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“Bingo,” Bosch said.
They pulled into the driveway and parked. Rita Ford answered the door.
“Detective Ballard, this is a surprise,” she said. “What brings you here?”
“We need to see Nelson Hastings,” Ballard said.
“Why do you think he would be here?”
Ballard pointed out to the street.
“Because that’s his car and because we know he is,” she said. “We need to talk to him, Rita. It’s important.”
“Just a moment,” Ford said.
She closed the door. Ballard looked at Bosch. They were expecting a cold welcome.
When the door reopened, Hastings was standing there.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“We need your help,” Ballard said.
“You want my help? Jesus Christ, one minute you have me down as suspect number one, and now you want my help?”
“What makes you say we suspected you?”
“Come on, Detective. That charade yesterday where you tell me a bullshit story from Kramer after trying to catch me in lies from my earlier statements? I’m not stupid. You’ve got it in your head that someone from Jake’s circle killed Laura Wilson and Sarah Pearlman and that someone was me.”
“We don’t think that, Nelson. Can we come in? We really need you to help us with this.”
Hastings pointed at Bosch.
“And you, I know who you are,” he said. “You followed me from G&B’s. Yeah, I saw you. My guess is you’re Bosch. Well, you fucked up, Bosch, along with her, and tomorrow you’ll both be gone.”
“I fucked up,” Bosch said. “Not Renée. And if you let us in, we can explain it and you can help us catch the murderer of your friend’s sister.”
Hastings shifted his stare from Bosch to Ballard but didn’t move or say anything. Then the stare came back to Bosch. Hastings shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do and stepped back from the door.
“Ten minutes,” he said. “That’s how long you have to convince me not to have you both fired and maybe even prosecuted.”
Bosch almost told him he couldn’t be fired because he was a volunteer, and that any effort to charge him or Ballard with a crime would be laughed out of the D.A.’s Office along with Hastings.
But he let it go. They followed Hastings into the house,and he led them to a living room furnished in bright oranges and yellows. Rita Ford was sitting on the couch upholstered in white-and-yellow stripes.
“We need to talk privately with Nelson,” Ballard said.
“Fine,” Ford said in an insulted tone.
She got up and left the room. Hastings gestured to the now empty couch, and Bosch and Ballard sat down. The room had a glass wall with a view that extended over the top of the Sunset Boulevard shops a block below and out across West Hollywood.
Hastings stayed standing, arms folded tightly across his chest.
“So,” he said. “Just so we are clear, you two detectives have obviously been following me,investigatingme, and suspecting me ofmurderingmy best friend’s sister. Do you admit that?”
“I would like to know how you know all of that,” Ballard asked levelly.
“What does that matter?” Hastings said. “Is it true, or are you going to sit there and deny it.”
