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“Go get dressed,” he said to Harmony.
He turned to watch Harmony go, the hem of her robe not quite covering the lines of her spray-tanned bottom. He turned back to Ballard and Maddie.
“Strippers,” he said, rolling his eyes. “What do you want?”
Ballard was not sure if that was a rhetorical question about strippers or a direct question to her and Maddie. But her quick take on Van Ness was that he was not much of a rhetoric man.
“You’re Rodney Van Ness?” Ballard asked.
“All day,” Van Ness said. “What do you want?”
This time the meaning of the question was clear.
“Mr. Van Ness, we’re with the LAPD. We need to ask you some questions in regard to an investigation we’re conducting involving crimes in Los Angeles.”
He held his hands up. “You got the wrong guy,” he said. “I haven’t been back to L.A. since my father’s funeral, and that was six years ago.”
“You’re not a suspect in anything, Mr. Van Ness,” Ballard said. “But we think you may have information that can help us identify a suspect. That’s why we came across the desert to talk to you.”
“Well, then, ask away.”
“Actually, we want you to come with us. We have a reservation for a booth at the Triple George. It would be best to do this in a quiet spot like that. Away from any distractions.”
“Uh… I thought this would be like a ten-minute thing. You said I’m no suspect, and I have stuff I gotta do today. You know, like, before work.”
“That’s okay. We won’t keep you long and you’ll get a free lunch out of it. Why don’t you put some shoes on? I’m sure you want to cooperate with the police, don’t you?”
Van Ness said nothing for a moment. Ballard knew he was measuring the implied threat in her words, a simple statement that even a glorified security guard like Van Ness would understand: Those who don’t cooperate with the police could very quickly become suspects.
“All right, let me get some shoes,” he finally said. “Can Harm come too?”
“Uh, do you mean Harmony?” Ballard asked.
“Yeah, Harmony. You mentioned lunch. We don’t have anything here.”
“Tell you what—leave Harmony home, and you can order takeout to bring back to her. On us. But it would be better if we spoke just to you.”
“Okay, I guess. I’ll get my shoes.”
He stepped back and closed the door.
Just in case he was staying on the other side of the door, watching through the peephole and listening, Ballard looked at the time on her phone and said, “We get this over by one, we drop him back here, and then we hit the road,” she said. “We’ll be back in L.A. by five.”
“That would be cool,” Maddie said, playing off the wink Ballard had given her. “I’ve got a date tonight.”
43
RODNEY VAN NESShad done Ballard a favor by just throwing on shorts and a shirt earlier, and he was wearing only sandals when he came out the door of his apartment. By the time they had walked down the stairs and into the parking lot, she was able to determine that he was not carrying a weapon. His shirt barely reached the top of his shorts, and it would have been impossible for him to have a gun or a knife tucked into his beltline without her noticing.
That was one of three obstacles out of the way. The other two were getting his permission to record their conversation and advising him of his right not to speak to law enforcement. Ballard was confident in her ability to get the first done. The rights requirement was a different story. Nothing ended the cooperation of someone who was straddling the line between witness and suspect like being told that his words could be used against him in a court of law.
The Triple George Grill was not very new but it was designed to look like it was as old as the Tadich Grill in San Francisco and Musso and Frank’s in Hollywood. It was all dark wood and light tile with a long bar running down the middle of the room and private booths with floor-to-ceiling dividers and curtains to ensure the visual and audio privacy of conversations. The grill was located near a formercourthouse and was originally meant to accommodate lawyers and their clients during lunch breaks. But that courthouse was closed now; it had been turned into the Mob Museum, dedicated to the history of organized crime—specifically its part in the establishment and rise of Sin City—and law enforcement’s attempts to fight it.
They slid into one of the private booths, Ballard and Maddie sitting across from Van Ness. A waitress came and Ballard ordered coffee to start; Maddie asked for ice water, and Van Ness went for a Bloody Mary.
Ballard began casually.
“Van Ness,” she said. “There’s a Van Ness Avenue in L.A.—is that your family?”
