The Night Fire: A Ballard and Bosch thriller (Harry Bosch 22) (28 page)

After leaving the station, she drove out to Venice and did a short paddle through the morning mist, with Lola sitting on the board’s nose like the figurehead on the prow of an old ship. After getting cleaned up, she waited until 8:30 to make a call, hoping she would not be waking anybody up.

When Ballard had worked at RHD, everybody had a go-to in every part of the casework: a go-to forensic tech, a go-to judge for warrants, a go-to prosecutor for advice and for filing charges on the wobblers—the cases that took some fortitude and imagination to pursue in court. Ballard’s go-to at the District Attorney’s Office had always been Selma Robinson, a solid and fearless deputy D.A. in the Major Crimes Unit who preferred the challenge cases over the gimmes.

Because the nature of the midnight beat was to turn cases over to other detectives in the morning, Ballard had gone to the D.A.’s Office few times in the four years she had been assigned to the late show. In fact, she was not sure the cell number she was calling for Selma Robinson was still good.

But it was. Robinson answered in a sharp, alert voice, and it was clear she had kept Ballard’s cell on her contacts list.

“Renée? Wow. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I didn’t wake you?”

“No, I’ve been up for a while. What’s up? It’s good to hear your voice, girl.”

“You too. I’ve got a case. I want to talk to you about it if you have some time. I’m living in Venice now. I could come your way, maybe buy you breakfast. I know this is straight out of the blue but—”

“No, it’s fine. I was just about to get something. Where do you want to meet?”

Ballard knew Robinson lived in Santa Monica on one of the college streets.

“How about Little Ruby’s?” she asked.

The restaurant was just off Ocean Boulevard in Santa Monica and just about equidistant for both of them. It was also dog-friendly.

“I’ll be there by nine,” Robinson said.

“Bring your earbuds,” Ballard said. “There’s some wiretap material.”

“Will do. You’re bringing Lola, I hope.”

“I think she’d love to see you.”

Ballard got to the restaurant first and found a spot in a corner that would give them some privacy to review the case. Lola went under the table and lay down, but then immediately jumped up when Robinson arrived and Lola remembered her old friend.

Robinson was tall and thin and Ballard had never known her to keep her hair in anything but a short Afro that was stylish and saved her time every morning while getting ready for battle in the courts. She was at least a decade older than Ballard and her first name had a deep history, her parents having met during the historic civil rights march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.

Ballard and Robinson hugged briefly but the prosecutor fawned over Lola for a full minute before sitting and getting down to the business of breakfast and crime.

“So like I said on the phone, I’m working on a case,” Ballard began. “And I want to know if I have it or not.”

“Well, then let’s hear it,” Robinson said. “Pretend I’m in my office and you’ve come over to file. Convince me.”

As succinctly as she could, Ballard presented the Hilton case, going over the details of the murder and then the long period the case spent gathering dust in a retired detective’s home study. She then moved into the investigation conducted in more recent days, and how it finally focused on Elvin Kidd and Ballard’s theory about the true motive for the killing. She revealed that she had flipped Marcel Dupree, stopped a murder from occurring in Men’s Central, and extracted a confession that could take Kidd off the streets for good. But what she wanted was to close the Hilton case, and with Dupree’s cooperation, she believed she was close. She asked Robinson to listen to the ninety-second wiretapped phone conversation set up between Dupree and Kidd late the afternoon before, assuring her that the wiretap had been authorized by Judge Billy Thornton.

One complication Ballard mentioned in introducing the wiretap was that the men on the call sounded very similar in tone and used similar street slang. Ballard repeated in her introduction to the playback that the first voice belonged to Dupree and the second voice was Kidd’s. Robinson put in her earbuds and plugged into Ballard’s computer. Ballard opened the wiretap software and played the phone call. At the same time, she gave the prosecutor a copy of a transcript she had produced during her work shift.

Dupree:
Yo.

Kidd:
Dog.

Dupree:
That thing we were talking about? All done.

Kidd:
It is?

Dupree:
Motherfucker’s gone to gangsta’s paradise.

Kidd:
I ain’t hear nothin’.

Dupree:
And you prolly won’t out there in Rialto. The sheriffs don’t be puttin’ out press releases on convicts gettin’ killed in jail and all. That don’t look good. But you want, you can check it, my n____.

Kidd:
How’s that?

Dupree:
Call up the coroner. They gotta have him over there by now. Also, I hear they gonna put him out for a full gangsta’s funeral in a few days. You could come over, see him in the box for yourself.

Kidd:
Nah, I ain’t doin’ that.

Dupree:
I get it, seeing that you put the motherfucker in the box.

Kidd:
Don’t be sayin’ that shit, n ____.

Dupree:
Sorry, cuz. Anyway, it’s done. We good now?

Kidd:
We good.

Dupree:
You ever going to tell me the reason? I mean, that n____ was your boy back in the day. Now it come to this.

Kidd:
He was putting pressure on me, man, that’s all.

Dupree:
Pressure for what?

Kidd:
A piece of work I had to handle back then. A white boy who owed too much money.

Dupree:
Huh. And he was bringing that up now?

Kidd:
He told me five-oh came round visiting him up at Bauchet and asking ’bout that thing. He then gets my number off you and calls me up. I can tell he’s on the make. He going to be trouble for me.

Dupree:
Well, not anymore.

Kidd:
Not anymore. I thank you, my brother.

Dupree:
No thing.

Kidd:
I’ll check you.

Dupree:
Later, dog.

Robinson pulled out her earbuds when the call was over. Ballard held her hand up to stop her from asking any questions.

“Hold on a second,” Ballard said. “There’s another call. He does try to confirm Dorsey’s death and we had that set up with the coroner’s office.”

The next call was from Elvin Kidd to the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner’s Office, where he spoke to a coroner’s investigator named Chris Mercer. Ballard handed Robinson a second transcript and told her to put her buds back in. She then played the second recording.

Mercer:
Office of the Medical Examiner, how can I help you?

Kidd:
I’m trying to find out if a friend of mine is there. He supposedly got killed.

Mercer:
Do you have the name?

Kidd:
Yes, it’s
Dorsey
for the last name. And
Dennard
with a
D
like
dog
for the first.

Mercer:
Can you spell both names, please?

Kidd:
D-E-N-N-A-R-D D-O-R-S-E-Y.

Mercer:
Yes, we have him here. Are you next-of-kin?

Kidd:
Uh, no. Just a friend. Does it say there how he died?

Mercer:
The autopsy has not been scheduled. I only know that he passed while in custody at the Men’s Central jail. There will be an investigation and we will conduct the autopsy next week. You could call back for more information then. Do you know who his next-of-kin might be?

Kidd:
No, I don’t know that. Thank you.

After hearing the call to the M.E., Robinson asked to hear the first call again. Ballard watched her as she listened. Robinson nodded at certain points as though checking things off a list. She then pulled her earbuds out again.

“The code-switching is interesting,” the prosecutor said. “He sounds like two different people on the two calls. All gangster on the call with Dupree, then light and bright with the coroner’s office.”

“Yeah, he knew how to play it,” Ballard said. “So what do you think?”

Before Robinson could answer, a waitress arrived at the table. They both ordered coffees and avocado toast. After the waitress was gone, Ballard watched Robinson lean forward on the table, furrowing her brow and wrinkling the otherwise smooth, mocha-brown skin of her forehead.

“I always have to look at a case from the defense point of view,” she said. “What are the weaknesses that could be exploited at trial? I think the conspiracy to commit is a slam dunk. We’ll convict on that no problem. That extra call to the Medical Examiner was genius. I can’t wait to play that to a jury and have the defense try to explain it.”

“Good,” Ballard said. “And on the Hilton murder?”

“Well, on the murder, he never says outright, ‘I killed the guy.’ He says he handled a ‘piece of work,’ which in some quarters is a euphemism for murder. He also says ‘white boy’ but doesn’t mention anybody by name.”

“But when you add in the conspiracy, it’s obvious he wanted to kill Dorsey to keep the cover on Hilton.”

“Obvious to you and me, but possibly not to a jury. Also, if you have one charge that’s a dunker and one that has issues, you drop the wobbler and go with the sure thing. You don’t want to show weakness to a jury. So I know you don’t want to hear this, but right now, I would only file the conspiracy. I would make the reason for the conspiracy the Hilton murder and put it out there, but I would not ask the jury to decide a verdict on that. I would say, ‘Give me a conspiracy-to-commit verdict,’ and this guy goes away for good anyway. I know that’s not the answer you wanted.”

Disappointed, Ballard closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair.

“Well, shit,” she said.

“Have you gone back to Dorsey since he was pulled out of the Crip tank?” Robinson asked.

“No, should I?”

“You said he wasn’t helpful before, but maybe if he knows that his old boss Kidd put a hit out on him, he might change his tune. And maybe he knows something he’s held back.”

Ballard nodded. She realized she should have thought of that.

“Good idea,” she said.

“What is Dupree’s status?” Robinson asked.

“Right now he’s in holding at South Bureau. He’s looking for a substantial-assistance deal. We have till Monday morning to charge him.”

“You’d better take good care of him. If Kidd finds out Dorsey’s alive, he’ll know he’s been set up.”

“I know. We have him on keep-away status.”

“By the way, who’s ‘we’?”

“My regular partner’s out on leave. This whole thing was actually brought to me by a retired homicide guy named Bosch. He got the Hilton murder book from John Jack Thompson’s widow after his funeral.”

“Harry Bosch, I remember him. I didn’t know he retired.”

“Yeah, but he’s got reserve powers through San Fernando PD.”

“Be careful with that. That could be an issue if he has to testify to anything you can’t be a witness to.”

“We talked about that. We know.”

“What about Kidd? Are you going to bring him in for a conversation?”

“We were thinking that was our last move.”

Robinson nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, when you’re ready, bring this back to me,” she finally said. “I’d love to try this case. On Monday, come see me and I’ll file the case on Dupree and work out the cooperation agreement. Does he have a lawyer?”

“Not yet,” Ballard said.

“Once he lawyers up, I’ll make the deal.”

“Okay.”

“And good luck with Dorsey.”

“As soon as we finish breakfast, I’m going downtown to see him again.”

As if on cue, the waitress came and put down their coffees and plates of avocado toast. She also had a dog biscuit for Lola.

They brought Dorsey to see her in the same interview room at Men’s Central. He had to be pushed into the room by Deputy Valens when he saw it was Ballard waiting for him.

“You set me up, bitch!” he said. “I ain’t talking to you.”

Ballard waited until Valens finished cuffing him to his chair and left the interview room.

“I set you up?” she said then. “How’s that?”

“All I know is, you drag me in here, next thing I know I’m in solitary with a snitch jacket,” Dorsey said. “Now people out to kill me.”

“Well, people are out to kill you but it isn’t because of me.”

“That’s some bullshit right there. I was doing fine till you come see me.”

“No, you were doing fine until you called Elvin Kidd. That’s where your trouble started, Dennard.”

“The fuck you talking about, girl?”

“We had Elvin up on a wire. We heard your call and then, guess what? We have him setting up the hit. On you.”

“You runnin’ a bullshit game now.”

“Am I, Dennard?”

Ballard opened her laptop on the table.

“Let me walk you through it,” she said. “Then, if you think it’s a game, I’ll tell them to put you back with your friends in the module. So you can feel safe and at home.”

She opened up the file that contained the recordings of calls made to and from Elvin Kidd’s phones.

“So the first thing you need to know is that we had a phone tap on Kidd,” she said. “So when you called to warn him about me asking questions, we got the whole conversation down on tape.”

She started playing the first recording and waited for Dorsey to recognize his own voice and Kidd’s. He unconsciously leaned forward and turned his head as if to hear the recording better. Ballard then cut it off.

“That ain’t legal,” Dorsey said.

“Yes, it is,” Ballard said. “Approved by a superior-court judge. Now, let me just jump ahead to the important part for you to hear.”