrong, send up a flare or something. You won’t see me, but I’ll be there.”
“What? Harry, nothing’s going to go wrong. Davenport will be there. And this CI is a square Jane now. Just stay at home and I’ll call you after. Besides, you just got the shot yesterday, so you should lie low till you’re sure there are no side effects.”
“I’m fine, and you’re forgetting something. The only way those murder books could have disappeared out of two different divisions is if somebody inside the department took them. I’m not trying to frag Davenport, but he was at Hollywood when I was there and I didn’t like the guy. I’m not saying he’s dirty, but he was lazy and he liked to talk. And we don’t know who he’s been talking to about this.”
Ballard didn’t respond at first as she thought about Bosch’s concerns.
“Well, I can confirm he’s lazy but I thought that was more of a recent thing,” she said. “His personal answer to defunding. But I don’t think there’s going to be a problem. I told my lieutenant what I’m doing and the watch L-T, because I’m going so far out of the division. I’m not going to stop you from coming, Harry — we can even meet and talk after. But I think it’s going to be fine.”
“I hope you’re right, but I’ll be there. And I should leave now.”
They disconnected and Ballard thought about Bosch’s words the rest of the way as she followed the curving lanes of Sunset Boulevard.
23
After the last curve, Sunset dropped down to the beach, and Ballard saw a vast parking lot next to a closed tourist restaurant. There was only one car in the lot and it did not have the boxy lines of a city ride. Ballard had forgotten that Davenport likely drove undercover wheels for his gang work. While she waited for the traffic light to change, she called him.
“You there yet?”
“We’re here waiting and you’re late.”
“What car are you driving? I’m about to pull in.”
“It will be obvious, Ballard. We’re the only car in the lot. Just get in here.”
He disconnected. Ballard looked at the glowing red light in the traffic signal. She acknowledged to herself that Bosch had spooked her. She checked the gas station on the corner and the supermarket parking lot beyond it and didn’t see Bosch’s old Cherokee. There was no way he could have gotten here from his house so quickly.
The light changed to green and she crossed into the parking lot. The arm was up on the ticket dispenser because it was after hours. She drove toward the car parked in the middle of the lot at an angle that put her headlights through the driver’s-side window. As she got close, she recognized Davenport behind the wheel. She then made a looping turn and saw his passenger was in the front seat. She pulled her car up alongside so they could speak window to window and dropped the transmission into park. Before she killed the engine she took out her mini-recorder, turned it on, and started recording. She slid it into the side air-conditioning vent, where it would not be seen by the informant but would catch every word. She then held the rover up and called in her location to the com center so there would be a record of her last location should anything go wrong.
She lowered her window and killed the engine.
The woman sitting three feet away in Davenport’s undercover ride was Latina and maybe forty years old. She had heavy eye makeup, long brown hair, and a high collar on her blouse that Ballard thought probably hid tattoos or the scars left by their removal.
Davenport leaned forward so he could see around his passenger to Ballard.
“What’s with the cloak-and-dagger, Ballard? And you called this in? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Robinson-Reynolds told me to.”
“You shouldn’t even have told him about this.”
“I had to. You pull me forty minutes out of the division and I had to tell someone. He told me to tell coms when I — ”
“Yeah, well, he’s a fuckhead. You’ve got twenty minutes, Ballard. Ask your questions.”
Ballard looked at the woman. She seemed put out by the shouting coming from Davenport beside her.
“Okay, what’s your name?” Ballard asked.