Perry - Psyched To Death

The Jamie Brodie Mysteries:

Cited to Death

Hoarded to Death

Burdened to Death

Researched to Death

Encountered to Death

Psyched to Death

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or individuals - living or dead - is entirely coincidental.

2014 Meg Perry. All rights reserved.

Saturday

What the hell are you doing here? My ex, Scott Deering, was standing in front of me, brandishing the bow of his cello like a sword. And what the hell are you wearing?

I looked down. I was seated on a folding chair, wearing sweatpants and a UCLA t-shirt. I looked around. I was on the Santa Monica Pier. It was a clear, warm evening. There were a couple dozen other people around me, all sitting in folding chairs, all clad in evening wear. In front of me, the entire Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra was tuning up.

We came to hear the concert. I glanced to my right, where my current boyfriend, Pete Ferguson, was perusing the concert program. He was wearing sweatpants, too. No one told us it was dressy.

Scott rolled his eyes. Fine. He strode back to his seat in the cello section. The concertmaster walked out to applause, the orchestra tuned, and the conductor appeared. He bowed to the audience, stepped onto the platform, and picked up his baton. The first notes of Ravels Bolero wafted into the night.

I closed my eyes and smiled. This was why we were here. Ever since Id first heard Bolero as a teenager on a school field trip, performed by the San Diego Symphony, Id thought it was the sexiest music ever. Being here was worth the price of running into Scott.

About halfway through, Pete leaned over and rested his hand on my leg. This is making me so hot.

I whispered back. Me, too. And it was. The building intensity of the music was having a definite effect on my anatomy. Petes hand, sliding gradually higher on my thigh, was creating havoc as well. At this rate, Id be lucky to last until the end of the piece.

I barely did. Pete and I jumped to our feet to join in the standing ovation. Then he grabbed my hand. Lets go. We ran for the public restrooms, plunged in, and slammed into the last stall. Pete shoved the bolt closed and turned to me. I grabbed him, and we dove in. Kissing, hands roaming, we were on our way to overload when someone started pounding on the door.

Pete groaned and pulled away from me. I grabbed at him. No! They can wait!

Pete muttered, Shit, and turned on the light.

Waitwhat?

I opened my eyes. It was morning, not evening. I was at home, in bed, not wearing sweatpants, but sporting a raging erection. And someone was pounding on our front door.

Pete rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and grabbed a bathrobe. I croaked, What time is it?

Quarter after six. Pete went downstairs. I tried to remember what day it was. Oh yeah Saturday. Thats why wed been sleeping in.

I figured I should go see what was happening. I pulled on a pair of jeans a superior disguise to sweatpants for my flagging but still obvious erection. I couldnt find one of my own tshirts, so I grabbed one of Petes and followed him downstairs, tugging the shirt over my head as I went.

Pete was standing in the living room, talking to our friend Jon Eckhoff. Jon had someone with him, a tall, skinny, dark-haired guy. Another cop. Jon was a cop, my brother Kevin was a cop, Pete was an ex-cop. I knew cops. Jon was here in a professional capacity.

I said, Jon. What the hell?

Pete answered. Elliott Conklin found Matt Bendel dead in their house.

I got each of us a bottle of water while Pete invited Jon and the other guy to sit in the living room. Jon thanked me for the water then pulled out a phone. Do you mind if I record this conversation? Im trying to go electronic.

Pete said, No, thats fine.

I said, Wheres Belardo?

Cesar Belardo was Jons partner, or so I thought. Jon and Belardo were homicide detectives with LAPDs Pacific Division. Elliott Conklin and Matt Bendel lived in Venice, in Pacific Division territory.

Jon said, He transferred to Hollenbeck. This is my new partner, Max OBrien.

Id heard Maxs name before but couldnt place where. Max, however, remembered. I emailed you a map once.

Ah. Right. You were at West LA.

Thats where I trained, with your brother and Detective Garcia. Kevin and his partner Tim Garcia were also homicide detectives.

Jon set his phone on the ottoman. For the record, Pete, tell me how you know Elliott Conklin and Matt Bendel.

Elliott is the assistant chair of the psychology department at Santa Monica College, where I teach. Matt is his boyfriend.

How long have they been together?

Um about a year now, as I remember. Jamie, does that sound right?

Yeah. Wed been to a party at Elliott and Matts the previous November. Theyd been together for a couple of months at that point.

What was their relationship like?

Pete said, As far as I know, they had no problems. Elliott never talked about trouble.

So they seemed to be close?

According to Elliott, at least. I didnt see Matt very often.

What did Matt do?

He was in graduate school.

I said, Matt used to work for Quentin Brashier.

Jons eyebrows went up. Quentin Brashier had been a rare book dealer, murdered in a case involving Kevins ex-wife and a missing page from a medieval manuscript. No kidding. He was the assistant before that Paulo kid?

Yep. Hed met Belardo. It was Matt that told me he thought the page from the Book of Kells was authentic.

Damn, thats right. Id forgotten. Jon shook his head. Small world.

Pete said, Elliott can tell you a lot more about Matt than we can.

He can, but Id like independent verification of what hes told us.

Uh oh. I said, Holy shit . Elliotts a suspect.

Jon said, Weve arrested him. He was covered in blood and doesnt have an alibi.

Oh my God. Pete was aghast. You think of course you do. You arrested him. He flopped back against the sofa cushions, staring at Jon.

Jon said, Your department chair is on vacation, right? We werent able to contact her.

Just for the weekend. Shes up in the Rockies somewhere.

Well be talking to everyone in your department. But I thought youd be up at this time of the morning, so we started with you.

Pete seemed stunned. I said, Elliott doesnt have an alibi?

He says he was driving back from visiting friends in Monterey. But he left their place at three and says he didnt get home until midnight, when he found the victim.

Pete said dazedly, Hed gone to a seminar at Stanford on Thursday.

Monterey to LA was about a five-hour drive. I said, Where was he?

He says he drove back roads, taking his time.

And he didnt text or call anyone, all that time?

No. He didnt. Jon gave me a look. The neighbors reported that theyd heard the victim and the suspect fighting a couple of nights ago. Yelling at each other.

Pete recovered a bit. What did Elliott say?

He said he wanted a lawyer.

Oh.

Do you know anything about Matts friends?

Pete and I both shook our heads. Pete said, No idea.

Was Elliott particularly close to anyone else in the department?

Um Id say his closest friend at the college would be Alice Greeves. Alice isnt in our department, she teaches Statistics. Elliott does a lot of research, and he collaborates with her frequently. In terms of friends in the department he was equally friendly with all of us, but he didnt see any of us outside the college on a routine basis.

What kind of research?

He designs surveys and gets students to fill them out, to see which questions have more validity. That sort of thing.