I arrived in LA late in the afternoon on the first day of June. It had been several years since I’d been to the City of Angels, but judging by the passengers who had been sitting in first class, not much had changed. I hopped into my rented BMW M8 convertible, because of course, only in LA could you throw down your plastic and rent cars that carried a six-figure price tag. I avoided the endless parking lot on the 405 freeway, instead retreating to surface streets, where I carved my way up La Cienega and north toward the Hollywood Hills. Sunglasses on, drop-top down, sun with an occasional breeze—I was in LA.
My phone buzzed. It was Burke.
“Where the hell are you?” he growled. “Sounds like you’re stuck in a damn wind turbine.”
“City of Angels,” I said.
“In the middle of all this shit, you decide to go to Hollywood?”
“I’m out here to talk to the wife of that preacher who was found tied up in another man’s bed.”
“I heard something about it,” Burke said. “He died having sex in some trainer’s apartment over in Bronzeville.”
“There’s a lot more to it than that,” I said.
“You think it has something to do with Kantor?”
I brought Burke up to speed on my conversation with Malcolm Boyd. When I finished, he said, “You knew all this and didn’t say anything to me?”
“I was waiting to fill in some of the gaps,” I said. “I needed to chase some leads down first as delicately as possible, before your boys come in with a wrecking ball.”
“You’re not the only one who knows how to work a case, hotshot,” he said.
“That’s true, but there are lots of people out there who will talk to me and not to some guy in a blue uniform and Kevlar vest.”
“I had a chance to look into that Daphne case,” he said. “Not really a lot there. They still don’t have a confirmed identity. They’ve gotten some missing person calls from out of state, but none of them have checked out.”
“Nothing on the cameras?”
“Zilch. Believe it or not, there aren’t any cameras back there.”
“Well, there have to be cameras closer to Soldier Field and the planetarium.”
“There are, and they’ve been looked at. Not a lot of traffic going in and out of Northerly unless there’s an event out there. And nothing has happened there for over a month. The body was fresh when they cut her down. They figure less than eight hours.”
“How did they find it?”
“Someone’s dog.”
“Is that a place where people walk dogs?”
“Not really. It’s pretty much out of the way. But some guy was on his boat late that night and took his dog out to take a shit. The guy said the dog started acting agitated and took off. By the time he caught up with the dog, the dog was standing underneath the body, barking and running in circles.”
“Anything on the guy?”
“Nothing much. He’s a retired former president of Northwestern Hospital. He keeps his boat docked over there. Checks out clean.”
“Well, the body didn’t just magically appear on that statue,” I said. “Someone had to bring it there.”
“Or she went there on her own and killed herself.”
That was still a possibility, at least officially, but it just didn’t ring true to me. I considered telling him about Daphne Garden, but decided I needed more clarity and direction. Right now, it was just a suspicion and a lot of Greek mythology he wouldn’t understand.
“I wonder what they found at autopsy,” I said.
“Nothing. They haven’t done it yet. They’re backed up.”
“More confirmation of what I always say.”
“Which is?”
“Death is a big business in Chicago.”
“Sure in hell keeps a lot of people employed,” he said. “Including you. So you flew all the way to LA just to talk to the guy’s wife?”
“And see the Hollywood Sign from the Griffith Observatory.”
“You’d save a shit ton of money and time talking on the phone or doing one of those Zoom meetings.”
“She was only willing to talk to me in person, so I agreed to meet at her house. She said it was easier to trust someone sitting across the table.”
“She might regret that decision,” Burke said. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into with you.”
“Just doing my job,” I said. “By the way, any chance you can dig up whatever they have on Thompson’s investigation?”
“Not my jurisdiction. And what would I say if they ask about my interest?”
“You’re still a cop,” I said. “I’m sure you won’t have any problem making something up.”
The last thing I heard him say was “Asshole!” before the phone went dead.
I checked into my hotel in West Hollywood, then jumped back in the car and headed over to Thompson’s church. I didn’t have any specific plan in mind other than to get a better feel for what Thompson’s day job might’ve been like. His church operated out of what used to be called the Forum, an enormous circular arena built in the mid-sixties and most famously the former home of the Los Angeles Lakers. Once the new Staples Center, now Crypto.com Arena, opened its doors, the Lakers vacated the Forum for their new age digs, and after several years of vacancy and deterioration, Thompson and his ministry purchased the building and its surrounding property at a steep discount.
After a twenty-five-minute drive straight south of the hotel, I entered Inglewood, a tough working-class city just minutes east of the airport and a few exits away from the notorious Compton. I wasn’t expecting there to be much going on at the church on a Saturday night, but the parking lot was bustling with activity. Three large tents had been set up at the end of the parking lot closest to the building. Two semis were parked next to the tents, their back doors open, supplies stacked from floor to ceiling on pallets. Several men in each truck worked at a feverish pace to unload the inventory and transfer the items to the volunteers on the ground, who distributed them between the three tents. Three long lines of cars had queued up in front of the respective tents. Volunteers in purple-and-gold shirts moved quickly, carrying bags and cases of water to the cars, passing them through the window or placing them in the open trunks. This was a well-coordinated operation. Several armed security guards stood around the perimeter, keeping watch. I took a moment to scan their faces before finding my target. I slowly pulled around the other cars and eased along the perimeter toward a large man with short salt-and-pepper hair and aviator sunglasses. He had the look.
“Everyone needs to wait in line,” he said firmly as I got closer.
“I’m not trying to pick up anything,” I said. “My first time here. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
I pulled out my retired CPD star and ID. He looked at it and nodded. His body posture relaxed slightly.
“You’re a long way from the Windy,” he said. “What brings you out this way?”
“Just in town to meet up with a couple people. Heard a lot about this church, plus I have an uncle who was a big Lakers fan when they played here. Wanted to take a picture of it so he could see it.”
“The team’s been gone from here for a while,” he said. “But this is where they did all that work during the eighties.”
“Five titles in nine years.”
“Damn right, and they could’ve won more. Made it to the championships three other years in that decade, but Bird played lights out for the Celtics in ’81, Malone led the Sixers in ’83, and Dumars with Detroit killed ’em in ’89.”
“Magic and Kareem,” I said. “Jack Nicholson in his shades sitting courtside. Prettiest cheerleaders in the league. Showtime.”
“At that time, the greatest show on Earth,” he said. “Nosebleed tickets practically on the roof ran you a thousand dollars. But let’s not forget, y’all had a nice little run yourself when Jordan and Pippen won all those rings.”
“Unstoppable,” I said. “You guys had the eighties. We owned the nineties. Six rings. I was a little kid then. That’s all anyone talked about. Jordan and the Bulls. But now we’re struggling to win the first round in the playoffs.”
“We were down for a bit too,” he said. “Then we got Kobe, may his soul rest in peace, and Shaq. And now Bron and Davis are trying to put it together before Bron retires.”
“Bron said he’s not retiring before he gets a chance to play with his son.”
“Bronnie has to get into the league first. Easier said than done, even if Bron is your dad. These boys are playing some ball these days, and not just a few. Lots of ’em, names you don’t even recognize, are putting up big numbers.”
I extended my hand. “Ashe,” I said.
“Roland,” he said, swallowing my hand with his mitt.
“I won’t even ask you the question,” I said.
“Don’t need to,” he said, smiling. “Jordan, then LeBron. No player has done some of the shit MJ was doing back in the day. And I say that with all due respect to Kobe and Bron.”
“You won’t get any argument from me,” I said. “But I give LeBron some credit I can’t give the others. A player of his stature and all he has, and he’s a real social activist. Unafraid. Speaks his mind and doesn’t care what it may cost him in sponsorship or endorsement deals. He’s the real deal.”
“Amen, brutha.”
I felt like I had him softened up enough. Sports and food were always effective weapons. Even enemies could find common ground.
“This is a pretty big church,” I said. “What’s it like?”
“You mean what it looks like inside?”
“No, the congregation. The vibe.”
“Good, God-fearing, God-loving people,” Roland said. “I mean, look at this. Today they’ll give out over five thousand bags of groceries and ten thousand cases of water. Cars will be driving up here well after midnight.”
“‘For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me in.’”
Roland finished without missing a beat. “‘I needed clothes, and you clothed me. I was sick, and you looked after me. I was in prison, and you came to visit me.’”
“Matthew 25: 35–36. All churches should stand on those principles. They take in a lot of money on Sunday mornings, but are they giving some of it back to the needy?”
“Well, they do a good job of it here,” he said.
“What are you all gonna do now that you lost your minister?”
“To be honest, this isn’t my church. I just work security when I’m off duty. I live and work down in Torrance. When I get some extra time, I come up here and help out. So I don’t really know about the inner workings of the place.”
“You hear anything?”
He shrugged. “You know how it is,” he said. “You always hear things. Difficulty is figuring out what to believe.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Best I got is, he was cheating on the first lady, and the husband of the woman he was cheating with wasn’t too happy about it. Found ’em in bed together and killed him.”
“I’ve seen pictures of his wife and daughters,” I said. “Not to covet thy neighbor or anything, but she’s a real nice piece.”
“Shit. Fine as she wanna be. Body for days. But you know how it is. You rollin’ up to the same thing night in and night out, I don’t care how fine she is, that shit starts getting a little old. Especially when you look like he looked and had all he had. Single and married women threw themselves at him. Sometimes he’d come out here and help give away the bags. One night we had to separate two of the volunteers. They were about to throw hands, arguing about who should work in his tent.”
“The wife must’ve known about all the attention he was getting.”
“Please. She’d have to be blind as Stevie not to know. But she’s not new to the game. This shit comes with the territory. When you take that robe and collar off, a preacher is still a man.”
“Did they get along?”
“I heard they were cool. She got a huge mansion up in the hills, a garage full of cars, and more money than she can ever spend. They’re not regular people like you and me. When it comes to relationships, these people have agreements.”
“He was a young guy to lose all of that so suddenly.”
“Life in the fast lane,” Roland said.
“Tomorrow is promised to no one,” I said. “So, who will take over now that he’s gone?”
“I heard there’s a scramble going on right now. Lot of money and power at stake. She wants it, but not everyone is on board with that.”
“You think she’ll get it?”
“I’ve only met her a few times, but I learned real quick. Don’t let her good looks and those fancy clothes fool you. That woman got a brain like a computer and the heart of a lion.”