This kid knows nothing better than the street. If he was put into a one-bedroom apartment with a full kitchen he’d move into the closet and sleep on the floor. He’s one of the rain people.
She wondered who the rain people were in Farmer’s estimation. People who couldn’t fit in with the rest of society? People who needed the rain?
Her rover squawked and Lieutenant Munroe called her to the watch office. She took the long way, going down the rear hallway of the station and then up to the front. This allowed her to see who was in the station and maybe get a sense of what was happening before speaking to Munroe.
But the station was empty as it was on most nights. Munroe was standing behind his desk, looking down at the deployment screen, which showed the locations of cars and personnel in the field. He didn’t look up but knew she had entered the room.
“Ballard, we’ve got a hot shot and I need you to get out there and honcho it,” he said.
“What’s the call?” Ballard asked.
“A woman calls in, says she’s locked in the bathroom of a house up on Mount Olympus. Says she’s been raped and managed to get to the bathroom with her cell phone. Says the guy’s still there, trying to break the door down. I rolled two units and a sergeant. They get there and guess who the guy is? Danny fucking Monahan. It’s a he-said-she-said, and I want you out there to make the call.”
“Did they transport the victim to the rape center?”
“Nope. She’s still there. She took a shower while she was in the bathroom.”
“Shit. They should’ve transported her anyway.”
“They’re not sure she’s a victim, Ballard. Just get out there and see for yourself. This should be right up your alley.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Whatever you want it to mean. Just get up there. And don’t forget your rover.”
He handed a slip of paper over the screen to her. It had the address written on it and the name and age of the person reporting the incident: Chloe Lambert, 22.
Ballard was in her city ride, heading back toward the hills within five minutes. She hated cases involving celebrities. Things always had a different reality to them. It wasn’t normal life. Danny Monahan was a stand-up comic who had broken big in the last five years with podcasts and cable specials and now a growing string of hit movies that steadily broke the hundred-million-dollar mark at the box office. He was a triple threat and a major force to contend with in Hollywood. It seemed appropriate that he would live in a part of the Hollywood Hills known as Mount Olympus.
Ballard hit the blue lights and streaked down Sunset to Crescent Heights, where she turned north toward Laurel Canyon. The neighborhoods of Mount Olympus covered the front right shoulder of the canyon, with large homes that peeked at the lights of the city down in the flats. Ballard pulled into the driveway of a house on Electra Drive and parked behind one of the patrol cars.
She was met in the driveway by Sergeant Dvorek.
“Won’t need a space suit tonight, Sally Ride,” he said.
“Good,” Ballard said. “What will I need?”
“The wisdom of Solomon, I guess. She says he’s an ass bandit and he says she’s setting him up for a MeToo moment.”
“Why didn’t you transport her to the RTC, Stan?”
Dvorek held his hands up as if to calm her.
“Just hold on, hold on. I didn’t want to make the call on that because, if she gets transported, then there’s a case number and this guy’s life and career go down the toilet.”
The male bias was no shock to Ballard. But now wasn’t the time to call Dvorek on it.
“Okay, where are they?” she asked.
“I’ve got Monahan sitting snug as a bug in the home office, and the girl is...”
“The girl?”
“Woman, whatever. She’s in the screening room on the other side of the house. Nobody’s touched anything in the bedroom or talked to the suspect.”
“Well, you did that right. I’m going to talk to the woman first. Show me.”
Dvorek led the way into a massive home that appeared to be a conjoining of circular structures of different sizes. The center circle was the tallest. The entryway was at least two stories high.
“She’s this way,” Dvorek said.
They walked through a massive entertaining area with a small stage and microphone in one corner, where, Ballard guessed, Monahan practiced his stand-up routines or performed for invited guests and family. They then moved into a hallway and toward an open door where a blue suiter named Gina Gardner was standing post.
“G-G,” Ballard said as she passed.
She entered a home theater with a large curtained screen at the front. Four rows of plush leather lounge chairs, twelve in all, were on stepped levels going toward the rear. Posters from Monahan’s movies and in various languages lined the walls.
Sitting on the edge of one of the lounge chairs was a young woman wearing a man’s bathrobe. She was blond with large doe eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with makeup that had run down her face with tears.
Dvorek presented the victim and then backed into the hallway with Gardner. Ballard held out her hand.
“Chloe, I’m Detective Ballard. I’m here to hear your story and to make sure you get whatever medical treatment you need.”
“I just need to go home, but they won’t let me. He’s still here. I’m scared.”
“You are perfectly safe. There are six police officers in the house and he’s being held in a room on the other side. I just want to get some basic information from you and then we’ll take you for medical examination and treatment. I’m going to record your statement.”
“Okay.”
Ballard sat on the edge of the lounge chair next to Chloe’s and put the small digital recorder she always carried between them. Once she started to record, she identified herself and the victim and gave the time, date, and location of the interview.
“Chloe, how long have you known Danny Monahan?”
“Tonight was when I met him.”
“Where was that?”
“At the Comedy Room. I went with my friend Aisha tonight and he was there. He did stand-up and then I met him at the bar in the back. He invited me up here.”
“What about Aisha?”
“No, just me.”
“Did you drive here in your own car?”
“No, I had Ubered. I mean to the Comedy Room. He drove me here in his car.”
“Do you know what kind of car it was?”
“It was a Maserati but I don’t know, like, which model it was.”
“That’s okay.”
“So, you came here on an invitation. You weren’t forced.”
“No, I even had sex with him and I wanted to. But then later he... god, this is so embarrassing...”
She started crying again.
“It’s okay, Chloe. Nothing that happened is your fault. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. You are not the—”
“He rolled me over and raped me in the ass. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t. I said no. I said no several times but he wouldn’t stop.”
She said it rapid-fire, like it was the one and only time she would be able to say it.
“Are you hurt, Chloe?”
“Yes, I’m bleeding.”
“Okay, I have to ask you this question and I apologize ahead of time. Had you ever had anal sex before this occurred with Danny Monahan?”
“No, never. I think it’s disgusting.”
“Okay, Chloe, that’s all for now. I’m going to get you to a rape treatment center where they’re going to look for biological evidence and treat you for your injuries. They’ll also be able to talk to you about counseling and what steps to take from there.”