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They returned to their respective units. Ballard went quickly through the last four boxes in hers. They contained household itemslike pots and pans, cooking utensils, dishware, and knickknacks that might have come off shelves in a kitchen: Thanksgiving salt- and pepper shakers that looked like pilgrims, a coffee cup with the previous president’s booking photo and the wordsPresidential Mugon it, and four ceramic coasters that saidKeep Calm and Carryabove the silhouette of a gun, a different gun on each.
Ballard heard the roll-down door from the other aisle shut with a bang. She stepped out of the storage unit and listened. She again heard muffled voices as whoever had entered earlier made their way back to the exit.
Bosch stood on the threshold of unit 23 listening as well. When he heard the automatic doors at the front open and then close, he nodded to Ballard and went back to work. Ballard followed him into 23. It was not as neatly kept as 22, though Ballard could not tell whether that was because of Bosch’s search or because it had been that way when he found it.
“Anything in twenty-two?” he asked.
“Not since I found the tax records in the first box I opened,” Ballard said. “What about here?”
“No, just that.” He pointed to a stack of three cardboard boxes.
Sitting on top of it was a white jewelry box. Ballard stepped over and opened it. The inside of the lid was a mirror. Below it were felt-lined sections containing gold and silver bracelets and earrings. Ballard rarely wore jewelry and was not equipped to judge the value of what she was looking at.
“Why do you have this out?” she asked.
“Because we need to take something if we’re going to convince him that this was a random burglary,” Bosch said.
“Come on. It’s one thing to break in here, but I don’t want to take anything. That’s a line I don’t think I can cross.”
“You don’t have to. I will.”
“Harry, we—”
“Look, these assholes—they’re up to something. Something big. An hour ago you said so yourself. Something that’s going to require four machine guns. So I’ll cross whatever line I have to if it stops whatever it is from happening. And I won’t second-guess myself for one minute.”
Ballard understood and nodded.
“Okay,” she said.
“So, I’m done in here,” Bosch said. “No badge.”
“No, no badge.”
“I’m beginning to think I know where it is.”
“Where?”
Bosch closed the jewelry box and put it under his arm, ready to go. He kicked the stack of boxes over.
“Clipped to his belt or on a chain around his neck,” he said. “It might be part of their plan, but it’s also his get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“How so?” Ballard asked.
“If he gets pulled over or stopped anywhere, he shows the badge,” Bosch said. “You know, says he’s working, maybe claims to be undercover. He uses it to talk his way out of getting his ass cuffed up.”
Ballard thought there had to be a bigger purpose for wanting the badge.
“Maybe,” she said.
“I know a way to test it out,” Bosch said.
“How?”
“Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you.”
THURSDAY, 8:39 A.M.
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