PART TWO
USE OF FORCE
29
Ballard felt the weight on her ribs and arms before anything else. She opened her eyes to darkness and realized she had been blindfolded. No, it was the sleep mask. A hand covered her mouth and gripped her jaw. Her first thought was the Midnight Men — How did they find me? Did they see me on Outpost? Her memory flashed on the car she had seen in her rearview mirror pulling into the lane behind her at Gelson's.
She tried to struggle but the weight on her was too much. She violently turned her head to the side to loosen the grip of the hand on her jaw so that she could scream, but just as quickly the grip tightened, she was pulled back faceup, and pressure was applied to her chin, pulling her mouth open.
She heard the distinctive metal click of a gun cocking and that threw thoughts of the Midnight Men askew. None of the victims had mentioned a gun. It was two against one — they didn't need a gun.
Ballard realized all the weight was on the top half of her body. Her attacker was straddling her ribs, his legs pinning her arms to the bed. She couldn't move her upper body but her hips and legs were unrestrained. That was the flaw in the attack.
With all of the panicked, adrenaline-charged effort she could muster, she brought her knees up, planted her feet in the mattress and thrust her hips up, tipping her attacker forward into the headboard.
The move was unexpected and the attacker hit the hard wooden headboard with a clunk. The barrel of the gun scraped down Ballard's chin but the weapon didn't fire. Ballard's right arm broke free and she used it to shove the attacker to her left and off the bed. She heard him hit the floor. She yanked off the sleep mask and saw a man she immediately recognized on the floor.
It was Bonner.
He was struggling to get up. His left arm was swinging up and toward her with the gun — her gun — in his grasp. Ballard drew her right elbow back and then pistoned a strike forward into his throat.
Bonner fell back to the floor, dropped the gun, and brought both hands up to his neck. His face flushed red and his eyes widened as he realized he could not take in air. Ballard realized she had crushed his throat with the fist strike. She untangled herself from the blanket and sheet and rolled onto the floor. She now straddled him, swept her gun across the floor behind her, and reached up to her phone to call 911.
"This is Detective Ballard, LAPD, I need an ambulance to four-three-four-three Finley right away. Have a man here who can't breathe."
Bonner started making gagging sounds and his face was now more purple than red.
"Hold while I put it out," the emergency dispatcher said.
Ballard was put on hold. She reached down and tried to put her hand under Bonner's chin to see if she could feel where the blockage was. He pushed her hand away instinctively.
"Stop fighting," she said. "I'm trying to help."
As if responding to her but more likely due to the lack of oxygen going to his brain, Bonner's hands fell away from his neck and dropped to the floor. There was a dry scraping sound coming from his open mouth. His eyes were open, staring up at her, and he was dying.
The dispatcher came back on the phone.
"Okay, we are en route."
"What's the ETA?"
"Four minutes."
"He's not going to make that. He's coding right now."
"Can you open his passageway?"
"It's crushed."
Ballard blurted out her apartment number and the code to the main entrance gate, then disconnected. She quickly pulled up her contact list and called Garrett Single. He answered immediately.
"Renée, how's the noggin?"
"Garrett, listen to me. I need you to talk me through a field trach."
"Wait, what are you — "
"Listen, there's no time. I have a man here, he can't breathe. His upper throat is blocked. I have EMTs coming but he won't make it that long. Talk me through a field tracheotomy. Now."
"This is a gag, right?"
"Goddammit, no! I need you to tell me what to do. Now!"
"Okay, okay, uh, where exactly is the block?"
"Upper throat. He's over a minute without air. He's circling."
"Above or below the Adam's apple?"
"Above."
"Okay, good. Put something under his neck so it's clear and arched, jaw pointing up."
Ballard put the phone on speaker, then placed it on the floor. She reached under the bed and blindly grabbed a shoe — a running shoe. She reached down with one hand to raise Bonner's neck, then shoved the shoe in like a wedge.
"Okay, got it. What's next?"
"Okay, this is important — you have to find the spot."
"What spot?"
"Use your finger and trace along the front of the neck. You are looking for a spot between the rings. The Adam's apple is the big ring. Go below it and find the next ring."
Ballard did as instructed and found the second ring.
"Got it, got it."
"Okay, you want the soft spot between the rings — do you have a knife? You need a scalpel or a knife to make a small incision."
Ballard reached up to the bed table and pulled the drawer out completely. It dropped to the floor over Bonner's head. She scrambled her hand through the junk she had thrown in there after moving in — all stuff she'd planned to find a spot for later. She found the small Blackie Collins folding knife she had carried when she was in uniform. She depressed the lock and opened the blade.
"Okay, got it. Where do I cut?"
"Okay, the soft spot you found between the rings. The soft tissue. You need to make an incision there. But first, you're sure he's not breathing? You don't want to do this if — "
"He's purple, Garrett. Just tell me what to do."
"Okay, a small incision — like a quarter of an inch wide in the soft tissue between the cartilage. Horizontal and not too deep. You don't want to go through the windpipe. No more than half an inch."
Ballard carefully positioned the point of the blade and pushed it into the skin. Immediately blood came out and ran down both sides of Bonner's neck to the wood floor. But it wasn't much and Ballard took that as a sign that Bonner's heart was shutting down.
"Okay, I'm there."
"Okay, you need to put in the tube so that air — "
"Shit, what tube? I didn't think — "
Ballard reached over and swiped her free hand through the junk drawer while carefully holding the knife in place in Bonner's neck. She saw nothing that would work.
"Do you have a plastic straw or a pen or anything that you could — "
"No! I don't have shit! God — "
She remembered something and yanked open the bottom drawer of the bed table. After she had separated her shoulder surfing a few years before, she had bought a recirculating pump that pushed cold water into a rubber wrap that she could lay over her shoulder to ease the pain and swelling. A clear plastic tube connected the pump to the wrap. She yanked it out of the drawer and put it down on the floor.
"Okay, I found something. Can I take the knife out of his neck to cut the tube?"
"Do it."
"How long do you want the tube?"
"No more than six inches needed."
Ballard pulled the knife back and quickly cut a six-inch length of the tube with the razor-sharp blade.
"Okay, got it. What next?"
"Put one end of the tube through the incision and into the airway. Don't go more than an inch in. Just push it through."
Ballard did as instructed and felt the tube break through and into the windpipe.
"Okay, I'm in. Does he just start breathing, or what?"
"No, you have to get him started. Breathe into the tube. Check his chest, make sure it's rising. Not too hard. Be gentle."
Ballard jumped off Bonner and moved to his side. She gently blew into the tube and saw his chest rise.
"Okay," she said.
"All right, watch his chest," Single said. "You want to see if he breathes on his own."
"It went down, that's it."
"Try it again, try it again."
Ballard repeated the procedure, with no result.
"Nothing. Trying again."
"You may have to breathe for him until the rescue gets there."
Ballard tried again and then crouched low so she could watch the profile of Bonner's chest. She saw it go down as air escaped through the tube. But then it rose again on its own.
"I think … he's breathing. Yes, he's breathing."
"Well done, Detective. How's his color?"
Ballard looked at Bonner's face. The purple was leaching out of it. Fresh blood was circulating.
"It's good. It's getting there."
"Okay, what I want you to do is call me back on FaceTime so I can look at him. Can you do that?"
Ballard disconnected the call without replying and then called back on FaceTime. While she waited for the call to go through, she reached up to the top of the bed table to grab her handcuffs. She snapped one cuff around Bonner's right wrist and clamped the other around the metal bed frame half a foot away.
She looked down at Bonner. His eyes were slits and he showed no sign of being conscious, but there was no doubt that he was breathing. There was a low whistling sound coming from the tube she had inserted into his neck.
Single answered the call and Ballard saw his face. It looked like he was outside, and she could see the yellow brick of the fire station behind him.
"You're hurt," he said. "Are you okay?"
For the first time, Ballard remembered the barrel of the gun being dragged down her chin. She brought her hand up to touch the wound and felt blood.
"I'm okay," she said. "Take a look at him."
She flipped the camera so Single could see Bonner on the floor. She could now hear sirens but was unsure whether they were on her end of the call or Single's.
"You see him?"
"Yes. Uh, it looks good. Actually, it looks perfect. He's breathing and his color is good. You got rescue on the way?"
"Yeah, I think I hear them now."
"Yeah, that's them. They're coming. Who is this guy? You handcuffed him?"
"I just did that in case he woke up. I was sleeping and he broke in. He was going to kill me with my own gun — I think to make it look like suicide."
"Jesus, why?"
"He's a murder suspect. Somehow he found out I was onto him and where I live."
"Holy shit!"
"Yeah."
Ballard tried to think of how Bonner could have known about her and the investigation. The easy answer was Dennis Hoyle. She had spooked Hoyle, and he in turn sent Bonner after her. That reminded her — Bosch had been there as well.
"Listen, Garrett, I need to make another call," she said. "Thank you so much for helping me."
"I don't know if I should have, if this guy was trying to kill you," he said.
Ballard smiled.
"That might be the sweetest thing anybody's ever said to me. I'll call you later."
"I'm here. And Renée, I'm glad you're okay."
After hanging up, Ballard immediately called Bosch. He picked up, and there was no indication of stress in his voice.