The Night Fire (Harry Bosch #22) - Michael Connelly Page 0,45

left out the part about the judge telling Saldano that it looked to him like there was no way a jury could return a verdict of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. He did give her the option of continuing and hearing my DNA expert and then my very persuasive motion to dismiss. That was when she stepped out and made her call to the powers that be. The rest is just like I told it. Maybe now they’ll go out and get the right guy for this.”

“I doubt it. Gustafson still thinks your client did the deed. He stopped by on his way out to tell me.”

“Wounded pride, that’s all that is. I mean, what else is he going to say?”

“Yeah, but don’t you see? He’s not going to go after the real killer. He said it himself as he was leaving: ‘CBA’—the case is closed.”

“Meaning?”

“Cleared By Arrest. It means no further investigation. Meantime, whoever really did this is still out there.”

“But that’s not our problem, is it? We work for Herstadt and Herstadt is free.”

“Maybe it’s not your problem.”

Haller stared at Bosch for a long moment before responding.

“I guess you gotta do what you gotta do.”

Bosch nodded.

“I’m going to hang on to the discovery files and the copy of the murder book.”

“Sure. Be my guest. I’ll be in touch soon about that other thing we talked about. The medical thing.”

“I’ll be around.”

BALLARD

21

Ballard woke with a deep soreness between her shoulder blades and pins and needles in her left foot. She sat up in the tent groaning and found that Lola had decided to sleep with all thirty-five pounds of her body across Ballard’s foot. She pulled her foot free, waking the dog, who looked at her with betrayal in her eyes.

“You crushed my foot,” Ballard said.

She began massaging and working her ankle until the burning feeling started to recede. Once she brought it back to life, she started rolling her shoulders, trying to loosen her back muscles. Before sleeping she had pushed herself on the board, paddling all the way down to the rock jetty at the inlet and then back up, the return being a battle against a strong wind coming down from Malibu.

Lola’s eyes were now expectant and Ballard read the message.

“A short one, Lola. I’ve got work.”

Ballard crawled out of the tent on her knees and looked around. The beach was deserted. Aaron was in the lifeguard stand, slouched so low only the top of his head was visible. Ballard picked the leash up off the sand and Lola heard its metal clip jingle. She shot out of the tent, pushed through Ballard’s legs, and took a seated position in front of her. She looked back over her shoulder at Ballard, ready for the leash to be clipped to her collar.

“Don’t be so pushy. It’s only a short one.”

Ballard put her feet in the sandals she had left outside the tent and they went up toward the boardwalk, where Lola liked to walk and observe the world. Ballard decided to walk north since she had paddled south earlier. They went all the way up to Rose Avenue and then turned around, Lola unsuccessfully tugging against the turn back.

After a half hour it was time for Ballard to get ready. It was almost four and she wanted to get back into the city before the crush of traffic moving east got into full swing. She went to her van, opened a can of food for Lola, and put it in her bowl on the ground in the parking lot. While the dog ate, Ballard looked through the work clothes she had on a hanging bar in the van to make sure she had a clean suit for the night.

After dropping Lola at night care, Ballard avoided the freeways and took surface streets toward Hollywood. She got there by 5:30, parked in the Hollywood Station lot, and changed clothes in the locker room before returning to the parking lot and switching to her city-ride. She then drove to West Hollywood, cruising by the apartment building she believed was the home of Nathan Brazil, John Hilton’s roommate at the time of his murder.

She found parking on Willoughby and walked back to the apartment. There was no security gate, another indication that the building was not a sought-after address. She was able to approach apartment 214 directly and knock. Almost immediately the door was opened by a man with short black hair and a neatly kept beard. Ballard didn’t recognize