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“A she—that’s good. Just make sure she can kick a door open.”
“I already know that she can, Captain.”
“Good. Let me know.”
He disconnected and Ballard sat there staring through the windshield, reviewing the call and hoping she had headed off a problem with the captain. It was a long moment before she realized that there was a man standing on the balcony of the Delsey apartment.
She grabbed the binoculars from the center console and focused on him.
It was Dean. He was wearing a blue-and-white Hawaiian shirt. He looked older than his license photo, and his hair was shorter now, but he was definitely in his twenties, not his forties. He was holding a bottle of beer and smoking a joint, blowing the smoke out across Speedway. Ballard watched, waiting to see if he was joined on the balcony by his father or someone else from the apartment. But no one came out.
Dean Delsey finished smoking and flicked what was left of the joint down onto Speedway. He then disappeared back inside.
Ballard did some quick detective math. It appeared that Dean Delsey was alone in the apartment. If the father and son were responsible for the string of thefts, it stood to reason that between the two, the son would be the one she had the better chance of breaking. He had an arrest record but had repeatedly been given second chances by the system. The father had done hard time. Dean was on probation; Robert was on parole. Dean was the weak link.
Ballard reached under her seat and grabbed her handcuffs, then lowered the front visor and got out of the car.
12
BALLARD STEALTHILY APPROACHEDthe door to apartment 211, then leaned her right ear toward the jamb. She heard music playing inside but again couldn’t identify it.
She took a step back and checked for a peephole or a Ring camera. There was none. She used the side of her fist to pound loudly on the door.
“Parole, open up!”
She leaned forward again but heard no movement inside—no toilet flushing, no footsteps of someone rushing around trying to hide contraband. She pounded on the door again, this time harder.
“Department of Parole. Open the door or we’ll kick it in.”
Now she heard the music cut off and footsteps approaching. She unholstered her weapon and held it down at her side.
The door opened and the man from the balcony stood there.
“He’s not here,” he said.
“Step back,” Ballard said.
Dean Delsey saw the gun at her side and raised his hands as he stepped back.
“Whoa, no need for that,” he said. “Bobby’s not here.”
“Are you Dean Delsey?” Ballard asked.
“That’s me but—”
“Against the wall. Now.”
“Okay, okay.”
Delsey turned, spread his hands at shoulder height, and put them on the wall, a move he had clearly made in the past. Ballard used a foot to kick his legs farther apart. She holstered her gun, then placed one hand on his back to keep him in position while using the other to pat him down for weapons.
“Where’s your father?”
“I don’t know. He went out, didn’t tell me where.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“He didn’t say.”
