CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lena read through the key points of Lila Kensington's medical record. Then she read it again. Then she read it another time.

She didn't need to read it more than once. She'd learned years ago to memorize key points on the first read-through. She read it anyway, because while she didn't need to absorb any more information, hearing it repeated in her head solidified it and helped her understand what she wanted to do next.

She hadn't gotten that far yet.

"I'm heading out, boss. Can I convince you to go home and sleep in a bed, or would you like me to bring you a cot from one of the cells?"

Lena smiled at Harris. "Why don't you lie down on the floor, and I'll rest my head on your chest?"

"That's funny. Seriously, boss, you're starting to obsess."

"What reason would the medical examiner have to lie about Lila Kensington's cause of death?"

Harris shook his head. "No. You're not pulling me down this rabbit hole. Go home, go to sleep, let it go."

"You know I can't do that, Damien."

Harris sighed and rubbed his head. He looked wistfully at the exit.

"Go," Lena said. "It's all right."

"Fuck you," he replied, walking into her office and shutting the door. He grabbed the chair on the other side of her desk and pulled it around next to hers, then plopped down. "What are we looking at?"

"Lila Kensington's medical record. Or rather, the notes I took when I read through it. What do you see here?"

Harris skimmed the page. "BMI forty-fifth percentile. Mild eczema on the upper arms. Increased opioid tolerance due to overuse of prescription-strength oxycodone. So she was a drug user in the early stages of addiction."

"Yes, but look at the BMI again. Forty-fifth percentile."

"Okay? Why does that matter?"

"Because the death was ruled an accident due to complications from bulimia nervosa. She ate a ton of food, threw it all up, then walked outside, passed out due to a severe drop in blood pressure, then fell and hit her head."

"Bulimic people can present a healthy BMI."

"Not while also presenting normal heart function and cholesterol and glucose levels within acceptable ranges."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying the ME lied."

"Maybe he didn't want to embarrass the family. Drug overdose carries stigma, even in the day and age of ‘all my poor choices are a disease, and I shouldn't be held responsible.'"

"Exactly."

Harris sighed and rubbed his temples again. "I hate when you do this, Lena. What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that the ME lied."

Harris lifted his eyes to the ceiling as though silently begging God to save him from this annoying woman. "And your point?"

"My point is it raises questions. Why did the ME lie?"

"And my point is that she didn"t want to embarrass the Kensington. Julian"s a star child right now. Scimitar Analytics is the fastest-growing tech firm in the nation and Julian"s practically a shoo-in for city council and a definite shoo-in for mayor in two years if he makes it. Embarrassing a family like that carries consequences, and Dr. Basler probably didn"t want the hassle."

"Exactly. And one wonders what led Basler to that conclusion."

"You mean who, and the answer is Julian Kensington. You also mean, ‘Did Julian pressure Basler to that conclusion because he didn't want us looking too hard at him and his wife for murder?' The answer is probably yes. The answer is also, we lose our badges immediately if we make this something the Chief has to deal with."

"A kid died, Damien."

"Kids die every day, Lena. Do we throw our careers away over this one, or do we stay and help the ones we can?"

Lena looked back at the screen and tapped her desk. Harris was being an asshole, but he did have a point. If she chased this, she could end up getting both of them fired, and if both of them were fired, then it was a certainty that a lot of criminals were going to get away with a lot of shit before the department found someone to replace them.

But if she didn't chase this, then Lena Kensington's murderer would be the Mayor of Los Angeles in two years.

"That kid, Nathan, the one who came back to talk to me."

"Yeah, I remember him. That was only yesterday."

"He didn't take kindly to me probing him."

"Do you think he's involved somehow?"

"I did, but I don't think so anymore. That's not the point, though. The point is he interpreted my questioning as classism."

"Classism?"

"Yes. Discrimination against people of a certain socioeconomic—"

"I know what classism is. I mean, really? That"s how he took it?"

"I'm sure he has his reasons. The real point is that he was convinced I was coming after him because it was easier to blame the poor pool boy than the rich tech mogul. The shitty part is that he's right."

"The hell he is. Just because he can't handle a tough conversation doesn't mean you're an asshole for doing your job."

"We are though, if you think about it."

"How so?"

Lena pointed at the screen. "The ME lied. Pushed to or not, he let the world believe that Lila Kensington's death was an accident because that was easier than admitting the possibility that someone rich and powerful could have committed that crime. Letting such a person get away with it was easier than risking that person's anger toward you."

"So cry me a river, build me a bridge and deal with it. The world's not perfect. I gave up trying to make it that way twenty years ago."

"Nathan Harlow hasn't."

"Nathan Harlow's a kid."

"He's still right."

Harris sighed and slumped. "So what do you want to do?"

"I want to care."

Harris stared blankly at her. "You want to care?"

"Someone has to."

"The kid say that to?"

"He did."

"You sure you're not just hot for the sexy pool boy?"

Lena chuckled. "That's a fun thought, but no. I like my men old and bitter."

"He seemed pretty bitter."

"He also seemed young enough to order a happy meal."

"Anyone can order a happy meal."

Lena rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll tell you what. As challenging as it is, I'll keep my shirt buttoned at least until we discover what really happened to Lila Kensington."

"I don't know what that means."

"You'll understand when you're older."

He rolled his eyes. "So what do you want to do?"

"I want to have a conversation with Dr. Basler."

***

Dr. Jordan Basler was ordinarily one of the most beautiful women Lena had ever seen. She had long brown hair with a generous helping of natural blonde highlights, striking green eyes and a bone structure that would have won her Miss Universe ten years in a row if she hadn't decided to go to Johns Hopkins instead.

But right now, she was biting her lip, scratching her arm and fidgeting like a meth head ten hours removed from his last hit.

"Look, it's late," she told the detectives. "I was just about to go home for the evening."

"Lila Kensington isn't going home."

Since impatience didn't work, Dr. Basler tried taking offense instead. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'd forgotten that sixteen years of medical education and nine years of experience wasn't enough to qualify me. I must have screwed up my autopsy. I'll be happy to dig her up and do another one. Oh wait, that's right. She was cremated. Guess I can't do that."

Lena was in no mood for the bullshit. "Jordan, you will be honest with me now, or I will formally seek charges against you for falsifying evidence. How sure are you that I'll lose that case?"

Jordan looked from Lena's stony eyes to Harris's equally cold gaze. She swallowed painfully, then folded her hands on the table and twiddled her thumbs.

"You can start talking now," Harris offered helpfully.

Jordan slumped. She lifted her hands and let them fall, then said, "He's Julian Kensington. What am I supposed to do, say no?"

"I have to believe that someone with sixteen years of medical education and nine years of experience is smart enough to know the answer to that question," Lena replied. "So I'll skip to my next one. What did he tell you to do?"

"He didn't tell me to do anything. He pulled me aside when I gave him my report and said that Clara was having a really hard time with everything. He said that if she found out that Lila was still using, it would devastate her. He really hoped that I was about to tell him that Lila died from her disorder and not from a habit that Clara had tried so hard to help her get rid of."

"Or from someone drowning her."

Jordan paled. "He didn't say that."

"Did he have to?"

Jordan sighed and looked away from the officers. Her lips trembled. She took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her. "I… " she hung her head, "the contusion on the back of Lila's head appeared to be… it's conceivable that it wasn't an accidental fall."

"Wonderful. Thank you. Harris?"

The two of them left Dr. Basler to consider the implications of her actions. When they were back in her car, Harris asked, "You want to go talk to the Kensingtons now?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. We go talk to them now, we'll just be giving the slippery little asshole a warning so he can squirm underground somewhere and spend the rest of his days hiding in a beach house in Thailand. We're going to keep digging until we find enough rope to hang him. Then we'll spring the trap."

He grinned. "Just like the good old days."

"If you say so."

Still, when she checked the rearview mirror before backing out of her parking space, she saw that she wore the same grin as Harris.