Chapter 36
Nomad was the spot to be after-hours.
With the infamous DJ Zero spinning techno dance tunes, the crowd could bounce around, blitzed out of their minds on ecstasy and other designer drugs until sunrise, which wasn’t far off at this point.
Thousands of people had flooded into the abandoned warehouse—everyone from hard-core ravers to celebrities wanting to be at the epicenter of the underground party scene in Los Angeles.
Security at the door consisted of a couple of big guys who filled out their shirts with rippling pectorals and bulging biceps.
Nobody was checking IDs, but you had to have a QR code on your phone.
Even then, there was no guarantee you would get in.
It was at the bouncer's discretion as usual.
Even impromptu after-hours venues wanted a certain type of clientele—young, rich, and pretty.
With a cash cover charge of $20 bucks at the door, these guys were raking in the dough.
But the take from the bar and the door weren’t where the real money was.
It was from the select dealers who were dispensing fun pills at an inflated markup.
I had no doubt that if you weren’t dealing for the organizers, you'd get run out of the venue and beaten up in a back alley. Or worse.
We cut the line, and I flashed my badge to the bouncer. His face tightened, but he waved us in. He squawked on a walkie-talkie, “5-Os in the house.”
The place was a madhouse of people bouncing to the beat. The thunderous sound system boomed. Colorful lights swirled. The DJ whipped the crowd into a frenzy.
The organizers had built a full-on venue in the space. It didn’t feel temporary, but it would all be gone tomorrow.
I texted Autumn. [We’re here. Where are you?]
She’d be tough to find in this sea of people.
JD and I started moving through the crowd, looking for the voluptuous brunette.
The music was so loud, and the bass so deep, it vibrated my body. I wouldn’t be able to feel the phone buzz. I kept checking it, but hadn’t gotten a response.
We kept weaving through the masses. I sent Autumn another text.
Still no reply.
With someone following her, this would be a great place to hide out. Public, lots of people. At the same time, they were all off in their own world, most of them drunk or high on something. This wasn't the kind of place you went to sober. Most sane people were home in bed at this hour.
I was tired, and the time change didn’t help.
Couches against the walls offered a place for people to take a break from the action.
There was even a first aid area for people who couldn't handle their high. Caregivers had bottled water, Narcan, and electrolytes. These weren’t bona fide medical professionals.
But it was in the best interest of the organizers that nobody died at the event from a drug overdose.
I had no doubt that if someone did, they'd end up in an alley or dumpster somewhere, conveniently moved out of the way.
We stepped into another room that was more of a lounge area. It wasn't quite as loud, and you could almost have a conversation. Almost. There were more cozy couches and dim lighting.
That's where I saw Autumn.
She was asleep on one of the couches.
I approached and gently shook her shoulder. She didn't move, and I shook her again. Her skin was cold to the touch. I checked for a pulse, and it was long gone.
I reclined her fully on the couch, checked her airway, then began chest compressions while Jack called 911. He had to step outside with the smokers so the dispatcher could hear him.
I kept up with the chest compressions, but Autumn wasn't coming back from this. I looked over her body for signs of trauma, but didn't see any.
It took about 15 minutes for the EMTs and paramedics to arrive. They started chest compressions again and broke out the defibrillator.
They couldn't bring her back.
Even if they could have, she wouldn’t be the same.
It took a while, but eventually two LAPD officers showed up, followed by the medical examiner and sheriff’s deputies. To my surprise, the party still raged, though I'm sure the organizers had left, not wanting any part of a dead body.
It didn’t take long for law enforcement to cut the power. That was the end of the show.
I displayed my badge to one of the LAPD officers. He interviewed us. "Do you know what kind of drugs your friend was taking?”
I shrugged. "I don't know. I had just spoken to her on the phone, and we were supposed to meet her here. She said someone was following her. I think we’re dealing with a homicide."
He seemed unconcerned. "Who called 911?”
"I did," Jack said.
“Who was following her?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the extent of the questions.
He took our names and contact information, but didn't seem to care one way or the other. This was just another occurrence in Los Angeles. Something they dealt with multiple times a night on the weekends.
I talked to the medical examiner after he finished with the body. This was a different pathologist from the one who worked the Molly Dean scene. By that time, the place had cleared out.
"I see no obvious signs of trauma. There is no standardization to these drugs they're taking. Sometimes, one hit is all it takes.”
“I don’t think she OD’d or had taken drugs voluntarily,” I said. “She sounded coherent, albeit panicked, when I talked to her.” I explained the situation. "Did you see any punctures from a needle?”
"Not on my initial evaluation, but I will look more closely when I'm back at the lab. Was she an IV drug user?”
"I don't know. I didn't know her that well. I only met her yesterday.”
“Perhaps she was having some kind of paranoid delusion when she called you.”
“It wasn’t a delusion.”
“I see quite a lot of this type of thing. You’d be surprised at what people start to believe on these drugs.”
“I’m aware.”
A confident smirk curled his lips. “Trust me, I’ll determine the cause of death.”
Autumn's body was bagged and transferred to a gurney. The medical examiner's crew wheeled her out of the warehouse. News crews waited outside to capture the footage. I'm sure the tagline would read young woman dies at illegal rave downtown.
We left the warehouse and hopped into the Ferrari.
“I wonder if they got any information out of her?" JD said.
"It wouldn’t be hard to inject a lethal amount of fentanyl or some other substance into her arm. In a place like this, nobody would pay attention. They certainly wouldn’t call the cops.”
Jack scoffed. “They don’t even seem to care.”
By the time we left the warehouse, the revelers had cleared out. We drove back toward the hills. I texted Isabella and asked her to track incoming calls to Autumn’s phone. At this hour, I didn’t expect to hear back right away.
If Autumn had been in touch with Brooke recently, those calls would lead us to her.