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“I wish,” Van Ness said. “You’d think I’d be running security at a strip club if it was?”
“But you grew up in Pasadena and went to St. Vincent’s, right? That sounds like old-school privilege.”
“My mother was a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic. I had to go, but technically I was from the wrong side of the tracks. South Pas. Those arroyo kids had all the privilege, not me.”
“You never did any of those genetic-heritage sites—Twenty-Three and Me, that sort of thing—to see if maybe…”
“Nah, not interested. So what’s this all about and how do you know I went to St. Vincent’s?”
“We’re looking for a classmate of yours. But before we start, is it all right if we record this?” Ballard reached into her pocket for her mini-recorder.
“If I’m not a suspect, like you say, why do you need to record it?” Van Ness protested.
“Good question,” Ballard said. “New rules. The LAPD has been burned so many times by witnesses recanting what they said, we have a rule now where we have to record every interview. It also helps when we’re writing reports to have the recorded version to refer to.”
She held up the recorder. Van Ness stared at it but said nothing.
“So, okay?” she asked. “I’ll send you a copy so you have it.”
“Whatever,” Van Ness said. “Go ahead.”
Ballard turned on the recorder and checked its small screen to make sure it was working and had enough battery.
“Okay, we’re recording,” Ballard said. “The time is twelve fourteen p.m. on Wednesday, February twenty-first. This is a conversation between Rodney Van Ness, Officer Madeline Bosch, and myself, Detective Renée Ballard. Now, rule two, we need to advise you of your constitutional rights to—”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Van Ness said. “You say I’m no suspect but now you’re telling me about my rights? That’s not cool. I’m out of here.”
Ballard, who had the outside spot on her side of the booth, reached across the table and put her hand on Van Ness’s arm as he was trying to slide out.
“No, would you please wait a minute,” she said. “These are the rules we have to play by in the LAPD. Every interview recorded, every witness read their rights. That way everybody is protected. I know it’s a pain, but it’s just… bureaucracy, okay? I can assure you that you are not a suspect in any crime—and I’m saying that on tape.”
She pointed at the recorder on the table.
“So now it’s even recorded—you are not a suspect,” she said. “But we need to talk to you because you can help us. Please let’s just get through this so you can go home and we can get back to L.A.”
Van Ness stopped pushing his way out of the booth. He sat back and shook his head as if he was thinking about it. Just then the waitress parted the booth’s curtain and placed a Bloody Mary with a tall sprig of celery and a straw in front of him.
Van Ness looked at the drink and then at Ballard.
“So I can end the interview anytime I want?” he asked.
“Anytime,” Ballard said.
“Well, I don’t like this. Seems kind of sneaky, if you ask me. But go ahead. Let’s get this over with.”
“Officer Bosch, do you want to do the honors?”
Maddie recited the Miranda warning and Van Ness responded that he understood his rights. Ballard was pleased that they had succeeded in getting through the pre-interview gauntlet.
“Okay, then, let’s start,” she said. “We are in the middle of an active investigation that is confidential in nature. So we can’t share specifics, but we want to ask you about some people you associated with at St. Vincent’s.”
“Jeez, that was like twenty-five years ago,” Van Ness said.
“Do you remember a girl in your class named Gina Falwell?” Ballard asked.
It was just a random name Ballard had pulled from the yearbook. Gina Falwell had no bearing on the Pillowcase Rapist case, but Ballard wanted Van Ness to think that she was on a fishing expedition.
“Can’t say that I do,” Van Ness replied.
