Royal Flush (11 page)

Officer Dolan swiped an ID and led us through a visitors' entrance, where we were both directed to fill out a brief information sheet and provide our drivers' licenses while yet another clerk decided if we could pass through. It was probably easier to get in to see the Pope, I figured.

When we finally passed the inspection, Dolan led us up an elevator to the seventh floor where we passed down a long hallway where the grizzled faces of former police chiefs and commissioners stared down at us from portraits hung on the walls. We stopped at a door marked Deputy Chief Bruskewitz, Metropolitan Division.

Mike elbowed me. "A deputy chief is a pretty big deal."

I nodded, pretending to be impressed. Officer Dolan swiped his card yet again, and the door clicked open. Inside was a suite of cubicles surrounding the desk of a receptionist who appeared to be in charge of the whole thing. The man I assumed to be the commander was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. He looked up when Dolan coughed.

Given the gruff treatment we'd already received, I wasn't prepared for the chief's warm smile and handshake. He was about fifty, with graying temples, ice-blue eyes, and a paunch that betrayed the fact that he enjoyed a donut every now and then. Two silver stars were prominently displayed on his shoulder epaulettes.

"How is Philippe?" He asked, seeming genuinely interested.

I wondered whether I should reveal that I barely knew him. "He's fantastic. Not slowing down at all, but you know how Philippe is." I wondered how the commander and the old French Canadian had met.

Bruskewitz smiled warmly. "We've worked together on a half-dozen cases over the years. You know what keeps that guy going?"

"No," I said. LaGarde was in his seventies, and wheelchair-bound, but he seemed to possess a verve for life and an otherworldly intelligence that made him seem much younger, much more alive than many twenty-something digital zombies who started at their smartphones all day.

"He's running on brandy. The only vegetables that guy consumes is tobacco! He's amazing," he said, shaking his head. "Me, I even
look
at a pizza, I gain five pounds."

His secretary flashed a thin smile and rolled her eyes at me. "That's because after you
look
at the pizza, you
eat
the whole thing!"

It was smiles all around, and I could immediately sense why LaGarde had thought Bruskewitz might be able to help me. He was clearly comfortable in his own skin and with his own authority.

"Come on back," he said, gesturing with his hand toward a corner office on the far left.

Mike and I found ourselves chairs facing Commander Bruskewitz's desk. Although we sat down, he remained standing up and then turned to look out the window at downtown LA Sensing our awkwardness, he reluctantly sat down behind his desk.

"Well, this must be important," he mused. There was still a hint of a twinkle in his eye. "What can I help you with?"

I explained the background as briefly as I could, although I fudged the truth a bit when it came to my relationship with Melanie. She and I were friends, I said, and I wanted to get to the bottom of whatever happened to her.

Bruskewitz tented his hands together and looked thoughtful. "From what I've read, it was a simple overdose. Is there any reason to believe that's not what happened?"

Mike piped up. "Not exactly. But she wasn't really much of a drug user. She had so much to live for, so many friends."

He nodded. "That's pretty common, unfortunately. I got my start in narcotics, and you'd see this kind of thing all the time, especially in the nicer neighborhoods. They're not bad kids. The problem is, these kids get bored. They have everything handed to them on a silver platter. Fancy car, tuition, nannies, maids, you name it. They want to
live
! To be challenged. To experience something different. They're so overshadowed by their successful parents, some of them are almost suffocating."

It made a lot of sense. I wondered how Melanie had coped with having a famous and rich father, and if that might have been what was driving her to get involved with Kent. Kent, even if he was a fraud, meant action and excitement. A way to get out from under her dad's shadow.
Just like Jojia
, I thought.

"I understand," I said. "But I just don't think that was Melanie's issue. She was so
solid
," I said, unable to come up with a better word.

Bruskewitz wheeled his chair around and peered outside again. A light haze was hanging over the city, but we could still see the mountains in the distance. "The guy you want to talk to is the deputy head of the West Bureau, which covers Hollywood Hills, where she died. He's a commander named David Chung, a guy I helped promote a few times. West Bureau is down on Venice Boulevard."

"Thanks so much," I said. "I'll tell him that you recommended we speak to him."

Bruskewitz smiled. "Better yet, I'll give him a call and tell him you're coming. He should be in the office today, but it makes sense to double check." He punched a few times at the iPad that was open on his desk, which apparently had a department directory on it. A few swipes and touches later, and the phone was ringing through an unseen speaker in his office. It was Chung's secretary, and she confirmed that he'd be in the office most of the day.

"This is about the death of that Weston kid, in case he's wondering in advance," Bruskewitz explained.

"I'll pull the file," the secretary said.

I was impressed by LAPD technology and the smoothness of the whole operation, although I had my suspicions that Bruskewitz was the cream of the crop and thus not fully representative of the Department as a whole.

"Thanks so much," I repeated on our way out.

"Say hi to Philippe for me," Bruskewitz said, probably for the third time.

Mike was shaking his head in the elevator on the way down. "That Philippe LaGarde guy really opens some doors. Bruskewitz is a two-star chief. You don't just walk in and get to sit down with a guy like that."

Our escort, Officer Dolan, smiled. "He's a real people person. Sometimes I forget our ranks and get a little too familiar, but he doesn't seem to mind. Too bad he's on his way out," he said, somewhat wistfully.

"Retirement?" I asked.

Dolan nodded. "Yeah. He's sixty-five. The next guy up's a real asshole, so I'm hoping for a transfer."

I feigned an expression of pity as the thick-necked Dolan led us to the exit and showed us out, where I waited outside the building while Mike picked up the car from the garage. Unlike in Las Vegas, the late morning sun was a pleasantly warm caress upon my skin rather than a scorching assault. Mike picked me up and we drove west about twenty minutes to Venice Boulevard, where the West Division had its headquarters inside the Wilshire Community Police Station, a two-story tan structure fronted by the same palm trees that seemed to be everywhere in town.

After a brief discussion with the receptionist, Commander Chung came out to greet us. Six-two, with an athletic body, perfectly coiffed black hair and a California tan, Chung could have been an actor or model. Los Angeles was growing on me.

"Deputy Chief Bruskewitz called me about this," he said warmly. "Come on back."

Commander Chung showed us back into his office, which was bigger than Bruskewitz's, but lacked the view of the hills and downtown. A family photo on his desk showed what I assumed was his wife and three kids, which burst my momentary infatuation bubble.
Of course he's married, you idiot,
I told myself.
He's got a great job and looks awesome in a uniform
.

"I pulled the file up," Chung began. "It's a sad case, but the kind of thing that happens every month or so around here. The wealthy aren't immune from these tragedies."

Mike spoke up. "So was there any sign that she had company, or that anything other than the obvious happened here?"

Chung looked serious for a moment. "I paged through the report. We're still waiting on the tox results, of course, but it looks as if it was heroin, or some other opioid. The examiner said the actual cause of death was lack of oxygen, which is common with those drugs. Essentially, when you fall asleep you get so relaxed that your body forgets to breathe."

"Not a bad way to go," I said. "If you
have
to go."

Chung shrugged. "Yeah, you're not kidding. Some of the other kinds of overdose are incredibly painful. And then you have the hallucinogens, which make you think you can fly, until the pavement says otherwise."

I cringed, involuntarily.

"Sorry," he said. "When you're in this line of work, you tend to get a little callous about these things."

"I understand," I said. "So were there any needle marks?"

"No marks, but again that doesn't mean no heroin. You can eat it or drink it. It just takes longer to get the effect."

I was processing everything when Mike spoke up again. "So basically no red flags is what you're saying. Nothing to suggest that anything
else
happened here other than a run-of-the-mill overdose?"

Chung nodded. "Am I missing something? Do you have a reason to think something else was going on?"

I paused before answering. "It's just that she hired me only a few days before she died. It's rare enough for a twenty-something girl to hire a private investigator. But then to end up dead soon after…" I trailed off, letting my thoughts get the better of me.

"And may I ask why she hired a Las Vegas PI?" Chung asked, his eyes twinkling.

I didn't see any reason not to tell him. "She was wondering about her boyfriend. A guy who lived in Vegas but told her he was part of the British royal family, and she wasn't exactly buying it."

Chung's eyebrows shot up. "Interesting. So you think the boyfriend got wind of this and helped her overdose herself?"

"I think it's unlikely. But there's no evidence she was a drug user, is there? I just want to make sure, that's all."

Chung thought for a few seconds. "And what about her husband? Did he know about all this?"

Mike and I looked at each other. Mike beat me to the punch. "Her
husband
?"

Chung nodded seriously. "You didn't know?" He thumbed through his sheaf of papers.

"They were
married
?" I asked, incredulous. "When? Who?"

Chung shrugged. "I don't have that in here. She didn't tell you that?"

"No," I said. "In fact, she made it seem as if the guy I'm looking at was her boyfriend, or at least
potential
boyfriend. She said he asked her for a loan because he was in expensive litigation back in England, and she wanted to know if he was legit or not."

Chung leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers together. "None of this is in the report, of course. I can't give you the report yet, since the case is still open." Chung began scribbling on a piece of paper. "But I can give you the name and number of the detective who was at the scene. If there's any detail I'm missing, he'd be the one to know. The house was just about a mile from here up in the hills. I wonder what he'll make of everything you just told me."

I pocketed the slip of paper. "Thanks for all your help," I said.

Chung nodded and stood up. "Good luck," he said, showing us out of his office.

Mike and I were silent on our walk to the car. We both climbed in, not knowing what the next step was.

"Well
that
was weird," he finally said.

"No kidding. I can't believe she's married, but she was considering this relationship with Kent."

"You had no idea at all?" Mike asked. He didn't intend for it to be critical, but it came out that way.

"No. As I said, she wasn't even sure if he was her boyfriend or not. My take was that she liked him and wanted to get closer, but she was skeptical of the whole royalty thing. The next step was going to be the loan, but only if everything checked out."

Mike looked at me. "You're assuming she was married to someone else, it sounds like. Maybe she and this Kent guy were already married."

"Why would she hide that from me, though?"

"It's kind of embarrassing, I would guess. To want to investigate your own husband?
After
you get married to him? Maybe she just wanted it to seem like a casual boyfriend kind of relationship so you wouldn't think she was an idiot."

He had a point. Covering up the fact that she and Kent were already married was much more plausible than the idea that she was married to someone else. Especially at her young age.

"Do you think her family knew?" I asked.

"This wasn't one of those society weddings, that's for sure. You would have found something online about it already, I assume."

I nodded. "Yeah, nothing I've read about her suggested she was hitched already."

Mike looked at me. "Did you talk to her about what we found about Kent?"

"No, I left a message but she didn't return it. She might have been dead already, for all I know."

Mike let out a deep breath. "Well, do you want to call the detective?"

"Let's get lunch first," I said. "We can process all this a lot better if we have some food in our system."

"If you say so," Mike said, making no effort to hide his skepticism.

I punched a few keys on my smartphone and pulled up a map. "Head north," I told Mike. He fired up my car and found his way to Highland Avenue. I told him to find a parking place when I saw Sunset Boulevard up ahead.

"Where are we going?" he asked, pulling into a tight spot.

"In-N-Out Burger," I said, matter-of-factly.

"You eat that stuff?"

I sighed. "Mike, you
know
I eat that stuff. It's nourishing, and it's real."

Unimpressed, Mike remained silent as we walked the block and a half to the restaurant. It was coming up on noon, so I expected a crowd. I wasn't disappointed.

Mike was a model of quiet suffering as we stood in the seven-person-deep line to order. He kept scanning the menu above the counters, and my mind-reading abilities told me he was panicking about what to order. "I'll order for you, Mike. Don't worry."