The Dark Hours (28 page)

On her drive back to the house on North Citrus Avenue, Ballard had to call Hannah Stovall with more questions. She knew that this risked undercutting Stovall’s confidence in her, but Ballard had to acknowledge, at least to herself, that the plan was evolving from minute to minute as various questions and decisions came to her.

Stovall was with Bosch in his car when she took the call.

“Hannah, how do I open the garage? I don’t see any clicker.”

“It’s programmed into the car. There’s a button on the bottom of the rearview mirror. There are actually three buttons but you want the first one.”

“Okay, got it. And I forgot to ask, is there an alarm?”

“There is but I never use it. Too many false alarms. And there isn’t one on the door from the garage to the kitchen anyway, since that is sort of indoors already.”

“And would it be unusual for you to take a walk at night? Like if I want to just get the lay of the land?”

“I should have mentioned that. I usually take a walk when I finish work. To sort of clear my head. I just go a couple blocks around the neighborhood.”

“Okay.”

Ballard dropped into thought about how she would handle this. The walk time was right now.

“Detective?”

“Yes, uh, this is all good. What do you wear when you walk?”

“Well, I don’t change or anything, so whatever I have on.”

“Okay, good. What about a hat?”

“Every now and then I wear a hat.”

“Okay, good.”

“You’ll let me know if anything happens, right?”

“Of course. You’ll be the first to know.”

Three minutes later Ballard pulled the Audi into the driveway of Stovall’s house and pushed the button to open the garage. She held her phone to her left ear, posing as though she were on a call so her face would be partially obscured to anyone watching. It was now almost six and the sun had dropped from the sky. The day was slipping toward the dark hours.

She pulled into the garage, hit the button again, and waited for the garage door to close before she got out of the car.

She used a key on the ring Stovall had given her to open the door from the garage to the kitchen. Ballard entered, hit the wall switch to turn on the lights, and then stood still in the kitchen, listening to the house. She heard only the low hum of the refrigerator. She put the bag of produce from Pavilions on the counter, took out the apples and oranges and placed them on a shelf in the refrigerator, and put the sweet potato on the counter. She then bent down to the cuff of her jeans and pulled Bosch’s gun out of an ankle holster.

Ballard slowly moved through the house, checking each room. The kitchen had one arched entrance to a dining room and a second one that led to a hallway that ran to the back of the house. She walked through the dining room into a living room. There was a fireplace with a flat-screen TV
mounted above it. Ballard checked the front door and it was locked.

She next moved down the hallway, checking out a guest bedroom, another bedroom, which had been converted to an office during or before the pandemic, and a bathroom. Her last stop was the master bedroom, which included a walk-in closet and a large bathroom. The master suite took up the whole back of the house, and there was a back door in the bathroom. It was double-locked but Ballard opened it to check the yard before it got too dark. Stovall had created a sitting area on a wooden deck off the bathroom door. There was an ashtray on a table that needed to be emptied.

The rest of the yard was surrounded by a plank fence that included an enclosure for the city garbage and recycling containers. The enclosure had a locked wooden gate that led to a rear service alley.

Ballard tucked the gun into her pants at the small of her back and flapped her hoodie out over it. She stepped into the alley and looked north and south but saw no vehicles or anything else that raised suspicion or concern. Her phone buzzed and she saw that it was Bosch calling.

“We’re in place at the W, two rooms next to each other. We’re staying in and ordering room service.”

“Good. I’m at the house.”

“I still don’t like this, you being there by yourself. I should be there, not here.”

“I’m going to be fine. I’m about to call Hollywood and put them on standby.”

“You know they’re not going to like this.”

“But they’re not going to have a choice.”

There was a pause while Bosch thought before replying.

“Why are you doing this, Renée? It’s kind of crazy. It didn’t
sound like you had a solid plan. Why don’t you just give it to them to run with?”

“Harry, you don’t know what the department’s like now. I couldn’t trust them not to screw it up.”

“Well, remember to check in with me too.”

“I know, every hour on the hour. You’ll hear from me.”

Ballard disconnected and stood in the alley for a few moments considering a plan. Stovall’s house was just two homes from the cross street at Oakwood. She realized she could walk out the front door, proceed on her walk posing as Stovall, and come back around to the house through the alley very quickly — and then be inside waiting and ready if the Midnight Men made a move.

She went back into the yard, leaving the door to the trash enclosure unlocked. She entered the house through the door off the smoking deck and left that unlocked as well.

In the walk-in closet she found a small collection of hats. She wanted something that would hide her face better than the Dodgers cap. She found a cloth hat with a wide, floppy brim probably used for gardening or other chores outside. Her hair was a bit darker and longer than Stovall’s so she twisted it into a ponytail before putting on the hat. She was also thinner than Stovall. She looked through the hangers until she found a windbreaker that was bulky but acceptable for a walk on a winter evening. She took off her hoodie and put on the windbreaker and she was good to go.

When she turned to leave, Ballard saw a slide bolt on the inside of the closet door. She closed the door, slid the bolt, and then tested the security of the door. The door locked tight and she realized Stovall had made the closet a safe room. It was a smart move.

She looked around inside the closet and found a Wi-Fi router on a shelf as well as a backpack survival kit. Stovall had prepared
well and it was good to know there was this space to retreat to if necessary.

Before leaving, Ballard walked through the house once more to decide what lights to turn on. She would not be able to turn anything on once she snuck back inside, since that might alert anyone watching that she was in the house. She left the master closet light on as well as the lights in the kitchen, and one in the living room.

At the front door, she pulled her mask up over her nose to further her disguise, put in earbuds, and then stepped out of the house. She locked the door behind her and put the key ring she had taken from Stovall into the pocket of the windbreaker.

Ballard walked down a path of garden stones to the sidewalk. She looked both ways as if deciding which way to go. Her eyes scanned the cars on the street but it was now too dark to see into any of them. The Midnight Men could be watching and waiting and she would not know. She pulled her phone and angled her face down to the screen as if picking music to listen to, but she continued to scan the street, her eyes just under the line of the hat’s brim. She then put the phone away, glanced up at the streetlight that was out, as if noticing it for the first time, then turned south toward Oakwood.

Ballard walked briskly to the intersection and turned right. As soon as she got to the alley she turned right again and picked up her pace. Going through the trash enclosure and into the yard took less than three minutes from her closing of the front door. She doubted there had been time for an intrusion but she pulled the gun out from below the back of the windbreaker and entered the house through the door off the deck. Holding the gun at the ready position, she moved through the rooms, careful to stay away from windows that might reveal she had already returned to the house.

She checked the garage last, moving completely around the Audi and looking in and under it. She found no sign of a break-in.

Back inside, she surveyed the house once more, looking for the best place to wait and be ready. She decided on the home office because it was the most centrally located room and it also offered two options for hiding should an intrusion occur. There was a closet with a sliding door that had a large unused space. And along the wall to the left of the doorway, there was a standing four-drawer file cabinet that provided a blind from the entrance.

Ballard took the desk chair and sat down. She put the gun down on the desk and pulled her phone. She called Lisa Moore, though she did not expect her to take the call — not after the message Ballard had left the Thursday before. The call went to voice mail and Ballard disconnected. She then wrote a text.

Lisa, call me back if you want to have a part in taking down the MM. I’m sitting on the next victim’s house. Are you working tonight?

She sent off the message, satisfied that she had at least given Moore the chance to be involved in her own case. She next called Neumayer’s desk phone because she didn’t have his cell. And the first flaw in her hasty plan emerged. The call went to voice mail and she heard Neumayer’s voice: “This is Detective Neumayer. I am going to be out of town until January nineteenth and will respond to your call then. If this is an emergency, dial nine-one-one. If this is about an ongoing case, please call the direct line to the detective bureau and ask for Detective Moore or Detective Clarke. Thank you.”

Ballard knew she should now call Robinson-Reynolds or at the very least Ronin Clarke, but she did neither. She decided to wait and see if she got a call back from Lisa Moore.

Her rash and incomplete planning was now beginning to weigh on Ballard. She thought about calling Bosch and taking him up on his offer to be there as backup. But she knew she couldn’t leave Hannah Stovall unguarded, no matter how unlikely it was that the Midnight Men knew her current location. She tried to examine her motives in moving so quickly with a plan that was so incomplete. She knew it was all wound up in her growing disillusion with the job, the department, the people that surrounded her. But not with Bosch. Bosch was the constant. He was more steadfast than the whole department.

She tried to push the grim thoughts away by pulling up the video from the playroom at Dog House to check on Pinto. The image on the screen was grainy and small but she managed to see Pinto lying low under a bench, watching the action of the other dogs, possibly too timid to join in. She had quickly reached a point where she loved the little dog, and she wondered why someone had mistreated and abandoned him.

Somehow, in the crosscurrents of thought, she came to a decision. Maybe it was all in the moment, but she knew the moment had been a long time coming.

She clicked off the video feed and composed a short email to Lieutenant Robinson-Reynolds. She reread it twice before hitting the send button.

Immediately, she was flooded with a feeling of relief and certainty. She had made the right decision. There was no looking back.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a call back from Lisa Moore’s cell number.

“What the fuck are you doing, Renée?”

“What am I doing? Let’s see. I got a solid lead and I’m following it. I know that may sound like out-of-the-box thinking but — ”

“You’re suspended. You’re on the bench.”

“You think the Midnight Men are on the bench? You think you scared them away? Your little move last week to take the lieutenant down a notch just made them change things up, Lisa. They’re still out there, and I know where they’re going. They’re coming to me.”

“Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you what, stand by. I’ll call you when I need you.”

“Renée, listen to me. Something’s wrong. Your judgment is off. Wherever you are, you need backup and you need a plan. You’re giving the department all they need to get rid of you with a stunt like this. Don’t you see that?”

“It’s too late. I got rid of them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I just quit. I sent the lieutenant my resignation.”

“You can’t do that, Renée. You’re too good a cop.”

“I already did.”

“Then, what are you doing right now? Get out of there and call in backup. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way. You — ”

“I’ve always been in harm’s way. But I’m not a cop anymore. That means no rules. I’ll call you when I need you. If I need you.”

“I don’t get it. What are you — ”

Ballard disconnected. And immediately she felt the euphoria and assuredness of her decision start to slip away.

“Shit,” she said.

She stood up and slid her phone into her back pocket. Picking up the gun, she held it down by her side. She walked to the door, having decided to take another sweep of the house so she
would know the layout by heart should she need to maneuver in the dark.

She had just entered the hallway when the house started shaking. Not an earthquake, just a low vibration. A tremor. She realized that someone was opening the garage door.

Ballard quickly backed into the darkened office. She stood at the doorway at first and waited. The hallway offered a straight-shot view to the living room and the front door. Through an arched entry on the left was the kitchen and through that she could see the edge of the door to the garage. She fixed on that point, her gun still held down at her side.

Soon the tremor in the floor began again and she knew the garage door was closing. A few moments later, she saw the doorknob start to turn on the kitchen door. The door opened inward, at first blocking Ballard’s view of who was coming in.

Then the door closed and a man in dark blue coveralls stood there as she had, listening to the house. Ballard ducked further back into the shadows of the home office but kept one eye on the man. She didn’t breathe.

The man wore black synthetic gloves and a green ski mask that had been rolled up off his face because he did not expect anyone to be in the house. He would pull it down when Hannah Stovall came back from her walk. He had a fanny pack strapped around the coveralls, with the pouch in front. His eyebrows and sideburns revealed that he had red hair.

“Okay, I’m in,” he said. “Any sign of her?”

Ballard froze. He was talking to someone. She then saw the
white earbud in his right ear. There was no cord. It was a Blue-tooth connection to a phone held in a runner’s armband on his upper right arm.

Ballard hadn’t planned for that — that they would be in constant communication. Another flaw in a very flawed plan.

“Okay,” the man said. “I’ll take a look around. Let me know when you see her.”

The man moved out of the sliver of view Ballard had of the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator open and then close. She then heard footsteps on the wood flooring and could tell he had moved into the living room. She also heard a sound she could not identify. It was a slapping sound that was spaced at various intervals. She heard his voice again but it was farther away this time.

“Bitch has almost no food in the fucking fridge.”

He crossed in front of the hallway in the living room and she saw that he was tossing up and down one of the apples she had put in the refrigerator, making the slapping sound as he caught it. She had to think. If the redhead was in constant communication with his partner, she had to figure out a way to take him down without the partner realizing and possibly fleeing.

She wanted them both.

The footsteps grew louder and she knew he was heading to the hallway. She quickly and quietly moved to the blind side of the file cabinet and slid down the wall to a crouching position. She held the gun in a two-handed grip between her knees.

The steps paused and the overhead lights flicked on. Then the man spoke again.

“We’ve got a home office. Double monitors. Man, she doin’ some bidness up in here, y’all … Might need to take one of these for my own setup.”

The lights went out and the steps continued down the hallway.
Ballard heard the man report what he saw in the hall bathroom, the guest room, and then the master suite. Their MO had obviously changed, possibly because of the exposure in the media, or dictated by Stovall’s stay-at-home schedule. Either way, the break-in came much earlier than in the three prior cases. She knew that this most likely meant they would not wait several hours in hiding, until Stovall went to sleep. Ballard believed the plan was now to move quickly, incapacitate and control Stovall, and then bring in the second man. The master suite was probably out as a hiding place, because that would be where Stovall went after her walk. That left the spare bedroom, the office, and the hall bathroom. Ballard believed the office was the best bet. The desk was set against one wall and the closet was directly opposite, meaning that if Stovall sat at her desk, her back would be to the closet door. The redhead would be able to surprise her from behind — if she went back to work after returning to the house.

Ballard waited, rehearsing in her mind the moves she would make when he returned to the office. One move if he saw her, and one move if he walked by without noticing her on his way to check out the closet.

“Hey, dude, she’s got a safe room in her damn closet. The guy didn’t tell us about that.”

There was silence while Ballard considered what that second sentence meant.

“Okay, okay, I’m looking. You said there was no sign of her yet.”

Silence.

“All right, then.”

The words almost made Ballard flinch. They were closer. The redhead was coming back to the office.

“I’m thinking the office is going to be the spot.”

As he said it, he entered the room, and the ceiling lights came back on. He passed by the file cabinet without noticing Ballard and moved directly to the closet. Ballard didn’t hesitate. She sprang from her crouch and moved toward his back. He was opening the closet door as she reached up to his right ear and grabbed the earbud out. At the same time she brought the gun up with her left and held the muzzle against the base of his skull. Holding the earbud cupped tightly in her palm, she whispered, “You want to live, don’t say a fucking word.”

Ballard put the earbud in her pocket, grabbed the man by the back of the collar, and jerked him backward, holding the gun against him the whole time and continuing to whisper.

“Down, get on your knees.”

He did so and now was holding his hands up shoulder height to show his compliance. Ballard pulled the phone out of the man’s armband. The screen showed a call connection to someone only identified as Stewart. Ballard put the phone on speaker.

“ … happened? Hey, you there?”

She hit the mute button, then held the phone to the man’s face.

“Now, I’m going to take this off mute and you’re going to tell him that everything’s fine and that you just tripped over a box in the closet. You got that? You say anything else and it will be the last thing you ever say.”

“What are you, a cop?”

Ballard thumbed back the hammer on the gun. Its distinctive click sent the message.

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him.”

“Go.”

She took the phone off mute and held it to the man’s mouth.

“Sorry, dude, I tripped. There’s boxes and shit in here.”

“You okay, Bri?”

“Yeah, just fucked up my knee a little bit. Everything’s copacetic.”

“You sure?”

Ballard hit mute.

“Tell him you’re sure,” she said. “And tell him to keep watching for the woman. Go.”

She took it off mute.

“I’m sure. Just tell me when you see her.”

“All right, man.”

Ballard hit mute again and put the phone down on the desk.

“Okay, hold still.”

With one hand holding the gun to his head, Ballard reached around to the fanny pack and felt for a buckle but came up empty.

“Okay, one hand, reach down and take off the pack.”

The man reached with his right hand. Ballard heard a snap and then his hand came back up holding the pack by its strap.

“Just drop it on the floor.”

The man complied. Ballard then used her free hand to frisk him and check the pockets of the coveralls. She found nothing.

“Okay, I want you to get facedown on the floor. Now.”

Again he complied but under protest.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said as he went down.

“Lie flat and don’t talk unless I ask you to. You understand?”

He said nothing. Ballard pushed the muzzle further into the back of his neck.

“Hey, do you understand?”

“Yeah, take it easy, I understand.”

He lowered himself to the floor and she held the gun on his neck all the way down, then put one knee on his back.

She realized that her handcuffs were in her equipment kit in her car, where she had put them while off duty and heading out to see Garrett. Add one more flaw to her plan.

She reached over to the fanny pack the redhead had just dropped to the floor.

“Let’s see what you’ve got in here,” she said.

She put the pack down on his back and unzipped it. It contained a roll of duct tape, a folding knife, and a premade, duct-tape blindfold on a peel-off backing that had been intended for Hannah Stovall. There was a strip of condoms and a garage remote.

“Looks like you have a full rape kit here, huh, Bri?” she said. “Can I call you Bri like your partner did?”

The man on the floor didn’t respond.

“Okay if I use some of your tape?” Ballard asked.

Again there was no answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ballard said.

After putting the gun down on the man’s back, she pulled his hands together and wrapped the duct tape around his wrists, unspooling it from the roll as she went. She could feel him trying to keep his wrists parted.

“Stop fighting it,” she commanded.

“I’m not fighting it,” he yelled into the floor. “I can’t get them together.”

Ballard thumbed open the knife’s blade and cut the tape. She then grabbed the gun and stood up. She put the tape and the knife on the desk and then reached down and roughly yanked the ski mask off the top of his head, bouncing his face on the floor and releasing a torrent of red hair.

“Goddammit! That cut my lip.”

“That’s the least of your problems.”

Ballard reached down and picked up the garage opener. She recognized it as a programmable remote like the one she had been given by her apartment landlord. He had told her that once a year the HOA changed the code as a security measure
and he would provide her with the new combination to install. She now understood how the Midnight Men got into each victim’s home.

“Who gave you the garage code?” she asked.

She got no answer.

“That’s okay. We’ll find out.”

She stepped back from him, moving to the side.

“Turn your head, show me your face.”

He did. She saw a small amount of blood on his lips. He looked young, no more than twenty-five.

“What’s your full name?”

“I’m not telling you my name. You want to arrest me, arrest me. I broke in, big deal. Book me, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Bad news, kid. I’m not a cop and I’m not here to book you.”

“Bullshit. I can tell you’re a cop.”

Ballard bent down and held the revolver out so he could see it.

“Cops have handcuffs, and cops don’t carry little revolvers like this. But when we’re through with you and your partner, you’re going to wish we were going to book you.”

“Yeah, who’s ‘we’? I’m not seeing anybody else here.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

She wanted to wrap his ankles with tape to prevent him from getting up but she also wanted to keep him talking. He wasn’t giving her anything yet but she felt that the more he talked, the better the chance he might slip up and provide something useful or important.

“Tell me about the photos.”

“What photos?”

“And videos. We know you and your pal documented the rapes. For what? For yourselves or somebody else?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What rapes? I broke in to steal shit, that’s it.”

“And who was on the phone with you?”

“Getaway driver.”

The man shifted on the floor so that his right cheek was down and he could look up at Ballard. She responded by pulling out her phone and leaning down to take a photo of him. He immediately turned his head so he was facedown again.

“This’ll go out all over the Internet. Everyone in the world will know who you are and what you did.”

“Fuck off.”

“How did you pick them? The women.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Brian, that you are not in the hands of the police or, shall we say, the traditional justice system. You were half right. I was a cop, but I’m not anymore. I quit because the system doesn’t work. It doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do to protect the innocent from monsters like you. You’re now in the custody of a different justice system. You’re going to tell us everything we want to know, and you’re going to answer for what you’ve done.”

“You know what, you’re fucking crazy.”

“What did you mean when you said ‘the guy’ didn’t tell you about the safe room?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t say that.”

“Who told you about Hannah Stovall?”

“Who’s that?”

“Who gave you the garage code?”

“Nobody. I want a lawyer. Now.”

“No lawyer can help you here. There are no laws here.”

Her phone started to buzz. She pulled it and checked the screen. It was Harry Bosch. The time on the screen told her that she was ten minutes late with her hourly check in. She accepted the call and spoke first.

“I’ve got one of them,” she said.

“What do you mean, you’ve got one of them?” Bosch asked.

“Like I said. As soon as we get the other, I’ll call you for pickup.”

Bosch paused as he came to realize what was going on.

“I’m questioning him now,” Ballard said. “Trying to. If he doesn’t want to talk, we can do it your way.”

“I’m on my way.”

“That’s fine. We can do it that way, too.”

“I know you’re playing to him. Do you want me to call in the troops?”

“No, not yet. Everything’s good.”

“Well, I’m on my way. For real.”

Ballard disconnected and put the phone down on the desk. She picked up the intruder’s phone and found it passcode protected. But it had been set to allow previews of texts, and there was a partial message on the screen.

talked to the guy; safe room added after he

The message was cut off there.

“You got a message here, Bri,” she said.

“You need a warrant to look in my phone,” Brian said.

Ballard fake-laughed.

“You are correct … if I were the police. Anyway, the message is from your partner. It says he checked with the guy, and the safe room in the closet was added after. After what? After Hannah kicked him to the curb? Told him to get the fuck out of her life?”

“Who the fuck are you people?” Brian said.

The tenor of his voice had changed. It had lost the tone of confidence and superiority. Ballard looked down at him.

“You’re going to find out very soon,” Ballard said. “And it will go a lot easier on you if you answer my questions. Who told you about Hannah Stovall?”