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“No, I didn’t. He hacked it and I’ll take care of that with him. What you need to know is that the department is very serious about unauthorized users running DMV checks.”
“Like what you asked me to do the other day?”
Ballard was getting exasperated.
“Look, that was different,” she said. “And I’m not going to argue about it with you. Just don’t do it anymore. It’s actually illegal. It could get both you and me in trouble.”
“Okay, fine,” Hatteras said. “No more.”
“Send me Bennett’s address and then at least it will look legal.”
“Will do. Are you going to go down to Laguna to see him?”
“Eventually. Probably. Tell you what, see if you can find out if he has any open houses this weekend.”
“Ooh, that would be cool. You posing as a potential buyer to observe him. Before he knows you’re a cop.”
“Maybe.”
Ballard knew what was coming next and was not wrong.
“If you go down, can I tag along?” Hatteras asked. “Wait, don’t answer. I know it’s a no. Never mind.”
Ballard was relieved that she didn’t have to lower the boom one more time. Hatteras was self-editing.
“Colleen, you might want to think about taking a break and going home,” she said. “You’ve been here every day this week. I really don’t want you to burn out. You’re too valuable to the team.”
Ballard left Hatteras with that to think about and rolled her chair back to her desk, where she saw her coffee, now cold, waiting for her. That was two cups fallen by the wayside. Before she went upstairs for another refill she might actually drink, she checked her email.
First in the queue was the email that had just come in from Hatteras with Andrew Bennett’s DMV record. Though he sold homes in pricey Laguna Beach, he lived in Laguna Hills, a suburb west of Laguna Beach with lower housing costs because of its distance from the Pacific. The driver’s license had been issued three years ago, and the photo was of the same man in the one Hatteras had pulled up of Bennett in front of theSOLDsign. Bennett still looked younger than his years.
After writing down the pertinent information in a notebook she kept on her desk, Ballard signed in to the California DMV database. Through the interagency portal, she was able to pull up Victor Best’s Hawaii driver’s license records. These showed that Best had not been licensed in the state until 2008, with an address first in Oahu and thenon the Big Island in subsequent renewals. But Best not getting his Hawaii driver’s license until after the Pillowcase Rapist’s L.A. rampage had stopped didn’t necessarily mean anything. He could have moved there years earlier and simply waited until his California license expired before getting the Hawaii license. The information was useful but it didn’t move the needle on Best. Ballard needed to know more precisely when he had left California for Hawaii. Ballard was also aware that no matter when Best moved to Hawaii, it was not a solid alibi. He could have gone back and forth between Hawaii and California and committed the Pillowcase crimes.
To help narrow his location history down, she pulled up the website of thePasadena Star-Newsand scrolled through its pages until she saw the byline of a reporter named Claudia Gimble. She didn’t need to write the name down.
Ballard straightened up to look over the divider and saw that Hatteras was still at her desk. She didn’t want to make her next call with Colleen eavesdropping, so she stood up, coffee mug in hand. “You’re still here,” she said.
“I’m going to go,” Hatteras said. “Just finishing up a few things.”
Ballard held up her mug.
“I’m going up for a refill, and then I’m heading downtown. So I’ll see you tomorrow or maybe even Monday.”
“What about Laguna Beach?”
“I haven’t decided on Laguna Beach. Going down there and back would take up a whole day and I’m not sure I want to invest that kind of time yet. There’s still a lot to do here. I’ll let you know when I go.”
“Okay, fine.”
“I’ll see you, Colleen.”
“See you.”
Ballard went up to the coffee room and found the urn empty. She had to brew a fresh batch. By the time she got back to the unit, there was no sign of Hatteras. She was finally alone. She sat down at herdesk, blocked the ID on her phone, and called Olu Olu in Kona. It was three hours earlier in Hawaii, but Ballard was hopeful that as head chef and kitchen manager of a restaurant that was open for lunch and dinner, Best would be there.
The call was answered by a woman who said that Victor was in his office and that she’d put the call through. He answered right away.
“This is Victor.”
