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“UCLA’s film archive?”
She intoned, “At UCLA, there can be only one.”
Jason grinned at the Highlander riff. “So in a way, Bardolf may get his hands on Ono’s collection after all?”
Child shook her head. “It’s all about ownership for these fanatics. That’s what collecting is. Possession. Ownership.” She frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. You’re one hundred percent correct about that. It’s just funny hearing it from someone who isn’t ACT. I mean, maybe it’s generational. NFTs are changing the art world and collecting.”
“I don’t pretend to get the whole NFT thing.”
“Supposedly, the virtual goods market will reach nearly $190 billion by 2025. But yeah, for most art collectors it’s still about to have and to hold.”
“I think it’s all a scam.” Child sighed. “Anyway, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. To meet Ono, to chat with her, she was pleasant. I’m sure my failure to imprison Dr. Fisk for copying cartoons from TheNew Yorker was a big disappointment, but I never had any problems with her. She used to always bring in a box of Japanese delicacies for us at New Year’s.”
“That was nice of her.”
“It was. She was thoughtful and considerate. She wasn’t driven by malice. But that…rigidity made her very unpopular. If you were late to class, you’d find the doors locked. If she caught you checking your cell phone, you were out. No iffs, ands, or buts. No second chances. I mean, she was teaching film studies, which I’d think was a pretty easy course, but she was one of the most disliked instructors on campus. What does that tell you?”
“Hard to say. Given everything you’ve laid out, why do you think the possibility of homicide was dismissed?”
Child made a sound of disgust. “I could speculate.”
“Hey. Please do.”
“My colleagues at LAPD believed the strongest argument was for suicide. She’d been having difficulties with the administration, which seemed to peak after a group of ultraconservative students threatened the university with legal action over a course Ono taught called the Celluloid Closet. The administration isn’t talking. They acknowledge that she was denied tenure but insist it had nothing to do with the lawsuit. Tenure was granted to Bardolf, incidentally, which, I guess, could’ve factored into her depression.”
“That’s a hit to the ego, but is it reason to kill herself?”
“She was very much in debt thanks to that expensive film-collecting habit.”
“Financial stressors can definitely play a role in suicide. But I’ve seen her apartment, which the family—her grandfather—paid for, by the way, so it’s hard to imagine a cash flow problem so severe it would drive her to suicide.”
Jason surmised someone with Ono’s background would have a trust fund. Granted, like Jason, Ono might have been determined to not draw from her trust until she was retirement age. Or she might have already run through her trust buying up rare movies.
“And then there was the book deal that went south.”
“That would be disappointing,” Jason agreed. “But isn’t that how it works? Don’t authors always have a million rejections before they get published?”
“Don’t ask me. I do know that publishing is a big-ass deal on this campus. It’s tied to getting tenure.”
“Okay. Well.”
“At the time of her death she had broken up with both Lois and Bardolf.”
“Relationship problems are a big one. Fair enough.” Having come so close to losing Sam, Jason could relate. He’d felt sick, even desperate on that long flight back from Montana when he had been so sure it was over between them. He hadn’t been suicidal, but it was the only time he could remember being completely indifferent to extreme turbulence on an aircraft.
Would juggling two romantic partners halve your emotional investment in each person? Double your overall emotional investment? Hard to say. He found the idea of polyamory stressful in itself. Or maybe that was because the idea of two Sam Kennedys was enough to short-circuit anyone.
Child said sardonically, “If you want my honest opinion, I think Ono was dismissed as a sexually confused, possibly troubled woman involved in a messy romantic triangle and into kinky sex and, worse, ‘art films.’”
Jason laughed, though it wasn’t funny. He’d gotten that same feeling reading over Ono’s case files. Which, given that police reports weren’t supposed to be colored by things like feelings or emotions, was kind of telling.
“So the consensus was she committed suicide.” It wasn’t a question because it seemed clear Child had been the lone voice in the wilderness.
“Yep. As far as the method of strangulation, the forensic evidence was inconclusive. She certainly could have placed the rope around her neck and tied it to the closet rod. And the rod was high enough that even if she didn’t actually lose consciousness, she might have been so oxygen deprived she couldn’t regain her footing in time.”
“She used a slipknot,” Jason pointed out.
“She still would’ve had to pull the rope to free herself. If she blacked out or was too foggy to think clearly…” Child shrugged.
Jason remembered those not-crime-scene-slash-crime-scene photos. “The bruises on her body could have come from the altercation with Lois earlier that evening.”
“Exactly.”
Jason considered. “Not my area of expertise, but it seems like trying to masturbate in the midst of committing suicide would be…distracting.”
Sam would probably know the answer to that one. Sam knew the answer to a lot of things that made most people uncomfortable.
Child bobbed her head side to side in a maybe-yes-maybe-no. “Psychologically, that’s a legit question. Which is where they found the wiggle room to rule accidental death. That, and the fact that she was found surrounded by porn and sex toys.”
Right. The porn and sex toys—and the lack of a suicide note—were a strong argument in favor of accidental death. Ono having had a lot of stressors in her life just emphasized why she might have been more distracted, less careful than usual, during her playtime.
Child seemed to read his mind. “The issue I have with accidental death is, she was a control freak. She wasn’t a woman to make mistakes.”
“Yeah, but if it wasn’t suicide and it wasn’t an accident, then Professor Ono did make a mistake. She made the mistake of trusting the wrong person—and it proved fatal.”
* * * * *
It had been a busy afternoon on top of the eleven-hour flight from Amsterdam to Los Angeles. Also, Amsterdam was nine hours ahead, so by the time Jason pushed out through the glass doors of UCPD’s brick building, he was feeling every mile and minute of his jet lag.
Which was probably why he didn’t notice the slim man with curly blond hair and blue eyes until they were just about face-to-face.
The man gave Jason a polite smile and nod. Jason gave an absent smile in return—and just managed not to do a double take.
The man’s expression changed. He looked momentarily confused.
They passed each other, and Jason kept walking.
He’d known there was a possibility he might run across Alexander Dash—hell, there was a chance he might run into one of his old professors or even a former classmate now working on a doctorate—but he’d figured there would be time to sidestep any actual encounter.
Alexander—Alex—taught art at UCLA. He was a friend of Charlotte’s, and after the first time Sam had dumped Jason, Charlotte had tried to set Jason up with Alex. And, in fact, Jason found Alex attractive and interesting. He just found Sam more attractive and interesting. Than anyone. Than everyone.
Anyway, even if Alex thought Jason looked familiar, UCLA was a huge campus, and there was a very good chance they wouldn’t run into each other again.
If they did, it wasn’t the end of the world. Alex knew Jason worked for the FBI, but it wasn’t as though he was involved in Jason’s case.
Briefly, Jason wondered what had brought Alex to the police station. He hadn’t looked particularly worried or anxious, so hopefully nothing more serious than something to do with parking tags or checking the lost and found.
