After an hour she had put six cards aside for further consideration and follow-up. Several hundred did not make the cut. Her forward progress was slowed when she came across another card written by Farmer. His words and observations held her once again.
This kid knows nothing better than the street. If he was put into a one-bedroom apartment with a full kitchen he’d move into the closet and sleep on the floor. He’s one of the rain people.
She wondered who the rain people were in Farmer’s estimation. People who couldn’t fit in with the rest of society? People who needed the rain?
Her rover squawked and Lieutenant Munroe called her to the watch office. She took the long way, going down the rear hallway of the station and then up to the front. This allowed her to see who was in the station and maybe get a sense of what was happening before speaking to Munroe.
But the station was empty as it was on most nights. Munroe was standing behind his desk, looking down at the deployment screen, which showed the locations of cars and personnel in the field. He didn’t look up but knew she had entered the room.
“Ballard, we’ve got a hot shot and I need you to get out there and honcho it,” he said.
“What’s the call?” Ballard asked.
“A woman calls in, says she’s locked in the bathroom of a house up on Mount Olympus. Says she’s been raped and managed to get to the bathroom with her cell phone. Says the guy’s still there, trying to break the door down. I rolled two units and a sergeant. They get there and guess who the guy is? Danny fucking Monahan. It’s a he-said-she-said, and I want you out there to make the call.”
“Did they transport the victim to the rape center?”
“Nope. She’s still there. She took a shower while she was in the bathroom.”
“Shit. They should’ve transported her anyway.”
“They’re not sure she’s a victim, Ballard. Just get out there and see for yourself. This should be right up your alley.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Whatever you want it to mean. Just get up there. And don’t forget your rover.”
He handed a slip of paper over the screen to her. It had the address written on it and the name and age of the person reporting the incident: Chloe Lambert, 22.
Ballard was in her city ride, heading back toward the hills within five minutes. She hated cases involving celebrities. Things always had a different reality to them. It wasn’t normal life. Danny Monahan was a stand-up comic who had broken big in the last five years with podcasts and cable specials and now a growing string of hit movies that steadily broke the hundred-million-dollar mark at the box office. He was a triple threat and a major force to contend with in Hollywood. It seemed appropriate that he would live in a part of the Hollywood Hills known as Mount Olympus.
Ballard hit the blue lights and streaked down Sunset to Crescent Heights, where she turned north toward Laurel Canyon. The neighborhoods of Mount Olympus covered the front right shoulder of the canyon, with large homes that peeked at the lights of the city down in the flats. Ballard pulled into the driveway of a house on Electra Drive and parked behind one of the patrol cars.
She was met in the driveway by Sergeant Dvorek.
“Won’t need a space suit tonight, Sally Ride,” he said.
“Good,” Ballard said. “What will I need?”
“The wisdom of Solomon, I guess. She says he’s an ass bandit and he says she’s setting him up for a MeToo moment.”
“Why didn’t you transport her to the RTC, Stan?”
Dvorek held his hands up as if to calm her.
“Just hold on, hold on. I didn’t want to make the call on that because, if she gets transported, then there’s a case number and this guy’s life and career go down the toilet.”
The male bias was no shock to Ballard. But now wasn’t the time to call Dvorek on it.
“Okay, where are they?” she asked.
“I’ve got Monahan sitting snug as a bug in the home office, and the girl is…”
“The girl?”
“Woman, whatever. She’s in the screening room on the other side of the house. Nobody’s touched anything in the bedroom or talked to the suspect.”
“Well, you did that right. I’m going to talk to the woman first. Show me.”
Dvorek led the way into a massive home that appeared to be a conjoining of circular structures of different sizes. The center circle was the tallest. The entryway was at least two stories high.
“She’s this way,” Dvorek said.
They walked through a massive entertaining area with a small stage and microphone in one corner, where, Ballard guessed, Monahan practiced his stand-up routines or performed for invited guests and family. They then moved into a hallway and toward an open door where a blue suiter named Gina Gardner was standing post.
“G-G,” Ballard said as she passed.
She entered a home theater with a large curtained screen at the front. Four rows of plush leather lounge chairs, twelve in all, were on stepped levels going toward the rear. Posters from Monahan’s movies and in various languages lined the walls.
Sitting on the edge of one of the lounge chairs was a young woman wearing a man’s bathrobe. She was blond with large doe eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with makeup that had run down her face with tears.
Dvorek presented the victim and then backed into the hallway with Gardner. Ballard held out her hand.
“Chloe, I’m Detective Ballard. I’m here to hear your story and to make sure you get whatever medical treatment you need.”
“I just need to go home, but they won’t let me. He’s still here. I’m scared.”
“You are perfectly safe. There are six police officers in the house and he’s being held in a room on the other side. I just want to get some basic information from you and then we’ll take you for medical examination and treatment. I’m going to record your statement.”
“Okay.”
Ballard sat on the edge of the lounge chair next to Chloe’s and put the small digital recorder she always carried between them. Once she started to record, she identified herself and the victim and gave the time, date, and location of the interview.
“Chloe, how long have you known Danny Monahan?”
“Tonight was when I met him.”
“Where was that?”
“At the Comedy Room. I went with my friend Aisha tonight and he was there. He did stand-up and then I met him at the bar in the back. He invited me up here.”
“What about Aisha?”
“No, just me.”
“Did you drive here in your own car?”
“No, I had Ubered. I mean to the Comedy Room. He drove me here in his car.”
“Do you know what kind of car it was?”
“It was a Maserati but I don’t know, like, which model it was.”
“That’s okay.”
“So, you came here on an invitation. You weren’t forced.”
“No, I even had sex with him and I wanted to. But then later he…god, this is so embarrassing…”
She started crying again.
“It’s okay, Chloe. Nothing that happened is your fault. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. You are not the—”
“He rolled me over and raped me in the ass. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t. I said no. I said no several times but he wouldn’t stop.”
She said it rapid-fire, like it was the one and only time she would be able to say it.
“Are you hurt, Chloe?”
“Yes, I’m bleeding.”
“Okay, I have to ask you this question and I apologize ahead of time. Had you ever had anal sex before this occurred with Danny Monahan?”
“No, never. I think it’s disgusting.”
“Okay, Chloe, that’s all for now. I’m going to get you to a rape treatment center where they’re going to look for biological evidence and treat you for your injuries. They’ll also be able to talk to you about counseling and what steps to take from there.”
> “I just want to go home.”
“I know, but this is a necessary stage in the investigation. We need to do this. Okay?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Okay, you wait here. Officer Gardner is going to be outside the door at all times, and I’ll be back soon.”
When she stepped out through the door, Dvorek was gone. Gardner gave her a head wave and they walked up the hall so they could confer without Chloe hearing them. Gardner had ten years on the job, all of them at Hollywood Division. She was petite and wore her dark hair tied up in the back.
“She has her cell,” Gardner said. “I heard her whispering on a call.”
“Okay,” Ballard said.
“Just so you know, I heard her say, ‘This guy’s going to pay. I’m going to be rich.’”
Ballard pointed to the body cam affixed to her uniform.
“You think that picked it up?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Make sure I get the video file at end of shift. I want you to write up a report as well. Anything else?”
“No, just that.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
Ballard found Dvorek in the entertaining area and asked him to take her to the bedroom.
It was a large, round room with a round bed and a round mirror on the ceiling above it. Ballard kept her hands in her pockets as she leaned over the bed and looked down at the knot of sheets and pillows. She saw no blood or anything else that might constitute evidence. She went into the bathroom, which featured a large round Jacuzzi in the center. She inspected a large white-tiled shower stall but saw no blood or other evidence. In a wastebasket next to the toilet she saw a wad of blood-stained tissues.
“Okay, we’re going to need to call out a field unit to collect everything,” she said. “Can you make the call while I talk to the suspect?”
“You got it,” Dvorek said. “I’ll take you over to him first.”
Danny Monahan was sitting behind a desk that was notable to Ballard because it wasn’t big and it wasn’t round. It was old and scratched, and that told her it had sentimental value to the comic genius sitting behind it.
“You notice the desk, huh?” he said. “I was a schoolteacher once. Not many people know that.”
Monahan was midthirties, paunchy with success, his red hair too long, overly styled, and cut to look like he had just rolled out of bed and run his hands through it. A guy who cared about his looks but trying to look like he didn’t.
Ballard ignored the reveal about the desk.
“Mr. Monahan, I’m Detective Ballard. Has anyone read you your rights?”
“My rights? No. Come on, this is a shakedown. She wants money. She told me she would bleed me dry.”
Ballard showed him her digital recorder and turned it on. She then recited the Miranda rights warning and asked Monahan if he understood them.
“Look, it might have gotten a little rough but it wasn’t anything she didn’t ask for,” he said.
“Mr. Monahan,” Ballard insisted. “If you want to talk to me and explain what happened, then you need to acknowledge that you understand the rights I have recited to you. If not, then we’re done here and you are under arrest.”
“Arrest? That is fucking absurd. This was completely consensual.”
Ballard paused for a moment before speaking calmly and slowly.
“One more time,” she said. “Do you understand your rights as they have been explained to you?”
“Yes, I understand my rights,” Monahan said. “Happy now?”
“Do you want to talk to me about what happened here in your home tonight?”
“Sure, I’ll talk, because it’s all bullshit. It’s a con—she wants money, Detective. You can’t see that?”
Ballard put the recorder down on Monahan’s old teaching desk. She again stated the time and location as well as Monahan’s name and his agreement to give a recorded statement.
“Tell me what happened. This is your chance.”
Monahan spoke matter-of-factly, as if describing what he had had for dinner.
“I met her at the club tonight and then I took her home and fucked her. That’s what happened and it’s what I do all the time. But this time, she gets up and runs into the bathroom, locks the door, and starts yelling rape.”
“Did you try to break through the door to the bathroom?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s go back to the sex. Did she at any time say no or tell you to stop?”
“No, she stuck her ass up and said go for it. Anything else is a lie.”
It was a classic he-said-she-said case, as Lieutenant Munroe had warned and as many rape cases reported to the LAPD were. But Ballard had seen the blood in the wastebasket and she knew that would tip consideration toward Chloe’s side of the story. The results of the examination at the rape treatment center could also be probative if the victim’s injuries were quantifiable. The blood in the basket seemed to indicate that they would be.
Arresting a celebrity in a celebrity town was risky business. The cases drew massive attention and the accused usually hired the best and brightest legal teams. The defense would do a deep dive into Ballard’s life and career, and she knew as surely she was standing there that her history as a complainant about sexual harassment in the department would be brought up and likely used to paint her as biased in favor of the female.
She realized she could back out at this point. The celebrity involvement would easily qualify this investigation as a downtown case. The newly formed sexual harassment task force should be called out. But Ballard also realized that the way the system worked could put other women in jeopardy. Her passing the buck here would result in a slow and methodical investigation during which Monahan would not be arrested or in any way removed from his life and routines. It might be weeks before the case was presented to the District Attorney’s Office for charges.
But Monahan had just said he did this often—brought a woman up from the comedy clubs down below. Did he do what he did to Chloe to every woman he brought to the round bedroom? Ballard could not risk that her acting out of career caution or department protocol might lead to other women being victimized.
Ballard called Dvorek in from the hallway, then turned back to Monahan.
“Mr. Monahan, stand up,” she said. “You’re under arrest for—”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Monahan yelled. “Okay, okay. Look, I didn’t want to do this but I can prove to you there was no rape. Just let me show you. There will be no arrest. I guarantee it.”
Ballard looked at him for a moment, then glanced at Dvorek.
“You have five minutes,” she said.
“We have to go to my bedroom,” Monahan said.
“That’s a crime scene.”
“No, it’s not a crime scene. I have the whole thing on video. You look at it, you’ll see. No rape.”
Ballard realized she should have seen that coming. The mirror on the ceiling. Monahan was a voyeur.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Monahan led the police procession to the bedroom, stating his case along the way.
“Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not a creep,” he said. “But with all this MeToo stuff starting up last year, I thought I needed protection, you know?”
“You put in cameras,” Ballard said.
“Damn right. I knew it might come to this. I didn’t do it for me to watch—that would be sick. I just needed the protection.”
In the bedroom he went to a remote control on a stand next to the bed and turned on a large screen that mirrored the curve of the wall. Soon the screen split into sixteen views from security cameras around the house. He highlighted one of the squares and expanded it. Ballard was now looking at an overhead view of the room that included her, Dvorek, and Monahan. Ballard turned to locate the camera and focused on the ornate frame of a painting on the wall near the head of the bed.
“Okay, now we just rewind,” Mon
ahan said.
Ballard turned back. Two minutes later, they were watching Monahan and Chloe Lambert have sex on the bed. There was no sound and thankfully it was a wide-angle lens. Ballard assumed that the action on the screen could be blown up, but that was not necessary for her to see what was obviously a consensual coupling.
“That was the first time we did it,” Monahan said. “Then we took a little nap. You want me to fast-forward to the main event?”
“Please,” Ballard said.
Monahan sped forward to the second round of sex, and it became clear through Lambert’s body language and posturing that she had initiated the second go and the specific act of anal sex. When it was over, she walked calmly to the bathroom and closed the door.
Monahan started to fast-forward the playback again.
“So, here is where I hear her on the phone in there calling the cops.”
He switched to normal playback and they watched as he jumped naked from the bed and rushed to the bathroom door. He leaned his head to the jamb like he was listening to the phone call Lambert was making, then started pounding the side of his fist against the door.
“You can turn it off,” Ballard said. “I’m going to need a copy.”
“No way,” Monahan said. “Why?”
“Because it’s evidence. I’m going to arrest her for filing a false report.”
“I don’t want her arrested. I just want you to get her the fuck out of here. You think I want every broad I’ve banged this year to know I have them on tape? Why do you think I didn’t tell you about this from the start? I’m not pressing any charges. Just get her out of here.”
“Mr. Monahan, it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to press charges. She made the false report to the police.”
“Well, I won’t cooperate and I’ll hire the best fucking lawyer in the country to stop you from getting the video. You want that fight?”
“You know, sir, I could also charge you with recording a sexual encounter without both parties’ knowledge and consent.”
Monahan computed the ramifications of that for a few moments before speaking.
“Uh, don’t you think decisions like this are above your pay grade, Detective?”
“You want me to call my commander? Or better yet, the sex harassment task force that leaks to the media like a sieve? If you want, I’ll call the chief of police at home. I’m sure everybody on the food chain will be totally discreet about this.”
Dark Sacred Night - Ballard and Bosch #1;Renée Ballard #2 Page 14
