by Marcia Clark
Alex eased us into the interview with an open-ended question. “I understand you knew Bryan pretty well.”
Edie looped her arm through Joey’s. “He was one of our closest friends, and we just loved him. He really knew how to live, you know? We had such good times together.”
Joey’s smile was sad. “Bryan was the original bon vivant, and he liked to live large. Good food, nice clothes, fine art. He maximized the pleasure in every minute he had on this planet—and made sure everyone around him did, too.”
This was a surprisingly benign view of someone who’d lost a lot of their money. And might well be a pedophile. “How much money did you lose on the cryptocurrency trade?”
Edie had been nodding and smiling as Joey extolled Bryan’s virtues. Now, her face fell. “A hundred thousand. Which is a lot. But at least we have our business and the show. We’ll be okay. Some others . . .”
Like Sophia, for example, who wouldn’t be so okay. “Some are saying the trade was a scam all along.”
Edie glanced at Joey, who sighed. “We’ve gone back and forth. But if it was a scam, I’m sure Tanner was the one who pulled Bryan into it.”
Edie nodded. “Bryan was a prankster, but he never would’ve stolen from us.”
I asked, “Prankster? What kind of pranks did he play?”
Joey gave a little laugh. “He’d score private planes for our trips to New York by pretending to be the owner.” He shook his head. “How he managed to get the owner’s information, I have no idea.”
Edie seemed amused, too. “And remember how he got the owner of that art gallery to send him the painting he wanted COD?”
I raised an eyebrow. “And I assume he never paid.” They shook their heads with a chuckle. For some reason, they seemed to think this was incredibly cute. I didn’t get it.
Alex moved on. “We hear he hung out with a lot of young men. Mostly teenagers.”
“He was like the Pied Piper,” Joey said. “They just loved to be around him.”
“Do you think it was sexual?” I asked.
Edie was adamant. “Absolutely not. He liked young people in general.” She paused. “Actually, Bryan liked everybody. But the young ones really seemed to be drawn to him.”
“Do you know any of the young boys who were close to him?” Alex asked.
Edie knitted her brow. “I can’t remember anyone in particular. I know they all went to Rolling Oaks Academy. Joey?”
Joey stared down at the table for a few moments, then looked up. “Yeah, I actually do remember a couple of them. Christopher Monroe and Rafael Giovanni. Nice kids.”
Joey confirmed they both attended Rolling Oaks. “Do you know how Bryan met Tanner?” I asked.
Edie tilted her head as she stared off. “I’m not sure. But I think one of those kids who went to the academy brought him to Bryan’s house.” She looked at Joey. “Right, honey?”
Joey shrugged. “Maybe. Makes sense.” He turned to me. “You know what? You should check out the real estate guy in Beverly Hills. He invested big in the cryptocurrency trade. Really big. Tanner brought him in.”
“Why? What do you know about him?” I asked.
Edie frowned. “He put in a lot of money. I’m pretty sure Bryan said he kicked in more than five hundred thousand. The thing is, from what we heard, we couldn’t figure out where all that money came from.”
Joey added, “He’s not some hotshot real estate agent to the stars. Matter of fact, he’s barely hanging on at the agency.”
Edie nodded. “And we asked around. He doesn’t come from a rich family. So where did he get that kind of money?”
It did sound sketchy. “What’s his name?”
“Wesley Rogerian,” Joey said. “Works at the Elite Homes Agency.”
“But you never met him?” I asked.
Edie shook her head. “We just heard about him from Bryan.” She pressed her lips together. “Tell you the truth, I think Bryan was a little jealous because he was Tanner’s client.”
Joey chimed in. “So we decided to check him out, because most of the really big investors came in because of Bryan. That’s how we discovered there was something shady about him.”
Edie teared up. “We were going to tell Bryan, but it was too late . . .”
Joey patted the hand she’d wrapped around his arm. His eyes looked watery, too. “We’re really going to miss him.”
Alex said, “We’re sorry for your loss. You were obviously very close.”
Edie nodded and wiped away a tear.
I’d been thinking I might tell them the truth about the cryptocurrency trade, because I really liked these two. But I didn’t want to be the one to shatter their illusions that Bryan the Merry Prankster was actually just a thief—and possibly a child molester. They’d find out soon enough. Let them have their rosy memories for a little longer.
A man in torn—not fashionably distressed, I mean really beat-up—jeans poked his head out and called to the Francos, “We’re ready when you are.”
Joey took a deep, cleansing breath and recovered his winning smile. “Thanks, Dave. Be right there!” He turned back to me. “Sorry. Duty calls. But if you have any more questions, just let us know. We’ll be happy to meet with you again.”
We all stood up, and I shook his hand. “Will do. And thanks for your time.”
Edie hugged me, then wiped away another stray tear. “I know we’ll never see our money again, and I don’t care. I just hope they catch the bastard who killed Bryan.”
I told her I did, too. But as they ushered us out through the backyard gate, I thought, As long as that bastard isn’t Niko.
TWENTY-SIX
As we made our way back to the car, I thought about what our next step should be, but I decided to wait until we were a few blocks away before discussing my idea with Alex. Dale’s paranoia was rubbing off on me. “I’d like to find out more about that real estate guy.” If he really didn’t have any visible means of support, then someone must be bankrolling him. And that someone had to be hiding behind a proxy for a reason.
Alex pulled out his trusty iPad. “Might be a laundering situation. Or it might be a tax evasion thing. If the real estate guy—what was his name?”
I had to think for a moment. “Wesley Rogerian.”
Alex spoke while he typed. “If he was in a lower income bracket, which seems likely based on what the Francos said, he’d pay less taxes on the profit.”
That was a distinct possibility, too. “My money laundering theory’s more fun. Are you checking him out?”
“Just confirmed that he works at Elite Homes,” he said. “But we can’t go straight at him.”
True. If he was fronting for someone, he wouldn’t just fess up and say, You got me. We had to think of a way to finesse this. I started to ask for Alex’s input, but he was typing away, intent on . . . something. “So what are you doing now?”
He kept typing for a few more seconds before answering. “Finding our two Lost Boys. Christopher Monroe and Rafael Giovanni.”
Bryan’s young protégés. “Any luck?”
Alex smiled at the screen. “Yep. Easy peasy. They should be in school today. We can try and catch them this afternoon when school’s out.”
I looked at the clock on my dashboard. It felt weird to have a car that actually told the correct time. My old car, Beulah, never got on board with Pacific Standard Time. Or any other time, for that matter. That’s why I’d taken to wearing a watch, even though I hated it. Watches always feel like handcuffs to me. But now, wearing a watch had become a habit. Maybe partly because I kept expecting this car clock to go belly-up at any moment, too. No question about it. Beulah had scarred me for life. “It’s one o’clock. They should be out around three. I assume you have their home addresses?” Alex nodded. “Do they live close?”
He read from the screen. “Looks like they both live in Encino. Rush hour’s going to be an issue if we go back to the office before we head out there.”
He was right
. Encino was in the San Fernando Valley, and the traffic on any canyon road we could take to get over the hill would be backed up for miles. “Then why don’t we head over the canyon now and grab lunch somewhere close?”
Alex grinned. “Always down for a free lunch.”
“We’re not getting paid for this case, remember? Find us a place that’s cheap.” I pulled away from the curb and headed for Beverly Glen Canyon. “Unless you want to pay.”
He tapped a key on his iPad. “Cheap it is.”
We made it over the canyon in just half an hour, and Alex guided me to Stacked Eatery—a casual breakfast and lunch place on Ventura Boulevard. He showed me photos of the food on Yelp. They made my mouth water. “The paninis look great.”
Alex rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, I’m getting the one with chicken pesto.”
I was thinking about doing the same, but when we sat down and looked at the menu, I fell for the Shroom Burger and fries. Alex chose the panini and passed on the fries. We traded bites of each other’s food. “I’m happy with my Shroom Burger.”
Alex stole a fry from my plate. “I’m happy with my panini.”
I gave him a pointed look as he popped another fry into his mouth. “And my fries.” It was time to talk strategy. “I’m thinking we can be up-front about who we are.”
He swiped another fry off my plate. “Agree. And we should keep it simple. Just ask them to talk about Bryan.”
I nodded. But I had a few follow-ups ready, just in case they didn’t give us anything to work with on their own.
We lingered over lunch as we waited for the end of the school day. Our waiter stopped filling our water glasses and then finally gave up on subtlety and told us his shift was over. I pulled out my credit card. “Here you go. Sorry.” I glanced at my watch. It was time to leave anyway.
We headed for the car, and I noticed a cloud bank approaching. A dark, wet cloud bank. If it rained before we could get back to the office, we’d be in for an ugly drive. As I slid into the driver’s seat, I asked, “Which one are we seeing first?”
Alex got in and buckled his seat belt. “I think Christopher. He’s closer to where we are now. Rafael’s closer to the canyon.”
We’d get a jump on the traffic that way. I applauded Alex’s geographically strategic thinking. I noted that Christopher’s house was north of Ventura Boulevard—a lower-rent area. I suspected he’d gotten into the academy on a scholarship, because Rolling Oaks was one of the most expensive prep schools in the country. When I pulled up to the curb in front of Christopher’s tiny ranch house, my suspicion was confirmed.
It looked like an old-school suburban family home, so when I knocked, I expected his mother to answer. But Christopher opened the door. He was indeed a pretty boy. Curly golden hair, blue eyes, rosy cheeks. He looked like he was too young to be in high school.
I tried for a hip, young note. “Hi, I’m Sam. And this is Alex. You’re Christopher Monroe, right?” He nodded as his eyes darted between Alex and me. I explained that I was representing one of the Gold Strike investors regarding the cryptocurrency trade that had wiped out a lot of them. “We heard you knew Bryan pretty well.”
Christopher looked uneasy. “Uh, not that well. I mean, we kind of—”
Another young man appeared behind him and pulled the door further open. “Hey, we heard he was dead. How’d it happen?”
That told me the cops hadn’t gone public with the news that it was a homicide. They were being unusually circumspect. Had to be Kingsford’s doing. O’Malley wasn’t smart enough to realize the benefits of playing it close to the vest. I introduced myself again. “And you are?”
Christopher made room for him, and he stepped into the doorway. “Rafael Giovanni.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him here. He and Christopher went to the same school and hung out with the same pedophile. I mean, alleged pedophile. And why was I questioning a lucky break? “Nice to meet you guys. Mind if we come in? I promise not to take long.”
Christopher didn’t look too keen on the idea, but Rafael stood back and gestured for us to enter. “Sure.”
I saw Christopher shoot him a dagger look as we stepped past them into the small living room. Alex and I sat on the brown-and-orange-plaid sofa that looked like it’d been there since the seventies. Christopher perched stiffly on the arm of the brown corduroy chair across from us. Rafael flopped down on the orange beanbag chair next to him. An effort had obviously been made to coordinate colors. I wasn’t sure it was worth it.
I took a moment to size up the two boys. They were a study in contrasts. Where Christopher was fair-skinned and seemed to be wound pretty tightly, Rafael was olive-skinned and laid-back. But he was every bit as pretty as Christopher, with long, straight black hair and large almond-shaped eyes.
I decided to start with an innocuous-sounding question. “You both go to Rolling Oaks Academy, right?” They nodded. “What year are you in?”
Rafael replied, “Junior. How’d he die?”
I gave him a truthful, though incomplete answer. “They found him in the bathtub.” I followed it up with a lie. “That’s all I know. But there’s talk that he might’ve committed suicide. Did he ever talk about ending it all?”
Rafael shrugged. “No, not to me. But I guess it’s possible. My dad’s a stock investment adviser, and he told me he heard some big trade went bad. Maybe Bryan felt guilty or something.”
Good guess. But not helpful. “Christopher? What do you think?”
He had a sullen expression. “It’s Chris. And I have no idea. Why would you think I’d know?”
Lots of hostility there. This was going to be tough. “Because you were friends. I thought maybe he might’ve said something.”
Chris stared at me. “No, he didn’t.”
Okay, so much for that route. I changed tacks. “How’d you guys meet Bryan?”
Rafael said, “One of my brother’s friends brought us to a party at his house a couple of years ago.”
Alex asked him for the names of his brother and the brother’s friend and asked whether his brother knew Bryan. Rafael said he didn’t. I decided to try and loosen the boys up—mainly Chris—by getting them to talk about the parties, the trips, and the good times. Chris barely spoke. After half an hour, I decided it was time to get to the point. “Did Bryan have a sexual relationship with any of the guys?”
Chris’s face hardened. “No. Absolutely not. Who told you that?”
I played it low-key. “I can’t say. But that’s fine. I hear you. Did you happen to know Tanner?”
Chris’s jaw tightened. “I saw him at Bryan’s a few times. But I didn’t hang out with him. I thought he was kind of a jerk.”
On that subject, there seemed to be unanimity. The good news was that I’d gotten Chris to start talking. “We’ve been wondering whether maybe it wasn’t a suicide.”
Rafael frowned. “You mean, like maybe someone killed him?”
I shrugged. “It’s just a thought. Do you know who might’ve had it in for Bryan?”
Chris’s face closed up again. “Other than all those people who lost everything? No.”
I looked at Rafael. “You?”
He shrugged. “Same.” He stood up. “I’d love to stay and chat with y’all, but I gotta jump.” He reached out and fist-bumped with Chris. “Catch ya later, dude.”
Chris was clearly a dead end. But I had a feeling Rafael knew more than he was saying, and he might be willing to tell us if Chris wasn’t around. I got up. “We should get moving, too. Traffic’s going to be brutal.”
Chris followed us to the door. Probably less as a polite gesture than the need to make sure we were finally out of there.
I stepped outside and turned back. “Thanks for talking with us.”
He grunted, and the moment Alex followed me out, he closed the door. I hurried to catch up with Rafael. “Hey, can we give you a ride?” I hadn’t seen a car parked in front of the house, so I assumed he’d either taken the s
chool bus or Ubered here.
Rafael stopped and turned back. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
It was a self-serving favor. I hoped the time in the car would give us a chance to squeeze him like a juice box. We all piled in, and I asked Rafael for his address. As I’d suspected, he lived in a much more expensive neighborhood on the better side of town—south of Ventura Boulevard.
When we started to roll, I asked, “Did something happen between Chris and Bryan? He seemed kind of . . . angry.”
Rafael blew out a breath. “You can’t tell anyone I said this, okay?” I promised. “I think Bryan might’ve put the moves on Chris.”
Alex said, “Then you think it was sexual with those guys who hung around with him?”
Rafael paused, then said, “For some of them, yeah. But I hung around with him, too, and I’m straight. All I know about the thing with Chris is that we all got drunk—I’m talking shit-faced—at Bryan’s place about a month ago. And after that night, Chris never wanted to go back. I don’t think he ever spoke to Bryan again.”
That explained it. I was sure Rafael was right. Bryan was turning out to be quite the piece of work. A thief, a con artist, and a pedophile. “But you kept seeing Bryan?”
Rafael sighed. “Sort of. I always thought Bryan was kind of shady, but he could be fun, too. And he never tried anything on me.” He looked out the window for a moment. “Anyway, he wasn’t really the one I liked to hang with. Tanner was more my style. He’s much more real.”
How anyone could think something like that about Tanner was a real head-scratcher. Of all the things I could call him, real was the very, very last. But that wasn’t my concern. “Are you still in touch with Tanner?” Maybe I could get a little daylight as to Tanner’s possible whereabouts.
He looked upset. “No, I haven’t heard from him in a while. I don’t know what’s going on.”
Alex queried him about where Tanner might be staying. But no luck. Rafael only saw him at Bryan’s house, and he never discussed any personal details—other than to brag about all his big “scores” and hot babes. Again, how did that equate with “real”?
