Evidence

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Evidence Page 22

by Jonathan Kellerman


  CHAPTER 27

  Ati Meneng was tiny, gorgeous, terrified.

  She looked ten years younger than the twenty-nine listed on her driver’s license, took up so little space that Milo put her in his office and had room to spare.

  Standard California license, no special consulate perks. She typed documents in the secretarial pool.

  She had on a cinnamon-colored pantsuit that covered everything but hands and face. The office was warm but that didn’t stop her from shivering. Tilting her head, she created a glossy sheet of blue-black hair that masked her face. “I still don’t know why I’m here.”

  Milo said, “Just what I told you, Ati. You’re helping us and we really appreciate it.”

  “There’s nothing I can help you with.”

  Milo wheeled his chair closer. “This doesn’t need to be stressful, Ati.”

  I sat just inside the open door. Moe Reed stood behind me. Young guy with a fondness for Aqua Velva. My father had slapped it on religiously, cursing as the alcohol ignited booze-inspired shaving nicks.

  If Reed was breathing, I couldn’t hear it.

  Milo said, “Is it okay if I call you Ati?”

  Murmurs from behind the hair curtain.

  “What’s that?”

  “Call me what you want.”

  “Thanks, Ati. First off, we’re sorry we had to take you away in the middle of work but this is a murder investigation. If you have problems with your boss, I can talk to him.”

  “No, don’t. I don’t know about murder.” Crystalline voice, no accent.

  Milo said, “How long have you been living in L.A., Ati?”

  Hair slithered away like glycerine on glass, revealing a flawless oval face, pouty-lipped, ruled by enormous black eyes. “All my life.”

  “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Downey.”

  “How’d you come to work at the Indonesian consulate?”

  “They advertised in an Indonesian paper. Needed someone who knew Dutch, my parents speak Dutch in the house.”

  “How long have you been working there?”

  “Like nine months.”

  “And before that?”

  “A bunch of places.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why is that important?”

  “Just trying to get to know you, Ati.”

  “Why?”

  Milo rolled back a few inches. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Tell me about some of your previous jobs.”

  “Mostly temps.”

  “Don’t like to be tied down to anything long-term?”

  “Temps are what I could get while I auditioned.”

  “You’re an actress?”

  “I thought I was.”

  “No luck, huh?”

  Black hair swung. “I did some commercials for Asian cable. I thought I could model downtown for petites, but they said I was too small for even that.”

  “Tough gig, the audition circuit,” said Milo.

  “Every stupid girl thinks she can do it.”

  “That include Dahlia?”

  Pouty lips separated on white teeth slick with saliva. Brown hands the size of a ten-year-old’s met each other and clenched hard.

  Ati Meneng said, “You found her?”

  “Would that surprise you?”

  “I just didn’t think it would ever happen.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “People like that,” said Ati Meneng. “They get away with things.”

  “People like who?”

  Silence.

  Milo said, “People like Prince Teddy?”

  Long, slow nod. “I didn’t know who he was. Later, I found out.”

  “How did Dahlia meet him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Milo said, “Dahlia was your friend but you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know exactly. That’s why I talked to you—to him—in the first place. Because I do care, she was my friend.”

  “Tell me what you do know, Ati.”

  “My parents can’t find out,” she said. “They think all my temp jobs were secretarial.”

  “They won’t, I promise.” Silence.

  Milo said, “You did some other things besides secretarial.”

  “I wasn’t getting any secretarial jobs so I registered at a website, okay? Asian Dolls. It’s not what it sounds, they just linked visiting businessmen with presentable young ladies suitable to be taken to social events.”

  That sounded like a direct quote.

  Milo said, “Helping them feel at home.”

  “Mostly it was Japanese guys,” said Ati Meneng. “When Japanese girls were available, they got first dibs, but when they weren’t it opened up to all the girls. They were mostly nice. The guys, I mean. Older.”

  “Mostly.”

  “I never had problems, it was totally a positive experience for me. It was an honest business, the woman who ran it, Mae Fukuda, died a few years ago, her kids didn’t want to keep it going. Some of those other businesses are sleazy. That’s why I’m at the consulate, totally bored.”

  “Asian Dolls,” said Milo. “That wouldn’t seem to include Dahlia.”

  “Dahlia didn’t need to work, she had tons of money.” Gazing at the floor. “Okay, I know how I met her. A party. After that, we started to hang out. She got me into some cool places.”

  “What kind of cool places?”

  “VIP rooms at clubs, private parties—like at the Playboy Mansion, we went to three separate parties at the Playboy Mansion, it was incredible. Hef wasn’t there, he let them use his house to raise money for charity. We got to swim in the Grotto.”

  “Where’d you meet Dahlia?”

  “A club in Chinatown.”

  “Which one?”

  “Madame Chiang’s.”

  Milo said, “Hill Street, in the big mall, right? Big restaurant downstairs, upstairs banquet room.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Great dim sum at lunch, it closed down a few years ago.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So how’d you come to be there, Ati?”

  “It was a business party, jewelry. I went with a businessman from Cambodia. He gave me a gold chain to keep. Mostly he talked to other jewelers and I could do what I wanted.”

  “Who else was at the party?”

  “Jewelry guys. Armenians, Israelis, Chinese, Persians. Some white guys. The speaker was a white guy. From the mayor’s office, or something like that, welcoming the jewelry business to L.A.”

  “What brought Dahlia there?”

  “She was with one of the white guys. He sold watches.”

  “Remember his name?”

  “Never knew it,” said Ati Meneng. “Older, white hair, fat. Swedish, like her.”

  “Dahlia told you she was Swedish?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Actually, she was Swiss.”

  Huge black eyes expanded to cartoon proportions. “Yeah, that’s what it was. You probably think I’m stupid.”

  “It’s an easy mistake to make,” said Milo. “Dahlia didn’t like to talk about it. Being Swiss.”

  “Why not?”

  “She said it was a boring place to live, that’s why she sometimes said she was from other places.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t remember. Maybe Sweden—maybe that’s where I got it. She only told me about being Swiss after we hung out for a while. The guy she was with that night, she said she knew him from back home, he was a big watch dealer, knew her father because her father collected watches, had hundreds of them in little boxes that kept moving to keep them winded. She was at the party to do him a favor. The watch guy.”

  “Being his arm candy.”

  “We all were. The men were really into business, the girls were mostly left alone and a whole bunch of us ended up at the bar. That’s where I met Dahlia. We were both getting drinks and hers was weird, bright blue. I said somet
hing about it looking like dishwashing liquid. She laughed. We started talking, before she left, she said, ‘It’s been fun, let’s hang,’ and she gave me her number.”

  “You guys hit it off,” said Milo.

  “Easy with Dahlia,” said Ati Meneng. “She was pure sunshine. Even though she was rich she was cool about it, I didn’t even know until we’d hung out awhile.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “I mean I kind of suspected it because she didn’t have a job and she drove a Porsche Boxster, really cool little red one. When I found out for sure was when she took me to her house. Real nice and all done up. She said her parents bought it for her ’cause they hated her.”

  “Interesting way to show hatred,” said Milo.

  “I’m sure they didn’t really hate her, she just meant they needed space from each other.”

  “She had problems with them.”

  “She didn’t like to talk about it, just said they were all religious and stuff. They sent her to Catholic schools, she kept running away, taking trains to Germany and France, going to clubs, meeting guys. She never went to college, like her sister did, and that made them mad. She just liked to ski and swim and travel on trains and hang out. When she told them she wanted to see Hollywood, they were happy to see her go, bought her a house. To her that meant Stay away as long as you want.”

  “How’d she feel about that?”

  “She laughed about it. That was Dahlia. She used to say maturity was highly overrated.”

  “How long were you guys friends?”

  “Half a year? Maybe a little longer? We actually didn’t hang out that much because I had to work. Sometimes Dahlia would call, mostly she’d wait until I called and if she was free, we’d hang out. She had platinum cards, was real generous, but I didn’t take advantage. Being with her gave me a chance to dress up. Be my best, you know?” Her eyes welled.

  “What else did she tell you about her family?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Did she say what her father did to make all that money?”

  “Oh, yeah. He owned a bank. It was like in the family for generations.”

  “How many siblings did she have?”

  “Just her sister, Dahlia was the younger one. She said her sister was the smart, serious one. Studied to be an architect, or something.”

  “The two of them get along?”

  “She never said they didn’t. She didn’t talk much about her sister.”

  “So her parents bought her a house and she took that as their wanting her to stay away.”

  “I used to say maybe you should call them, try to reconnect. ’Cause I did that with my father. He’s real old-school, wanted me to marry an Indonesian guy, stay at home and raise kids. When I got those commercials he refused to watch. But now we get along.”

  “Did Dahlia take your advice?”

  “If she did, she never said.”

  “How’d she meet Prince Teddy?”

  “At first she didn’t know he was a prince.”

  “She found out after they’d been dating.”

  “Uh-huh. Guess she liked him for himself.”

  “How they meet?”

  “At the Le Beverly—it’s a hotel in Beverly Hills, small, from the outside you can’t tell, it looks like an apartment building. Dahlia had a pass to get into the private bar, it’s up at the third floor. I was supposed to go to a party but my date canceled and I was bummed and bored and I called Dahlia and she said, ‘Let’s go to B.H., we’ll have some fun.’ She’d been there before. I could tell ’cause the bartender knew her drink—Blue Lagoon, they mix it with a special orange liqueur that’s colored blue. Dahlia said she liked the taste but mostly used it like an accessory.”

  “Fashion accessory?”

  “She had these incredible blue eyes, liked to wear colors that brought them out, mostly red and yellow. But also a bit of blue, here and there. Like jewelry, you know? She said the Blue Lagoon worked like jewelry, helped bring people’s attention up to her eyes. She was like that. Artistic. Her house was full of her paintings. All blue, these wavy designs. Like the ocean, you know?”

  “So,” said Milo, “you and Dahlia were in the private room of the Le Beverly.”

  “I was drinking my Mojito and Dahlia was drinking her Blue Lagoon and the only other people were some Asian guys across the room, playing backgammon. Dahlia made a joke about their being Asian. ‘I take you to this great place to get away from work and it ends up looking just like work.’ I laughed and she laughed and then one of them came over and for a second I thought they heard us and were ticked off. But the guy was smiling, saying, ‘Women are beautiful when they’re happy. If you’d agree to join us, we’d be highly proud.’ Something like that, kind of lame. He had an accent but you could understand him. We figured he was the assistant because he was the smallest of them and not the most handsome and the worst dressed. The other two guys were younger, taller, real handsome, in Zegna suits. Later I found out they were the bodyguards and he had come over himself.”

  “Prince Teddy.”

  “He just called himself Ted. You’d never know he was anything important, he just had on a sweater and jeans. And he looked real young. Shorter than Dahlia, but she said, ‘Sure,’ and we got up and joined them. Without asking me, but that was okay, mostly I let Dahlia make the decisions. It was her got me in there in the first place.”

  “So you joined Ted and his bodyguards.”

  “We didn’t know they were bodyguards, we just thought they were three guys. They ordered some bar food and more drinks, put their backgammon away. No one was nasty or gross, it was nice and polite. The bodyguards, you’d never know they were bodyguards.”

  “They didn’t act tough.”

  “They acted like his friends. Just guys hanging out.”

  “Rich guys.”

  She blinked. “Yeah, I guess so, being in the private lounge. But that’s not what got Dahlia to join them, money didn’t impress her, she had her own. She told me afterward she thought he was cute and sweet and real smart. I guess he was smart, he could talk about all sorts of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Nature, travel? I really wasn’t listening.”

  “Dahlia reported to you afterward,” he said.

  “The next morning,” said Ati Meneng, coloring. “Yeah, okay, she went home with him. But it wasn’t like she ditched me. When we were in the ladies’ room, she told me she’d decided to do it, but only if I was okay with it. He seemed like fun, she wanted some fun. She insisted on giving me cab money. I had an early audition, anyway.”

  “Was that pretty typical for Dahlia? Going with guys she just met?”

  Black eyes sparked. “She was not a slut.”

  “Of course not,” said Milo. “I’m just asking if she made quick decisions.”

  “No,” said Ati Meneng. “She’d dance with guys, kiss them on the dance floor, even ... sometimes she’d go off to a private VIP room. But I never saw her leaving for a whole evening with a guy. Never.”

  “She must’ve really liked Teddy.”

  “Once they started dating, I hardly ever saw her. But I was cool with that, everyone has their own life.”

  “Eventually, she told you who he was.”

  “That was maybe... weeks after, I can’t remember. We hadn’t seen each other and all of a sudden Dahlia called to catch up. Said he was out of town, let’s go to Spago. She thought it was funny.”

  “What was?”

  “How we thought he was the assistant and he turned out to be from one of the richest families in the world. She said he still didn’t like to dress up. Sometimes he rented a cheap car and drove to McDonald’s and ate cheeseburgers. Next day he’d be in his Gulf-stream, that’s a jet, flying anywhere he wanted. She flew in it, too, said it was all pimped up, black wood, black everything inside.”

  “Where’d he fly Dahlia?”

  “Mostly Vegas, but one time Hawaii. He liked to gamble. Dahlia’s o
nly thing was when she was with him she didn’t drink, ’cause he was Muslim.”

  “He wasn’t drinking that night at the Le Beverly?”

 

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