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“A female Bosch?” she asked.
“Female,” Landry confirmed. “Madeline Bosch. Should I send her back?”
“Uh, no, I’ll come out.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Ballard disconnected and for a moment just stared at the phone.
“What is it?” Hatteras said. She’d stood up again. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Ballard shook her head. “No, I’m fine,” Ballard said.
She walked away toward the entrance to the unit, trepidation building with every step. Once she exited, she walked down the long central hallway of the complex to the front, where there was a reception desk and a row of chairs. The Ahmanson Center was the LAPD’s main training center, and most days many of those chairs were occupied by applicants who wanted to wear the badge.
Maddie Bosch was there in street clothes. There appeared to be no stress or sadness on her face.
“Maddie, is Harry all right?” Ballard asked.
Maddie stood up. “Uh, yeah, as far as I know,” she said. “I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days. Did you hear something?”
“No,” Ballard said. “I just thought that if you came to see me in person, there might be something—”
“No. Sorry if I scared you—that’s not why I’m here. As far as I know, Dad’s fine. He’s Harry.”
“Okay, good.”
Harry Bosch had been a mentor of sorts to Ballard and had worked with the Open-Unsolved Unit at its start. He was now battling cancer and Ballard had not gotten an update recently.
“I’m here because I want to volunteer,” Maddie said.
Ballard was not expecting that. “What, you mean for the unit?” she asked.
“Yes, the unit,” Maddie said. “I’m on a four-on-three-off schedule at Hollywood Division, and they have me working PM watch Friday to Monday. It gives me a lot of free time during the week and Ithought this might be good, you know? I want to be a detective one day and this can give me some experience.”
“Did you talk to Harry about it?”
“No. Harry’s retired and I make my own decisions.”
“Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. I just don’t need his permission. I’d like to volunteer. Can we talk about it? Do you have time?”
“Yes, of course. Let’s go to the cafeteria so we can sit down and talk a little more privately. There’s not a lot of privacy in the bullpen here.”
They walked down the main hall and turned right to a smaller hallway that led to the cafeteria. Ballard got a coffee and Maddie a hot tea. The place was largely deserted because it was between the breakfast and lunch rushes. There was a sea of empty tables and they took one that would afford the most privacy for their conversation.
“I haven’t been back here since I was in the academy,” Maddie said.
“I trained in the old place in Chavez Ravine,” Ballard said.
“I almost never go there.”
“So, I take it you know what we do here.”
“Well, you work cold cases. Murders mostly. From what I understand, you have all the murder books right here. You review them to see if modern forensic technology can be used to identify suspects and bring closure to families that lost people.”
“We close cases but I’m not sure we ever bring closure to the families. We give answers, but answers don’t end the grief people carry.”
