“Why is it called a lamb-whatever-you-said?”
“It’s the name of the guy who put it together. He was the LAPD’s sex crime expert until he retired. It’s been updated with the social media aspects. Okay?”
“Send it to me.”
“As soon as I can. And I can come by tomorrow and go over it with you if you want. Or just pick it up once you’re finished.”
“I have to open tomorrow and probably will be there all day. But I’ll take it with me and fill it out when I can.”
“Are you sure you want to go in tomorrow?”
“Yes. It will help take my mind off things.”
“Okay. And I’m going to be in the neighborhood a little while longer. Just so you know, my car will be out front.”
“Are you telling the neighbors what happened to me?”
“No, I’m not. Actually, under California law I can’t anyway. I’m just saying there was a break-in in the neighborhood. That’s it.”
“They’ll probably know. They’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe not. But we want to catch these monsters, Cindy. I have to do my job, and maybe one of your neighbors saw something that can help.”
“I know, I know. Did anybody tell you they saw something?”
“So far, no. But I still have this end of the street to go.”
She pointed west.
“Good luck,” Carpenter said.
Ballard thanked her and left. She walked to the house next door. An old man answered, who proved to be no help, even revealing that he took out his hearing aids at night to sleep better. Ballard then crossed the street and talked to another man, who said he saw nothing but provided a helpful piece of information when asked what he heard.
“You being directly across from the garage across the street, do you ever hear when that goes up or down?” Ballard asked.
“All the F-ing time,” the man said. “I wish she’d oil those springs. They squawk like a parrot every time the door goes up.”
“And do you remember whether you heard it last night?”
“Yeah, I heard it.”
“Do you remember what time, by any chance?”
“Uh, not exactly, but it was sort of late.”
“Were you in bed?”
“No, not yet. But about to hit the sack. I never watch any of that New Year’s stuff. It’s not my thing. I just go to bed and it’s one year and then I wake up and it’s the next. That’s how I do it.”
“So, before midnight. Do you remember what you were doing or watching on TV? I’m trying to narrow in on a time.”
“Hold on, I got it for you.”
He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and opened up the text app. He started scrolling through messages.
“I got an ex-wife in Phoenix,” he said. “We couldn’t live together but now we’re friends because we don’t. Funny how that works. Anyway, she watches the ball drop in New York so she can go to bed early. So I texted her happy new year on New York time. That was when I heard the garage.”
He held the phone’s screen out to Ballard.
“There you go.”
Ballard leaned in to look. She saw a “Happy New Year” text sent to someone named Gladys that went out at 8:55 the night before.
“And this is the same time you heard the garage?”
“Yep.”
“Did you hear it open and close, or just open?”
“Open and close. Not as loud going down as it is going up, but I hear it.”
Ballard asked the neighbor his name for her records and thanked him. She didn’t tell him that he had just helped her drop a piece of the puzzle into place. She was sure that he had heard the Midnight Men entering Cindy Carpenter’s house. Cindy had worked till 9 p.m. and didn’t park in the garage anyway.
Ballard could think of no other explanation. One of the rapists had entered the garage, used the screwdriver to easily open the kitchen door, and then waited in the guest room closet for Cindy to come home.
But adding a piece of the puzzle pushed another one out. If Cindy Carpenter was still at work and her car was with her, then how did the Midnight Men open the garage?
12
Harry Bosch’s house was in a neighborhood just across the freeway from the Dell. She called him once she started heading his way.
“I’m nearby,” she said. “Did you find that book?”
“I did,” he said. “You’re coming now?”
“I’ll be there in five. I need to borrow your Wi-Fi too.”
“Okay.”
She hung up. She knew that she should be going to Hollywood Division to sit in on the roll call for the start of her watch, but she wanted to keep moving. She instead called the watch office to see which sergeant would be handling roll call and then asked to speak to him. It was Rodney Spellman.
“Whaddaya got, Ballard?” he said by way of a greeting.
“We had a third hit by the Midnight Men last night,” she said. “Up in the Dell.”
“Heard about it.”
“I’m out running with it and won’t make roll call. But can you bring it up and ask about last night? Especially, the fifteen and thirty-one cars? I want to know if they saw anything, jammed anybody, anything at all.”
“I can do that, yes.”
“Thanks, Sarge, I’ll check back later.”
“That’s a roger.”
She disconnected. She crossed the 101 on the Pilgrimage Bridge and soon was on Woodrow Wilson, heading up to Bosch’s place. Before she got there, she got a call from Lisa Moore.
“What’s happening, sister Ballard?” she asked.
Ballard guessed she was already hitting the wine, and her salutation rang false and annoying. Still, Ballard needed to talk to somebody about her findings.
“I’m still working it,” Ballard said. “But I think we need to rethink this. The third case is different from the first two and we might be looking the wrong way.”
“Whoa,” Moore said. “I was hoping to hear I’m okay to stay up here till Sunday.”
Ballard’s patience with Moore ran out.
“Jesus, Lisa, do you even care about this?” she said. “I mean, these two guys are out there and—”
“Of course I care,” Moore shot back. “It’s my job. But right now it’s fucking up my life. Fine, I’m coming back. I’ll be in tomorrow at nine. I’ll meet you at the station.”
Ballard immediately felt bad about her outburst. She was now sitting in the car outside Bosch’s house.
“No, don’t bother,” she said. “I’ll cover it tomorrow.”
“You sure?” Moore said.
She said it a little too quickly and hopefully for Ballard.
“Yes, whatever,” Ballard said. “But you’re taking my shift, no questions asked, next time I need it.”
“Deal.”
“Let me ask you something. How did you do the cross-referencing of the first two victims? Interview, or did you have them fill out a Lambkin survey?”
“That thing’s eight pages long now with the updates. I wasn’t going to ask them to do that. I interviewed them and so did Ronin.”
Ronin Clarke was a detective with the Sexual Assault Unit. He and Moore weren’t partners in the traditional sense. They each carried their own caseload but backed each other up when needed.
“I think we should give them the survey,” Ballard said. “Things are different now. I think we had the victim acquisition wrong.”
There was silence from Moore. Ballard took this as disagreement, but Moore probably felt she could not voice an objection after having split town, leaving Ballard working the new case solo.
“Anyway, I’ll handle it,” Ballard said. “And I should go now. Got a lot to do and I have my shift tonight.”
“I’ll check in tomorrow,” Moore said helpfully. “And thank you so much, Renée. I will pay you back. You name the day, I’ll take your shift.”