“Yes, Guns N’ Roses. Did you check her ID?”
“I didn’t look at her license, if that’s what you mean. But I knew the jury clerk would have all of that if we needed it. Look, Bosch, it’s your turn now. Tell me what you think you have and what you think you know.”
“One more question. Once you spoke to her and got her name, did you go to the jury clerk and confirm that she was a real juror?”
“Why would I do that, Bosch?”
“So the answer is no. You found her sitting in the cafeteria but you didn’t make sure she was legitimately there as a juror.”
“I didn’t have to. She didn’t see anything, she didn’t hear anything, she was of no use to me as a witness. Now, are you going to tell me what you think you know about her, or not?”
“I know the real Laurie Lee Wells who lives at the address you put in the report was never called for jury duty at the time of the murder and was not the woman in the video.”
“Fuck me. And you tie the woman in the video to that lawyer Montgomery had the problem with?”
“Working on that. That lawyer’s firm represents a party who may be involved in an arson-murder, and the same woman is on video in the vicinity of that killing. I think she’s a hitter who works for somebody that law firm represents. There are more connections — mainly through Las Vegas — and we’re working on them as well.”
“Who is ‘we,’ Bosch? Don’t tell me you brought that lawyer Haller into this.”
“No, not him. But you don’t need to know who I’m working with. You need to sit tight until I put all of this together and then we will bring it to you. That okay with you, Orlando?”
“Bosch, you don’t even—”
He was interrupted by a buzzing from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and looked at a text. He was about to type a response when he got a call on the phone and took it. He held a hand up to Bosch to keep him from speaking. He listened to the caller and then asked one question: “When?” He listened some more before saying, “Okay, I’m heading there now. Pick me up out front.”
He disconnected the call and stood up.
“I gotta go, Bosch,” he said. “And it looks like you’re a day late and a dollar short.”
“What are you talking about?” Bosch asked.
“Clayton Manley just took a dive off an office tower in Bunker Hill. He’s splattered all over California Plaza.”
Bosch was momentarily stunned. Then for a quick moment he thought about the crow that had hit the mirrored glass in Manley’s office and then fallen down the side of the building.
“How do they know it was him?” he asked.
“Because he sent an adios e-mail to the whole firm,” Reyes said. “Then he went up and jumped.”
Reyes turned and walked away, heading back to the PAB to catch a ride with his partner.
Ballard
48
Instead of sleeping, Ballard called the Las Vegas Metro number off the police report Laurie Lee Wells had provided. But she was surprised when the voice that answered said “OCI.”
Every law enforcement agency had its own glossary of acronyms, abbreviations, and shorthand references to specialized units, offices, and locations. Harry Bosch had once joked that the LAPD had a full-time unit dedicated to coming up with acronyms for its various units. But Ballard knew that generally OC meant Organized Crime, and what gave her pause was that the Wells report dealt with the theft of a wallet.
“OCI, can I help you?” the voice repeated.
“Uh, yes, I’m looking for Detective Tom Kenworth?” Ballard said.
“Please hold.”
She waited.
“Kenworth.”
“Detective, this is Detective Renée Ballard, Los Angeles Police Department. I’m calling because I’m wondering if you can help me with some information regarding a homicide case I’m investigating.”
“A homicide in L.A.? How can we help you from over here in Las Vegas?”
“You took a report last year from a woman named Laurie Lee Wells. Do you remember that name?”
“Laurie Lee Wells. Laurie Lee Wells. Uh, no, not really. Is she your victim?”
“No, she’s fine.”
“Your suspect?”
“No, Detective. Her wallet was stolen in Vegas at a place called the Devil’s Den and that resulted in her identity being stolen. Does any of this ring a bell yet?”
There was a long pause before Kenworth responded.
“Can I get your name again?”
“Renée Ballard.”
“And you said Hollywood.”
“Yes, Hollywood Division.”
“Okay, I’m going to call you back in about five minutes, okay?”
“I really need to get some information. This is a homicide.”
“I know that, and I will call you back. Five minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll give you my direct number.”
“No, I don’t want your direct number. If you’re legit, I’ll find you. Talk to you in five.”
He disconnected before Ballard could say anything else.
Ballard put the phone down and started to wait. She understood what Kenworth was doing — making sure he was talking to a real cop on a real case. She reread the Metro police report Laurie Lee Wells had given her. Less than a minute later she heard her name over the station intercom telling her she had a call on line 2. It was Kenworth.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Can’t be too careful these days.”
“You’re working organized crime, I get it,” Ballard said. “So, who stole Laurie Lee Wells’s identity?”
“Well, hold on a second, Detective Ballard. Why don’t we start with you telling me what you’re working on? Who’s dead and how did Laurie Lee Wells’s name come into it?”
Ballard knew that if she went first, Kenworth would control the flow of information going both ways. But it felt as though she had no choice. His callback and cagey manner told her that Kenworth wasn’t going to give until he got.
“We actually have two murders, one last year and the other last week,” she said. “Our victim last year was a superior-court judge who was stabbed while walking to the courthouse. Our victim last week was burned alive. So far, we’ve come up with two connections: the same law firm represented players likely involved in each of these seemingly unrelated cases — and then there’s the woman.”
“The woman?” Kenworth asked.
“We’ve got the same woman on video in the immediate vicinity of each crime scene. She’s wearing different wigs and clothing but it’s the same woman. In the first case, the judge’s murder, she was even corralled as a possible witness and identified herself to police as Laurie Lee Wells, giving the correct address of the Laurie Lee Wells who had her wallet and identity stolen in Las Vegas last year. Problem is, we went to that address and spoke to the real Laurie Lee Wells, and she’s not the woman on the video. She told us about what happened in Vegas and that’s what brings me to you.”
There was silence from Kenworth.
“You still there?” Ballard prompted.
“I’m here,” Kenworth said. “I was thinking. These videos, you have a clear shot of the woman?”
“Not really. She was clever about that. But we identified her by her walk.”
“Her walk.”
“She’s intoed. You can see it in both videos. Does that mean anything to you?”
“‘Intoed’? Nope. I don’t even know what it means.”
“Okay, then what can you tell me about the Laurie Lee Wells case? Have you identified the woman who took her identity? You work in organized crime. I have to assume her case has been folded into something bigger.”