Connelly, Michael - Renee Ballard 01 - The Late Show by Connelly Michael

Author:Connelly, Michael [Connelly, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

20

Carr was dutifully sitting at a table along the outer railing of the restaurant’s side porch when Ballard showed up. She hooked the leash to the railing so Lola could be next to their table but on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. She then walked around to the porch entrance—crossing behind Carr’s back—and sat down across from the Major Crimes detective. She put her phone on the table. As she passed his back, she had turned on the recording app she used for documenting her own interviews.

Carr didn’t seem to suspect anything. Putting a phone on a table was a routine, though rude, habit with many people. He smiled as Ballard sat down. He looked over the railing at her dog lying on the sidewalk.

“Is that a pit bull?” he asked.

“Boxer mix,” she said. “First things first, Carr. Am I a suspect in any criminal investigation or internal investigation? If so, I want a defense rep.”

Carr shook his head.

“No, not at all,” he said. “If you were a suspect, we’d be having this conversation in the box at Pacific Division. It’s like I told you. I’m on the Chastain thing and I’m part of a team retracing his steps in the last forty-eight hours of his life.”

“So I guess that means you guys don’t have shit,” she said.

“That’s a fair assessment. No suspects in the Dancers shooting, so no suspects on Chastain.”

“And you’re sure they are connected?”

“Seem to be, but I don’t think we’re sure about anything. On top of that, it’s not my call. I’m a gofer on this. Yesterday morning I was booking a bunch of Eastern European bastards for human trafficking. I got yanked off that and put on this.”

Ballard realized where she recognized him from. He was on the video that had followed the report on the Dancers shooting on the newscast she had watched in the station on Friday. She was just about to ask a question about the case, when a waitress came over and asked if Ballard wanted something to drink. She ordered an iced tea. When offered a menu, she said she wasn’t eating and the waitress went away.

“You sure?” Carr asked. “I ordered the fish tacos.”

“I’m not hungry,” Ballard said.

“Well, I’ve been running all day and need the fuel. Besides, you told me to get them.”

“This isn’t a date, Carr. Get to your questions. What do you want?”

Carr raised his hands in surrender again and Ballard noted it as a habit.

“I want to know about that last interaction between you and Chastain,” he said. “But first I need background. You two were former partners, correct?”

“Correct,” Ballard said.

Carr waited for more but soon realized that Ballard was not going to give more than one-word answers—unless he found a way to change that.

“How long did you two work together?” he asked.

“Almost five years,” Ballard said.

“And that ended twenty-six months ago.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re the one who beefed Olivas, aren’t you?”

Once again the blue pipeline had betrayed Ballard. What had transpired between Olivas and Ballard was a personnel matter that was supposed to be confidential.

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