“Hi, Bobbi, it’s Detective Ballard at Hollywood Division.”
“Did you catch them?”
“No, not yet, but we’re working the case — even on the holiday. I’m sorry to call so late.”
“It scared me. I thought, ‘Who’s calling me now?’”
“I’m sorry. How are you doing?”
“Not good. I don’t hear from you people. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared. I keep thinking they might come back, because the LAPD can’t catch them.”
Once more Ballard found herself annoyed with Lisa Moore. Sex assault cases required a lot of hand-holding of victims. They needed to be kept informed, because the more they knew what the police were doing, the safer they felt. The safer they felt, the more likely they were to cooperate. In a rape case, cooperating could mean staring down your attacker in a lineup or in court. That took guts and it took support. Here was just another situation where Lisa had dropped the ball. This was her case. Ballard was only the nightside detective — she wasn’t lead. Until now, apparently.
“Well, I promise we’re on this case full-time, and that’s why I’m calling,” Ballard said.
“I left my job,” Klein said.
“What do you mean?”
“I quit. I don’t want to leave my house until they’re caught. I’m too scared.”
“Have you seen any of the therapists we told you about?”
“I hate Zooming. I stopped. It’s so impersonal.”
“Well, I think you should maybe reconsider that, Bobbi. It could help you get through this time. I know it’s diff—”
“If you didn’t catch them, why are you calling me?”
It was clear that Klein wasn’t interested in hearing how a therapist on a computer screen could help her through the dark hours.
“Bobbi, I’m going to level with you because I know you are a strong individual,” Ballard said. “We need to refocus the investigation and we need your help with it.”
“How?” Klein asked. “Why?”
“Because we were looking at this case from a neighborhood angle. We thought that these men chose the neighborhood first and then looked for a victim in it — because there was easy and quick access in and out.”
“And that’s not what happened?”
“Well, we think maybe it was victim-specific targeting.”
“What does that mean?”
Her voice became a bit shrill as she began to understand.
“They may have crossed paths with you in a different way, Bobbi. And we need to—”
“You mean they picked me specifically?”
There was a sharp scream, reminding Ballard of times when she had inadvertently stepped on her dog’s paw.
“Bobbi, listen to me,” Ballard said quickly. “There is nothing to be afraid of. We really don’t think they will come back. They have moved on, Bobbi.”
“What does that mean?” Klein asked. “Is there another victim? Is that what you’re saying?”
Ballard realized that the whole conversation had gotten away from her. She had to steer it back on course or end it and move to the next victim, using everything she had learned from mishandling this call on the next one.
“Bobbi, I need you to calm down so I can talk to you and tell you what’s going on,” Ballard said. “Can you do that for me?”
There was a long silence before the woman on the other end responded.
“Okay,” she said in an even tone. “I’m calm. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“There was another victim, Bobbi,” Ballard said. “It happened early this morning. I can’t tell you the details but it has changed our thinking on this. And that’s why I need your help.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“First of all, I need you to tell me if you ever go to the Native Bean coffee shop in Los Feliz.”
There was a pause while Klein considered the question.
“No,” Klein said. “I’ve never been there.”
“It’s on Hillhurst,” Ballard said. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Is that—”
“Do you know anyone who works there?”
“No, I never even go over that way.”
“Thank you, Bobbi. Now I want—”
“Was someone there attacked?”
“I can’t really discuss that with you, Bobbi. Just as you have protections against being identified, so do other victims. Now, I have your email. I’m going to send you a document. It’s a questionnaire about your life and your movements and it will help us figure out where you might have initially crossed paths with these men.”
“Oh my God, oh my God.”
“There is nothing to panic about, Bobbi. It will—”
“Nothing to panic about? Are you kidding me? Those men could easily come back here and hurt me again. Any fucking time.”
“Bobbi, that is not going to happen. It’s very unlikely. But I’ll go to the watch office as soon as we’re finished here and ask the lieutenant to increase patrols on your street. I’ll make sure they do it. Okay?”
“Whatever. That’s not going to stop them.”
“Which brings us to the survey I want you to fill out. This will help us stop them. Can you take some time tonight and tomorrow and do it for me? You can email it back to me or if you want to print it out and work on it, I’ll come by and get it as soon you’re finished. Just call me.”
“What about Detective Moore? Where is she?”
Good question, Ballard thought.
“We’re working this together,” she said. “I’m handling the survey.”
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?”