She disappeared down the hallway while Ballard went into the kitchen to check the sink and trash can for any signs of life. Both were clean and empty. Ballard went back to the living room and stepped into the dining room, where two neat stacks of documents sat on the table. She moved around behind it and leaned over to read what Bosch was last working on here. She could hear Maddie’s steps on the wood floor and knew she was continuing to move about—a sign that her father was not back there.

Soon Maddie emerged from the bedroom wing of the house.

“He’s not here,” she said.

“The kitchen is clean and the trash can is empty,” Ballard said. “Like he didn’t want to leave anything that would stink up the house while he traveled.”

“But where would he go?”

“That’s the question. Do you know what sort of suitcase he has?”

“Oh, yeah. He has one suitcase. It’s old and beat up, with wheels that barely turn anymore.”

“Why don’t you see if it’s here.”

“I’ll check his closet.”

Maddie went back down the hallway and Ballard leafed through one of the two stacks on the table. They were documents from the Gallagher Family case.

Ballard noticed that the table had a drawer, most likely to hold silverware or napkins if it was used as an eating table instead of a worktable. She reached down and slid it open. It contained mostly utensils from to-go meals as well as some pens, paper clips, and Post-it pads. There were also several loose pills in the drawer and an envelope with Maddie written on it. Curious, she lifted out the envelope and saw that it was sealed. She then picked up one of the pills. It was light blue and disk-shaped. There was no brand stamp or other identification other than the number 30 imprinted on it. She guessed that this meant the pill was a 30-milligram dose.

She heard Maddie’s steps coming back down the hallway. Without giving it much thought, Ballard palmed the pill and closed the drawer as Maddie came into the room.

“The suitcase is there,” Maddie said. “But he also has this duffel bag that he uses for short trips. That’s gone. He went somewhere without telling me.”

“Has that happened before?” Ballard asked.

“Well, not that I know of. He called me last week when he was just going to Chicago for one night. But who knows—he could have made lots of trips without telling me. There’s no way for me to know.”

“Right.”

“But now I don’t feel good about us being in here invading his privacy. I think we need to leave.”

“Sure. I have an appointment downtown I’ve got to get to.”