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“They’re seeing if we have a match for the sperm too. Check the tox report on the last page.”
I flip to the final page of the autopsy report to find the drug screen. “Benzodiazepines, not detected. Cocaine and metabolites, presumptive positive. Fentanyl, one nanogram per gram of blood. Marijuana, presumptive positive. Opiates: Hydrocodone and Hydromorphone, not detected.”
“Alcohol, zero-point one five percent,” Mani finishes for me. “The Deputy ME ruled that the manner of death could not be determined because of the gunshot wound. Apparently, it casts suspicion on whether or not her overdose was administered or accidental.”
“So, our girl was having a party, and what? She died andthensomeone shot her.”
“Or,” he counters, “Elizabeth York was stuck with a lethal dose of fentanyl and the gunshot wound was collateralafterthe fact to ensure the job was done.”
“No hypodermic intervention,” I remind him. “The fentanyl had to have been in the coke.”
“The coke in her bedroom wasn’t laced.”
“But that doesn’t mean that the drugs she had on her weren’t,” I counter. “They could have been from different sources. Or batches.”
Still, it’s possible that Elizabeth was dosed. While I may not have much faith in Elizabeth York, I won’t rule out Mani’s theory on my own jaded impression of the deceased. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know what she was like or what her hopes and dreams were. And the fact that she was found shot and abandoned in a park doesn’t make her less worthy of justice. That much, I believe.
People are always disappointing one another. But the law, the system, works constantly to balance the scales. It’s not a perfect system, but contrary to popular opinion, it’s the best one we’ve been able to come up with.
“Next steps?”
Leaning back in my chair, I keep browsing the report as I catch up on the case. “Did you follow up on the park’s security? And the Caltrans’ CCTV?”
“Yup. Both dead leads. MacArthur Park’s security system was being updated with renovations. It happened to be disconnected for the last three weeks. Caltrans’ CCTV cameras don’t cover any areas proximal to the park.”
“Where’s the closest camera?”
“The one-ten exit to 7th, unfortunately.”
Over a mile away. “Next of kin?”
“Elizabeth’s parents don’t want the body. When I spoke to her mother, she said her daughter had been dead a long time.” Mani crosses his arms over his chest. “She didn’t even ask how she died. Just hung up. I mean, who loses a child and just walks away like that?”
I don’t answer his question. The York family history is secondary to the case. “It’s too soon to follow up with the girls.”
Every one of them was in our system anyways. The only one who doesn’t have a record was Juliette Dorn, and she was listed as a wounded female driver in a three-car pileup on the one-ten.
“Evidence collection.” My eyes quickly scan the second-to-last section of the autopsy report. “Threethousanddollars?”
“The dress,” Mani explains, “had hidden lining that passed around the torso.” Using his right palm, he indicates his stomach region from hip to hip. “She had three K in hundreds, spread thin.”
“Anything else?”
“Oh yeah. It was bespoke. There was no label, but under the coroner’s UV light, a brand lit up. Pair of scissors with a bow, plunging through an anatomical heart.”
“And?”
“We mapped the LLC to a boutique in Vernon, called the Dressmaker. Same logo. The boutique’s owner, Suzanne O’Neill, has been in that location for six years. She owns the building, lives above the business.”
“What does your afternoon look like?”
“Still chasing alibis for the York case. As you know, we have Dylan Duke’s confirmation that he was with Juliette Dorn from our interview. And Sade and I spoke to Nico Drakos—he confirmed he was with Antoinette the entire night.”
“That leaves Lyla Kaspar and Catherine Beauchamp.”
“We’re working on it. At some point today, I also have to catch up on my report for the LeJohn case too.”
“You have time to stop by the Dressmaker?”
