“Leanza didn’t luck out. She knew because she was a bridesmaid and had changed upstairs. The location’s out of the way. My bet is Red Dress either was familiar with the layout or was meeting up with someone who was.”
“Tryst in the loo?” he said.
“She may have been lured there for a hot time, but I don’t see this as rough sex gone bad. Our bad guy came with a garrote and a shot of something nasty. She was brought upstairs to be killed.”
“Bad guy’s a wedding guest? Or he, too, knew the place from before? Why pick a stranger’s wedding to kill your soon-to-be-ex?”
“Maybe some sort of fantasy — double-crashing and getting it on. Plus there’d be practical reasons. When the building’s not being used, it’s locked, and noise from the party would be a great sound baffle.”
“I guess so,” he said. “But we’re still talking high-risk, Alex. Anyone could’ve come up there at any time.”
“Maybe danger was part of the fantasy. She was left to be found. Displayed in a demeaning way.”
“Hypo full of dope,” he said. “That takes me right back to Gar’s clan with all their medical training.”
I said, “Including the women. Sandy Burdette and Marilee Mastro are both tall, strong-looking women, and the injection would’ve reduced the need for physical control.”
“Amanda isn’t big but she’s smart enough to plan and sweet as a wolverine. Now the big question for all of them: motive.”
I shrugged. “We need to know more about the families — both sides.”
“How kind of you,” he said, patting my shoulder.
“What is?”
“The benevolent plural. We need to know.”
“What are friends for?” I said.
“When it comes to our newlyweds, good question.”
Chapter 6
A little after three p.m. the following day, Milo’s office number flashed on my phone. I’d just gotten offline, researching The Aura. Party venue for a little over a year. Lackluster website, a few thumbnails of happy celebrants, most of which looked like canned archive shots.
He said, “Here’s your daily recap, Doctor. Requested a high-priority autopsy but the crypt’s so backlogged they’re bringing in outside help. Pathologist I spoke to did think the fentanyl scenario or some drug like it made sense.”
I said, “Working on Sunday?”
“The Lord’s got job security, let Him rest. I also ran basic background on everyone at the wedding. Out of a hundred and three people, twenty-two have local arrest records. DUIs and penny-ante dope stuff except for one burglary — the deejay. That was fifteen years ago, it got pled down to trespassing and the details sound more like a landlord — tenant dispute. The families both look damnably law abiding but that’s just surface stuff and I haven’t checked the docs’ civil records for malpractice.”
I told him what I’d learned about The Aura.
He said, “Fits with what Sean turned up, I’ve had him looking at the place. He emailed their booking number and got a canned reply. Weddings, bar mitzvahs, anniversary parties, quinceañeras. The current owners bought it five months ago, a group from Hong Kong.”
“Anyone mad at them?”
“Not that’s turned up, so far. Making matters worse, no current lawsuits, no bitching on Yelp.”
I said, “The last time girls danced around the pole was around a year and a half ago. Who owned it back then?”
“Guy named Ramzi Salawa, business address in Hollywood. Doesn’t seem to be in the club biz anymore, his money comes from storefronts on the boulevard. I put a call in to Petra to see if anyone in her playground knows him, she poked around, nothing. I texted him and he surprised me by answering a few minutes ago. At LAX, clearing customs from an overseas trip. He sounded freaked about the murder, agreed to drive over on his way from the airport. Hour or so. You curious enough to want to observe?”
“Twitching with interest.”
When I arrived at the West L.A. station, a black-on-black Mercedes 500 was parked illegally at the curb and Milo was talking to a trim black-suited, black-shirted, black-bearded man in his forties. The only color relief, bright-red calfskin loafers.
Milo said, “This is Mr. Salawa.”
“Ramzi, people call me Ron.” Soft, mellow, unaccented voice. I shook the hand he extended. Pliable, warm, exerting the barest pressure.
“Nice to meet you, Ron.”
“Yes, well... this is pretty shocking.”
Milo said, “Turns out Mr. Salawa knows our victim.”
“I wouldn’t say know, more like acquainted,” said Salawa. “You can’t tell me what happened, Lieutenant?”
“Sorry, not yet.”
“That place.” Head shake. “Jinx from day one, couldn’t wait to get out of the business. Tried not to get involved too much, period. That’s why I didn’t really know her. Plus she was hired toward the end, was maybe there for a couple months.”
I said, “The club scene didn’t work out for you.”
“Disaster,” said Salawa. “I’m a real estate guy, never intended to get into entertainment. It was my uncle’s thing, he owed me money, gave me four crap locations when he moved back to Dubai and The Aura was one of them. It was supposed to be a great deal. Maybe I’m just not cut out for it but my opinion is what messed it up is internet porn. Why should guys bother to leave their houses when they can log on and get their jollies? So the ones who do show up are mostly losers without a lot of bank. We’d have them showing up already drunk, getting by with the cheapest two-drink minimum. They’d rarely spring for drinks for the girls and their tips sucked so we couldn’t hold on to girls. Plus that type, you know. They can cause problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Nothing serious, but still a pain.”
“Meaning?”
“Drunk and disorderly. I didn’t call you guys, didn’t figure it was worth your time.”
I said, “You solved your own problems.”
“Bouncers,” he said. “Cost me a big slice of overhead.”
“So you sold out.”
“To some Chinese,” said Salawa. “Anyway, Kimby, I think that was her name, can’t see why she’d want to go back there.”
Milo said, “What’s Kimby’s last name?”
“Sorry, that’s all I remember, sir. When you texted me I was totally thrown, wondered if someone would try to go after me civilly. Her family, you know?”
“You no longer own the place. Why would they do that, Ron?”
“ ’Cause of the way it is,” said Salawa. “Bus-bench lawyers troll records. I know I sound paranoid but I already have a pain-in-the-ass time when I travel, getting hassled by customs at the airport, can’t qualify for Global Entry.”
Toothy smile. “They won’t say why. As if. Anyway, I’m just finished closing my bags back up and you text me about this.”
“Kimby,” said Milo.
“I think.” A red shoe tapped. “Sorry it happened to her but don’t know her.”
“Could you check her employment records so we can find out who she is?”
“I could if I had them,” said Salawa. “Minute I closed with the Chinese I got rid of everything to do with that dump. There wasn’t much records to begin with, the girls were independent contractors — that’s how my uncle set it up. Less paperwork.”
“Better for taxes.”
Salawa blinked. Reaching into his jacket, he slipped on a pair of Maui Jim aviator shades. “He told me it was legal, sir. Whole deal was supposed to be turnkey. Later I found out he was in trouble — my uncle Moussa. Owed a lot of money to a lot of banks, going back to Dubai was an escape. My mom was ready to — she’s totally pissed off, he’s her brother, there’s supposed to be family honor. I ended up with the club and three other parcels but everything had liens Moussa didn’t tell me about.”