Ballard was at her desk, writing a DNA budget proposal, when her phone buzzed. It was the officer at the front.
“I got a guy here, says he was supposed to have a pass waiting. Heron—Her—I can’t say it. Last name is Bosch.”
“Sorry, I forgot to set that up. Give him a visitor pass and send him back. He’s going to be working here, so we’ll have to make him an ID later. And it’s Hieronymus. Rhymes with anonymous.”
“Okay, sending him back.”
Ballard put the phone down and got up to receive Bosch at the front door of the archive, knowing that he would be annoyed with the front-desk snafu. When she got there and opened the door, Bosch was standing six feet back, looking above her head at the wall over the door. She smiled.
“What do you think?” she said. “I had them paint that.”
She stepped out into the hallway so she could turn and look up at the words above the door.
OPEN-UNSOLVED UNIT
Everybody Counts or Nobody Counts
Bosch shook his head. Everybody counts or nobody counts was the philosophy he always brought to homicide work, but it was also his personal philosophy. It wasn’t a slogan and especially not one he liked seeing painted on a wall. It was something you felt and knew inside. Not something advertised, not something that could even be taught.
“Come on, we need something,” Ballard said. “A motto. A code. I want some esprit de corps in this unit. We are going to kick ass.”
Bosch didn’t respond.
“Let’s just go in and get you settled,” Ballard said.
She led the way around a reception counter that fronted the rows of library shelving containing the murder books organized by year and case number. They moved down the aisle to the left of the shelves to the official work area of the reconstituted Open-Unsolved Unit. This was a collection of seven workstations connected by shared partition walls, three on each side and one at the end.
Two of the stations were occupied, the heads of the investigators just cresting the top of the privacy partitions. Ballard stopped at the cubicle at the end of the pod.
“I’m here,” she said. “And I’ve got you set up right here.”
She pointed to a cubicle that shared a partial wall with hers, and Bosch moved around to it. Ballard stepped all the way into hers and folded her arms on the partition so she could look down at his desk. She had already stacked murder books in two separate piles, one big and one small, on the work surface.
“The big pile is Gallagher—I’m sure you recognize that.”
“And this?”
Bosch was opening the top binder in the smaller two-book pile.
“That’s the catch,” Ballard said. “It’s Sarah Pearlman. I want you to start with a review of that.”
“The councilman’s sister,” Bosch said. “You didn’t already look at this?”
“I did, and it looks pretty hopeless. But I want your take on it—before I go back to the councilman with the bad news.”
Bosch nodded.
“I’ll take a look,” he said.
“Before you dive in, let me introduce you to Lilia and Thomas,” Ballard said.
Ballard stepped down to the end of the pod configuration. The last two workstations were occupied by a man and a woman who looked like they were mid to late fifties. Ballard was closest to the man and put her hand on his shoulder as she introduced him. Both gave off professional vibes. The man’s suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair. He wore a tie pulled tight at the collar. He had dark hair and a mustache and wore half glasses for the desk work. The woman had dark hair and was dark complected. She was dressed like Ballard always dressed, in a woman’s suit with a white blouse. She had an American flag pin on her lapel and Bosch wondered if that was to deflect questions about whether she was a foreigner.
“This is Thomas Laffont, who just joined us last week,” Ballard said. “He’s FBI-retired and I’ve paired him with Lilia Aghzafi, who did twenty years with Vegas Metro before wanting to see the ocean and retiring out here. Tom and Lilia are reviewing cases to find candidates for genetic genealogy follow-up, which you may have heard is all the rage in cold case circles.”
Bosch shook hands and nodded to the two investigators.
“This is Harry Bosch,” Ballard said. “Retired LAPD. He won’t toot his own horn, so I will. He was one of the founding members of the old cold case unit and basically has more years in homicide than anybody in the entire police department.”
Ballard then watched Bosch clumsily handle the how-ya-doin’s and small talk. He was not good at hiding his long-held distrust of the FBI. She finally rescued him and took him back to his workstation, telling Aghzafi and Laffont that she had more to go through with the “rookie” member of the squad.
Back at the other end of the pod, they moved into their workstations and Ballard once again stood and leaned over the privacy wall so she could see him while they spoke.
“Wow,” she said. “I just noticed you got rid of the porn-stache. Was that since we talked?”
She was sure it was. She would have noticed its absence up at his house. Bosch’s face reddened as his eyes darted to the other end of the pod to see if Aghzafi and Laffont had heard the comment. He then rubbed his upper lip with a thumb and forefinger as if to make sure he no longer had a mustache.
“It was turning white,” he said.
No other explanation was offered. But Ballard knew it had been turning white since before she had even met Bosch.
“I’m sure Maddie’s happy about that,” she said.
“She hasn’t seen it,” he said.
“Well, how is she doing?”
“As far as I know, fine. Working a lot.”
“I heard she was assigned to Hollywood Division out of the academy. Lucky girl.”
“Yeah, she’s over there on mid-watch. So, this genealogy stuff, how’s that work?”
It was clear to Ballard that Bosch was uncomfortable with the personal questions and was grasping at anything to change the subject.
“You’re not going to have to worry about it,” she said. “It’s good and valid, but it’s science, so it’s expensive. It’s the one place I have to pick our shots. We got a grant from the Ahmanson Foundation, which donated this whole place, but a full genetic rundown costs about eighteen grand if we go outside the department. So we have to pick and choose wisely. I have Tom and Lilia on that, and another investigator you’ll probably meet tomorrow. We have carte blanche on regular DNA analysis because it’s all in-house now. With those, we just have to get in line and wait. I also get one move-to-the-front-of-the-line card I can play each month. The chief gave me that. He also gave us a lab tech specifically assigned to work with our unit’s cases.”
“Nice of him.”
“Yeah, but let’s get back to your orientation. What I’m requiring of our reserves and volunteers is that they give me at least one day a week. Most of them are doing more than that but I stagger them so that we have at least one body in here Monday to Thursday. I’m here full-time and I have Tom and Lilia come on Monday, Paul Masser and Colleen Hatteras on Tuesday, Lou Rawls on Wednesday, and now you…I would say Thursday, but I know you’ll be here much more than that. Most of these guys are as well.”
“Lou Rawls—really?”
“No. And he’s not even Black. His name is Ted Rawls, and after he’d spent ten years as a cop, it would have been impossible not to come out of that with the obvious nickname. So some people still call him Lou and he seems to like it.”
Bosch nodded.
“You should know, though,” Ballard said, leaning forward and lowering her voice so it just barely made it over the privacy wall. “Rawls wasn’t my pick.”
Bosch rolled his chair in closer to his desk to hear better and complete the confidentiality huddle.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“We have more applications than we have seats in the pod,” Ballard said. “The chief gave me the go-ahead to pick who I want and that’s what I’ve done, but Lou Rawls was a Pearlman pick.”
“The councilman.”
“He’s very proprietary about this, he and his chief of staff. It’s about his sister but it’s also about politics. He’s got higher aspirations than city council, and the success of this unit can help. So he put Rawls in and I had to take him.”
“I’ve never heard of him and I think I would have with a name like that. He’s not LAPD, right?”
“No, he’s retired Santa Monica, but that was fifteen years ago, so he doesn’t bring a lot to the table. A lot of hand-holding required, and the thing of it is, he’s a direct pipeline to Pearlman and Hastings.”
“Hastings?”
“Nelson Hastings, Pearlman’s chief of staff. The three of them are like best buds or something. Rawls quit Santa Monica PD after ten years to go into business. So to him this is just a side gig.”
“What’s the business? Is he a PI?”
“No, it’s a business business. He owns a bunch of those mail-drop places. Like UPS, FedEx, box-and-packaging stores. Apparently he’s got them all over the city and does pretty well. He drives a fancy car and has a house in Santa Monica in the college streets. And my guess is he’s one of Pearlman’s main campaign supporters.”
Bosch nodded. He got the picture. A quid pro quo. Ballard leaned back and sat down after realizing that their whispering had been noticed by Laffont and Aghzafi. She could still see Bosch’s eyes over the partition. She continued in a regular tone.
“You’ll meet Paul and Colleen tomorrow,” she said. “They’re solid. Masser is a retired deputy D.A. who worked in Major Crimes, so he’s helpful on the search warrants and legal questions and strategies. It’s good to have him in-house instead of needing to call the D.A.’s Office every time we have a question.”
“I think I remember him,” Bosch said. “And Hatteras?”
“No law enforcement experience. She’s our in-house genealogist and what they call a ‘citizen sleuth.’”
“An amateur. For real?”
“For real. She’s a great internet researcher, and that’s where it’s at with the genetic stuff. IGG—you know what that is, don’t you?”
“Uh…”
“Investigative genetic genealogy. You upload your suspect’s DNA to GEDmatch, which accesses a number of databases, and you sit back and wait for a hit. You must know about this. It was trending big time in cold case investigations until the privacy police arrived, and now it’s a limited resource but still worth pursuing.”
“How they caught the Golden State Killer, right?”
“Exactly. You put in the DNA, and if you’re lucky, you get connections to relatives. A fourth cousin here, a brother nobody knew about there. Then it becomes social engineering. Making contact online, building a family tree with the hope that one branch leads to your guy.”
“And you have a private citizen doing this.”
“She’s an expert, Harry. Just give her a chance. I like her and I think she’s going to work out for us.”
She could see full skepticism in Bosch’s eyes as he looked away from her.
“What?”
“Is this all going to end up in a podcast? Or are we going to make cases?”
Ballard shook her head. She knew he would act this way.
“You’ll see, Harry,” Ballard said. “You don’t have to work with her but I’m betting you will want to eventually. That’s how sure I am. Okay?”
“Okay,” Bosch said. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I’m just happy to be here. You’re the boss and I never question the boss.”
“Yeah, right. That’ll be the day.”
Bosch looked around the room and the pod.
“So, I’m the last guy in,” he said.
“But the first I wanted,” Ballard said. “I just needed to have everything in place before I visited you.”
“And you had to make sure I was cleared.”
“Well, that, too.”
Bosch nodded.
“So, where’s somebody get a cup of coffee around here?” he asked.
“There’s a kitchen with coffee and a fridge,” Ballard said. “You go out through—”
“I’ll take him,” Laffont said. “I need a jolt myself.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Ballard said.
Laffont stood up and asked if anyone else wanted coffee. Ballard and Aghzafi declined, and Bosch followed Laffont to the front of the archive room.
Ballard watched them go, hoping Bosch would play nice with the former FBI agent and not cause a clash on his first day on the job.