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“No, the opposite, actually. He was three on, four off, and all he wanted to do when he was off duty was barbecue brisket and sit around watchingChicago Firereruns.”
“Hmm,” Bosch said.
Ballard knew she could tell Bosch more, but she didn’t go on. She wanted to stay focused on the case and the interview with Adam Beecher.
She pulled over in front of a house built on a lot that sloped so steeply right to left that one side of the house was two stories and the other side just one. The front door was up a curving stone-and-stepped path to the upper level.
“Harry, you going to be all right going up?” Ballard asked.
“Not a problem,” Bosch said. “So this guy’s still an actor?”
“No, not anymore. I looked him up on IMDb and he had a few roles on network TV ten, twelve years ago. His recent credits all say ‘Locations Department’ on various shows shot here in L.A.”
“Must be pretty good at it. This neighborhood is seven figures easily.”
“It could be rented. Shall we?”
Ballard opened her door. The slope was so severe that the door immediately slammed shut under its own weight. She tried again, putting her foot out to push it all the way into a holding position. Bosch struggled to get out as well, and then came around the back of the city car.
“He knows we’re coming?” he asked.
“Nope,” Ballard said. “Wanted it to come out of the blue.”
Bosch nodded his approval.
“Hope he’s home,” Ballard said. “It was a lot easier catching people at home during the lockdown days.”
Ballard got to the front door and then waited for Bosch to catch up. He had taken the steps up slowly and was huffing by the time he reached her.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Never better,” he said.
Ballard punched a Ring doorbell, knowing that they were on camera. It wasn’t long before the door was answered by a man in blue jeans and a denim shirt.
“Mr. Beecher?” Ballard asked.
“That’s right,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Ballard badged him and identified herself and Bosch as her partner.
“We’d like to come in and ask you a few questions,” she said.
“About what?” Beecher said. “I’m actually working and have a Zoom in, like, twenty minutes that I have to prep for.”
“This won’t take long, sir. May we?”
“Uh, I guess.”
He stepped back and opened the door for them. They entered a neat and expensively furnished living room with a diningarea and kitchen beyond and a hallway toward the back of the house. There were large canvases framed in wood on the walls, all studies of the male figure.
“Is this about the robbery?” Beecher asked.
“What robbery is that?” Ballard asked.
“The Tilbrooks next door. Their house got hit a few nights ago. First time out to the movies in more than two years, and their house gets robbed while they’re gone. What a town, right?”
“That would be a burglary and we’re investigating a homicide.”
