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“I’ll meet you in the parking lot. Go get your keys.”
As Ballard walked out of the building toward the row of parking spaces assigned to the unit, she pulled her phone to call Captain Gandle. Then she thought better of it. Calling him now before the hour’s drive into downtown was too risky. He could shut down her plan before it even started.
Instead, she used the phone to google a phone number for the clerk of the superior court. By the time Masser showed up at his car with the keys, she had already called the courthouse and been transferred to Purcell’s clerk, who confirmed that the judge was still working.
“Purcell’s still in chambers,” Ballard said.
“Good,” Masser said. “I think.”
27
BALLARD AND MASSERparked in the garage at the PAB and walked the block up Spring Street to the courthouse. Along the way, Ballard pulled her phone and called Ashley Fellows, who was one of the last friends she had in the Robbery-Homicide Division.
“Hey, girl, whatcha doin’?” Fellows said.
“Biding my time till it’s time,” Ballard said.
It was their routine greeting.
“You still in the same desk over there?” Ballard asked.
“Sure am,” Fellows said. “What’s up?”
“You’ve got eyes on the captain’s office, right?”
“I do.”
“Is he in there at the moment?”
“No, but he’s right outside it talking to Broom-Hilda.”
That was the name they used for Captain Gandle’s bully of an adjutant, who sat at a desk outside the captain’s glass-walled office and guarded it like it was Checkpoint Charlie. Her name was actually Hildy McManus.
“I need to call him but I don’t want him to answer,” Ballard said.
“One of those,” Fellows said. “Well, he asked me this morning for an update on a case I’m working. I told him to give me a few hours. Icould call him over to look at what I got spread all over my desk. But you still got Hilda to worry about. She could pick up.”
“He gave me his direct line once. I think she doesn’t have that on her phone.”
“Then give me three minutes before you call. I’ll get him over here.”
“Thanks, Ash.” Ballard disconnected.
“What was that about?” Masser asked.
“If we confront the judge without approval from the captain, there could be hell to pay. But I don’t want to wait for him to take it to command staff. So I’m going to call him and leave a message to cover my ass.”
They got up to Temple Street, and Ballard made the call. She held her breath until it went through to voicemail.
“Captain, it’s Renée. The analysis on the judge’s DNA came back negative—Nick Purcell’s not a match to him or his wife. That leaves us no alternative but to talk to the judge about his son. I need to do that before he goes off for a three-day weekend. Heading to the CCB now. Just keeping you in the loop like you asked.”
She disconnected, hoping that her casual tone implied that this was a routine interview, even though she knew there was nothing routine about an interview with the presiding judge of Los Angeles Superior Court.
In the Criminal Courts Building, they took the law enforcement–only elevator up to save time. Purcell’s courtroom was on the sixth floor in Division 101. The courtroom was literally dark when Ballard and Masser entered. There was one overhead light on and it was shining down on the clerk’s corral, where a woman with short brown hair sat. She looked up when she heard them enter.
“We’re dark today,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“We’re with the LAPD Open-Unsolved Unit,” Ballard said. “We’d like to talk to Judge Purcell.”
