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“This is good to hear,” Pearlman said. “I look forward to that phone call. I’ve been waiting many years for it.”
Hastings came back to the pod and put a hand on Pearlman’s shoulder, a wordless reminder that they were on the clock. The councilman ignored it and asked another question.
“So, the campaign button,” he said. “Is that just a coincidence? Because it’s sort of weird, you know?”
“Well, we can’t dismiss it yet,” Ballard said. “We have actually located the button and we’re going to see what it brings us. That’s where my in-the-field detective is at the moment.”
“Fantastic,” Pearlman said. “Let me know about that. Meantime, do you have everything you need here? What can I do?”
“I appreciate that, Councilman,” Ballard said. “The one thing I’ve found since we started over here is that we need secured storage. We bring in evidence and property from the old cases and have no place to secure it. We’ve been using the second interview room for some storage, and, of course, this is a police facility, so things should be pretty safe, but most squads have a place to keep things locked up and secure.”
Before Pearlman could respond, Hastings leaned in with a verbal prompt this time.
“Jake, we really gotta go,” he said.
Pearlman stood up and Ballard followed.
“You mean like a safe or something?” Pearlman asked.
“Yes, an evidence safe would be good,” Ballard said.
Pearlman turned to Hastings.
“Nelly, remember that,” he said. “We need to get a safe in here.”
“I’ll remember,” Hastings said.
Pearlman turned back to Ballard and put out his hand. The videographer focused on their hands as they shook.
“Thank you for what you’re doing, Detective,” Pearlman said. “It means a lot to me, but more importantly, it means a lot to this city and this community. We can never forget our victims.”
“Yes, sir,” Ballard said dutifully.
She walked the group out and then returned to her workstation, expecting the others to crowd around and ask questions about the high-powered visit. But only Colleen Hatteras poked her head up over the partition.
“So, how did that go?” she asked.
“I guess okay,” Ballard said. “We just need to break open his sister’s case and then we’re made in the shade.”
“We will.”
“Anything on IGG?”
“I’ve got one hit through GEDmatch so far. A distant cousin to our unknown suspect. I’m going to reach out today, but I’m hoping we get something better. Something closer.”
“Good. Let me know.”
Hatteras dropped back out of sight and Ballard went to work. Not believing that Hastings or anyone else in Pearlman’s crew would move quickly to get her a contact number for Sandy Kramer, Ballard started looking on her own. She guessed that Sandy was a nickname or a diminutive for a given name such as Alexander. As she expected, DMV records didn’t help. There were too many Alexander Kramers for her to confidently pick a winner. There were also several entries under Sandy or other alternatives, like Sandor and Sundeep.
Her next move was to google tuxedo shops in Century Cityand start making phone calls. When she had exhausted all the internet listings and hadn’t come across a salesman named Kramer, she moved on to Beverly Hills, which was adjacent to Century City.
She hit pay dirt on her third call, this one to a place on Beverly Drive called Tux by Lux. She was told that a salesman named Alexander Kramer was on his day off but would be back at ten the next morning. Ballard guessed that selling tuxedos in Beverly Hills required a more formal name than Sandy.
Ballard disconnected. She planned to be in Beverly Hills the next morning when Kramer came to work.
22
BOSCH WAS SQUINTING through the sharp morning light and a slight hangover, looking for address numbers on a small blond-brick house at the corner of South Keeler and West 43rd Street. He was far from the DoubleTree near the lake, where he had spent the night. And even farther from Los Angeles. He was sitting in the back seat of an Uber in a mixed neighborhood of small homes and one-floor warehouses and manufacturing businesses.
