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“Okay, Renée.”
“Better.”
Hatteras dropped down behind the partition to go back to work, and Masser went to his module as well. Ballard looked at the info she had written down during the call with Beltran.
She opened up the DMV link and typed in Dean Delsey’s name and DOB. She knew she was creating a DMV search record thatcould be found should her off-the-books investigation blow up in her face. Unlike the crime report searches she’d conducted during the night, the department assiduously monitored DMV searches because of past abuses involving officers taking cash to conduct such searches for private investigators and lawyers. But Delsey was Ballard’s only lead at the moment and she was willing to risk it. She felt confident that should she be questioned, she’d be able to come up with an adequate cover story.
The address Delsey had on his driver’s license was on Park Court right off Speedway in Venice. That fit the profile she was building in her mind for the people who had ripped her off. Delsey was a small-time criminal living close to the beach and the surfing culture he was preying on. The photo on his driver’s license supported this as well. He was white, with the sun-bleached hair and ruddy complexion of a surfer.
The fact that Delsey’s fingerprints were on a can that was found in a small clearing on a bluff overlooking a prime surfing beach was evidence of nothing. But Ballard instinctively believed she was closing in on her target.
She thought of something and picked up the desk phone, then thought better of it and used her cell. This would be a test. She called Beltran’s direct line, and this time he picked up the call from her cell immediately.
“Hey, Detective, I think we got cut off before.”
“No, actually, I hung up.”
“Oh. Did you already talk to the director?”
“No, not yet. I’ll do it later. But I forgot to ask before—did you figure out what was in the Red Bull can?”
“Yes, I was just writing up the report for you. There were two cigarette butts and the tip of a cannabis joint. I preserved it all. You need me to pack it all up and send it over to genetics?”
“No, just hold everything there and I’ll be by at some point to grab it.”
“I’ll have it here when you need it.”
“Thanks, Rico.”
She disconnected. She wasn’t sure whether she preferred the old resentful Rico or the new obsequious Rico, but confirming that there was a joint in the Red Bull can was helpful intel for when she confronted Delsey.
“Paul?” she called without looking over the wall.
Masser appeared above the partition. “Yes?”
“Thanks for everything this morning. Can you mind the store for a while? I’m going to run an errand.”
“Not a problem. I want to do more legal vetting on Judge Purcell.”
“Meaning what?”
“You know, look at the trials he’s handled, how he’s ruled. I mean, I’m fascinated. What a double life—assuming he’s our guy. You know he was appointed to the bench the same year Pillowcase went inactive on the rapes?”
“Yeah, I saw that.”
“Anyway, I want to know everything there is to know about him.”
“Good. When you’re ready, we’ll do an all-hands meeting to talk about what you got.”
“Good by me.”
Ballard stood up. “Okay, I’ll be back.”
She was about to step away when the desk phone buzzed. She reached down and answered it. “Open-Unsolved.”
“Landry at the front desk. You’ve got a visitor. An Officer Bosch.”
Ballard froze for a moment.
