Ballard got into the car, lowered the window, and composed herself.
“Shit,” she said.
She pulled her phone and called Bosch. He answered right away and Ballard could hear traffic noise in the background.
“Harry, it’s me. Where are you?”
“In my rental, following Hastings to City Hall.”
“City Hall—are you sure? It’s Saturday.”
“I won’t be sure till he gets there, but it looks like he’s heading downtown. He left Rita Ford’s place about eight, went home, and then came out a little while later in casual Saturday clothes.”
“What does that mean?”
“Jacket, dress shirt, no tie.”
“No other stops?”
“Not so far. Anything from the lab?”
“I just left. And it’s not good.”
“No prints on the button?”
“No, there’s a print. But it belongs to Laura Wilson.”
“Okay. What about the wine bottle? Did you—”
“It’s a smudge. It’s useless.”
“What about DNA?”
“I dropped the bottle and the pin off at serology. Darcy’s off but I called her. She said she’d come in to swab them. But don’t get your hopes up. She said we got lucky with the windowsill palm print because the guy was probably nervous and sweating. I doubt Hastings broke much of a sweat picking out a bottle of wine.”
Bosch didn’t respond.
“Are you there, Harry?”
“Yeah, I’m just thinking. You don’t want to go through his trash until it’s out on the street. So maybe we should bring him in.”
“What, arrest him? We have nothing.”
“No, bring him back to Ahmanson. I don’t know, we make something up, tell him he needs to come in for an update.”
“And you’re sure he’ll come running all the way out to Westchester on his day off?”
“You tell him it has to be in person because of something sensitive we discovered about the councilman. We know his number one priority is protecting Pearlman. He’ll come. And then we put him in a chair with arms so we get his palms when he gets up. We give him a cup of coffee, put some snacks and a pack of gum on the table. We give him some kind of document to read, not keep. You know, we carry out the charade, then he leaves and we hopefully have a palm print and his DNA.”
Ballard considered the idea for a few moments.
“What do you think?” Bosch prompted.
“That could work, but if he’s the guy, he’ll know if we are feeding him a bullshit story,” Ballard said. “We need to come up with something important enough to draw him out, but then he’s also got to believe what we tell him.”
“You said Hastings and the tuxedo guy don’t talk, right?”
“Kramer. And yeah, not in years. Hastings pushed him out of the Pearlman universe and Kramer’s still bitter.”
“Okay, so that’s where we build the story. It’s something Kramer told you. An accusation or just some sort of story that will hurt Pearlman politically if it comes out. We phony up an affidavit from Kramer.”
Ballard nodded as Bosch talked, even though they were on their phones.
“And it will be unlikely that Hastings checks it out with Kramer, because they don’t talk,” Ballard said. “We could say Kramer kept records from that first campaign and there’s something there connecting Pearlman to Laura Wilson. It could be a note or a phone message or something. We’ll think it through before we meet.”
She started the car and headed back toward the 10 freeway.
“So you’ll set it up?” Bosch asked.
“I’ll try to get him out to Ahmanson today,” Ballard said. “It’ll be good that it’s Saturday. No one else around. I’ll tell him we need to keep it private.”
“But what if he wants you to come to him? What’s the fallback position?”
“I’ll just say no. Pearlman might be coming in on a Saturday, too. So it’s gotta be Ahmanson. If he balks at Ahmanson, I’ll suggest a coffee shop and I’ll be late so he’ll get a head start drinking his coffee and will toss the cup when we’re finished talking.”
“Good. He just pulled into the City Hall garage. You want me to stay with him, just in case he comes back out?”
“No, let’s meet at Ahmanson and work out the story. We can set up the meet.”
“I don’t think he ever saw me on his tail. But just in case, I don’t think I should be part of the meeting with Hastings. I’ll hang back.”
“Yes, play it safe.”
“Okay, I’ll see you there.”
Ballard disconnected. It took her forty minutes to cut through downtown and then out to Westchester. When she finally got to the pod, she found Colleen Hatteras at her station.
“Colleen, it’s Saturday. What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to work on this before the update Monday.”
“What update?”
“Remember, we were going to meet first thing to go over the IGG stuff on Pearlman-Wilson?”
“Oh, right.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Just…work. I had to go by the lab this morning and I was going to write up some reports and check on a few things. Let me go get a coffee and then we can talk IGG. I’ll get you out of here so you can enjoy your weekend.”
“Uh, okay. I’d probably have more information by Monday but now is good. How was the lab? Good news?”
“No, not good news. That’s why I’m hoping IGG is going to come through.”
“What about Harry? Is he coming back?”
“Actually, he is. I talked to him and he sees the light. Everything’s fine now.”
“Good. I like Harry. He’s a good soul.”
“Yeah. I’ll be back. Set up what you want to show me.”
Ballard left her backpack on the floor next to her chair and went to the break room. No coffee had been made, which was good. It gave her a legit reason to stay away from Hatteras and the pod. She started brewing a pot and then pulled out her phone to text Bosch.
Hang back, Harry. Colleen is in the office. I’ll try to get rid of her. I’ll text you when it’s clear.
Once the glass pot was filled, Ballard poured herself a cup and returned to the pod. Colleen had already pulled a second desk chair over to her station so Ballard could sit next to her and view her screen.
“Give me another minute,” Ballard said. “I have to write a quick email.”
Ballard pulled her laptop out of her backpack and opened it on her desk. She then composed a bait email to Hastings that she hoped would lead to an in-person meeting.
Nelson, something’s come up. I know it’s Saturday but I found records from JP’s first campaign and there is something we need to talk about. Any chance you can come to Ahmanson or meet me somewhere away from City Hall? Let me know.
RB
She read the email over and realized the reference to City Hall revealed that she knew he was working there on a Saturday. She edited it out and then sent it to Hastings. She then grabbed a notebook and a pen to take over to the IGG briefing with Hatteras. But before she could even get up from her chair, she received a cell phone call from Hastings.
“Detective Ballard, what are we talking about here?” he asked.
“Uh, I don’t want to discuss it on the phone,” Ballard said. “Can we meet today?”
“I’m at work today. You’ll need to come downtown.”
“No, I don’t want to be in City Hall for this. There may be others around and I don’t—”
“I understand. I can leave the office at two. You know the Grand Central Market on Broadway?”
“Sure. I can meet you there.”
“There’s a G&B Coffee right at the Hill Street side entrance. Meet me there at two fifteen.”
“Okay.”
“You’re sure we can’t discuss this on the phone right now?”
“I’d rather not. You’ll understand why.”
“Okay, then. See you at two fifteen at G&B.”
He disconnected. Ballard sat for a moment, feeling the rising pressure of having three hours to come up with a story that would not make Hastings suspicious of the need for a face-to-face meeting.
“Are you ready?” Hatteras said from the other side of the partition.
“Coming,” Ballard said as she got up from her station.
She walked around to the next cubicle and sat down next to Hatteras, who had her laptop connected to a 28-inch LG screen. This allowed her to work on a large digital canvas when looking at DNA family trees and toggling through the color-coded graphics of a person’s chromosomes and estimated geographic ancestry.
“You seem tense,” Hatteras said.
“Don’t try to read me, Colleen,” Ballard replied, bristling. “I’m not in the mood. Just tell me what you’ve got.”
Hatteras nodded and looked hurt.
“Fine,” she said. “So, we have previously discussed the IGG basics, right? Centimorgans, shared matches, most recent common ancestors—all of the things we use to find potential ancestors to our sample DNA?”
“Yes, I remember all of that. But I’m not a geneticist or a genealogist, so please just keep this simple and tell me whether you’re narrowing in on any potential relatives for our suspect.”
“Well, we’re getting closer. I can say that.”
For the next twenty minutes, Hatteras went through her IGG findings and what they could mean. The DNA profile obtained from the palm print found on the windowsill in Sarah Pearlman’s bedroom had been uploaded to GEDmatch’s database. GEDmatch then generated comparisons with hundreds of thousands of other users’ raw autosomal DNA data files, which had been uploaded to various consumer genealogy platforms such as 23andMe, AncestryDNA, and more.
So far, there were four hits to users who shared at least some DNA with the man who had left his partial palm print on the sill.
“That means we’re now up to four possible leads to our suspect,” Hatteras said. “The next move would normally be to start building a family tree around one or all of them to see how they might be related to him. But here’s where we got lucky. One of these people has already started a family tree and it’s available to us. It also seems to include the other three people whose matches came up. When you start to build a family tree, you can either keep it private or put it out there for other users who may be looking for you to see. This one is public—at the moment.”
Hatteras pointed to her big screen. A genetic family tree looked more like a corporate flowchart than an actual tree. This one was labeled Laughlin Family Tree, and the section Hatteras had enlarged was shaped like an hourglass composed of male and female ancestor icons with names, birth and death years, geographic locations, and in some cases thumbnail images. Some icons appeared blank, as relatives on the distant branches of the tree had not yet been identified. It was most definitely a work in progress that had stalled because of a lack of new connections.
“That doesn’t look like it shows anyone in L.A.,” Ballard said.
“I said we got lucky, but not that lucky,” Hatteras said. “This tree reflects a distinctly Midwest settlement of the family. It shows known genetic relatives in Kansas, Missouri, Ohio, and places in between. But hold on, all is not lost. Judging by the number of centimorgans these people share, I’m guessing these are second or third cousins to our unknown suspect. And some of these unknowns you see at the top here could well be the family member who headed off to the West Coast.”
“But wouldn’t you have gotten a hit from out here?”
“Only if a relative out here submitted their DNA and allowed it to be shared with GEDmatch. We can only work with what’s been entered into the DNA platforms. That’s why a personal connection is important. You can directly ask if they’ve heard in family lore about someone like a grandparent or great-uncle having moved out here a while back.”
“Have you made contact yet with any of them?”
“I’ve messaged all four of the matches through the GEDmatch portal and have gotten responses from three. This is quite good, because you’d be amazed by how many people don’t respond or respond once and then just ghost you because you’re law enforcement connected. It’s kind of ironic, because on most of these platforms, you have to click a box that opts you in to law enforcement searches. But then when you come calling, some of them ignore you. So three out of four is not bad at all.”
“So then, the three who responded—what did they say when you asked about the West Coast?”
“That’s what I was checking for today. I’ve only gotten one reply so far to that question and it was a negative.”
“Meaning what?”
“That she knew of no relatives in Los Angeles or California. But she did say she would try to find out.”
“That’s not a lot of help.”
“Actually, in a way it is. We can definitely get an informative read off what we have here. These four DNA relatives are in a fairly tight geographic cluster. Not a lot of spreading out across the country over the decades, as is usually the case. So what this tells me is we are likely looking for a family member who moved away to the West Coast at least a generation or two ago. Because we have two crimes separated by eleven years, it leads me to conclude that this wasn’t a tourist, but more likely a resident here but with roots in the Midwest.”
“Okay. So how will the person who responded to you try to find out more if it’s not on here?”
“If you look at the tree, this is the one who answered me. Shannon Laughlin. You can see here that she has one living grandparent. It’s her grandmother on her mother’s side. Edith McGrath. She will likely go to her and ask if anybody she knows of in her line—a brother, cousin, anybody—moved west.”
Ballard felt the phone in her pocket vibrate.
“Hold on a second,” she said.
She pulled the phone and checked the text. It was from Bosch.
I’m here. Just heard from St. Louis. We need to talk.
Ballard quickly typed a response.
Go to the upstairs break room. Meet there in 5.
She put the phone away and turned her attention back to Hatteras.
“So, you’ll follow up with Shannon Laughlin about her grandmother?”
“I will.”
Ballard pointed to the screen.
“And meantime, all we know for sure is that our suspect will have Midwestern roots,” she said.
“That’s correct,” Hatteras said. “And I’m going to keep at it.”
“And how are you identifying yourself with these people?”
“I’m saying I’m a genealogist looking at cold cases for the police department. As you know, there’s a lot of anti-police sentiment out there lately, so I’m just trying to tread slowly and gently and hopefully gain their trust. It’s better, I think, that I don’t outright say I’m LAPD.”
“I think that’s fine. But keep in mind you aren’t actually LAPD. You’re a civilian volunteer.”
“I understand.”
“Okay, Colleen, good stuff. Keep at it and let me know when you make the next link.”
Since the meet with Hastings was now going to be downtown, Ballard did not see the need to get Hatteras out of the building. She could work here all day if she wanted.
“I will,” Hatteras said. “And, um, Renée?”
“What?” Ballard said.
“Is there anything going on that the rest of us should know about? Feels a little bit like high school, the way you and Harry have kind of teamed up and are whispering all the time. And like that fight you two supposedly had yesterday. That felt like a show you put on for all of us.”
“No, Colleen, there’s nothing anybody else needs to know. There are just some things about the case that are sensitive…politically. Plus, Harry Bosch and I have worked cases going back several years, so we have a shorthand and a level of trust that is already built in. Is that okay?”
“Uh, sure, yes. I was just curious. I didn’t mean—”
“Okay, well, you just do what you do and get me some results, Colleen. And thanks for updating me. I’m going to head out now.”
“I thought you said you had some reports to write.”
“I changed my mind. I’ll do it from home. You should go home, too. It’s the weekend, Colleen.”
Ballard got up and went back to her workstation, returned her laptop to her backpack, and then headed toward the exit. She did not look back at Hatteras but had the feeling that she was being watched the whole way.