Triskele

"Find anything?" Jordan asked as she walked into the crypt for her first case with Bevan.

"Possible suicide. Guy was a mildly depressed individual. Supposed to show up to a psychiatric appointment this morning and didn't. Apparently it wasn't working," Bevan answered, reading from the file. "He didn't hang himself or cut himself, so he must have OD-ed. Probably on his Valium.” She closed the file and sat it aside. “But I'm sure you know that, so no, I haven't yet, just got to him. I'll let you know as soon as I get the tox screens. Can you help me turn this guy over?"

"Sure," Jordan said, moving over to the table. "How about we go for a drink tonight? Talk about L.A.?"

"Talk about work at L.A., or personal L.A.?" Bevan asked, looking over at her with a smile.

"Personal L.A."

"Sure," she said, then looked at the body. Her eyes widened. "Hello? Are you seeing this?"

Carved in his back, almost to the bone, was some kind of symbol similar to a Japanese character.

"This isn't self-inflicted," Bevan said, studying the carving. "It's too high on the back. There wasn’t blood at the scene was there?"

"No, but that looks really fresh," Jordan replied.

"Was he in a tub by any chance?"

"Yeah."

"He was probably killed in the tub or at least cut there. And when the blood was washed away, the tub was filled again. I bet he still tests positive for high levels of Valium," Bevan said. "He may have been forced to take them or been in the process of taking them."

"The prescription was in the bag," Jordan told her.

"Get me a copy of it and where it was filled and we'll figure this out," Bevan said. "This is no suicide."

~~~~

"The prescription had just been filled," Jordan said, walking into Bevan’s office and taking a seat in front of Bevan's desk, "for ten valiums."

"I haven't got the screens back yet. That character means 'black cloud'. No real significance as to why he should have it cut into him," Bevan said, looking at the file. "His psychiatrist said he had low-risk depression, no indications of self destructive tendencies. No real problems other than he had tension headaches that kept him from sleeping every now and then. Why he was seeing a shrink is beyond me."

"Unless the doctor's lying," Jordan said.

Bevan gave her an amused look. "Why would he lie about a dead man. Even with confidentiality, he told us a lot more than he had too."

"Maybe he's trying to throw off the case," Jordan said.

"Are you serious?" Bevan aksed. "He'd be risking his entire practice. The man makes at least a million dollars a year, he's not going to risk his career to lie about a client who was a hypochondriac."

"Was he?"

"Doctor said he was slightly paranoid, and that perpetuated his depression, but it wasn't enough to make him commit suicide. The guy had a good life," Bevan said with a shrug. "And since this wasn't a suicide, what information he gives us is really irrelevant. The guy wasn't paranoid about conspiracies, he was paranoid about his health."

"I'm just saying it's worth looking into deeper," Jordan said.

"Is this how you approach everything?" Bevan questioned her. "You really love the old conspiracy thing, don't you?"

At that moment, Nigel walked in.

"Tox screens," he announced, handing the file to Jordan, "And boy are they telling a story."

"Why?" Bevan asked.

"Because this guy has every known street drug in his system except marijuana, and a lethal amount of, is this right? Oxycontin?" Jordan asked, her brows furrowing. She passed the file to Bevan. "No wonder the guy was worried about his health."

"And non-lethal levels of Valium," Bevan reached for the phone and dialed a number. "Dr. Monroe please. This is Dr. Bevan Bayne at the Medical Examiner's office. Yes, it is urgent."

She looked at Jordan and rolled her eyes, mouthing 'secretaries' as she got a pen and a pad of paper, "Dr. Monroe, yes, hello. Was Mr. Smith a drug user by any chance? . . I see. . . No, no reason. I'm just trying to exhaust everything before I determine the cause of death. . . Oh, I see. . . Yes. Yes, actually, that would be great. . . Yes, I believe I left it with your secretary. . . Okay, five minutes. Thank you, Doctor."

She hung up and looked at Jordan, "He's faxing the files over. It seems Mr. Smith gave the doctor copies of every medical record he had, and also had drug tests done every month."

"That's odd," Jordan said, frowning.

Nigel sat on the edge of Bevan’s desk. "Why would someone do that every month?"

"Monroe said he was a health freak and that he was a recovering junkie who’s employers required it," she answered. "And please do not sit on my desk."

He stood back up and Jordan smiled, "He's faxing you his files?"

"Every bit of it," she said. "Mr. Smith was apparently a good friend."

"It's odd for a patient to be friends with their shrink," Nigel said.

"Not really," Bevan said. "Not when they're your lawyer."

~~~~

"Do you ever stop eating?" Jordan asked, walking in and seeing Bevan eating a bowl of cereal.

"Occasionally. Why does everyone ask me that?" Bevan asked, turning a page. "Find anything new on the Smith case?"

"Not yet, you?"

"Well, a week before he was killed he apparently had an altercation with another man at a coffee house. For all his worrying about his health, he was a coffee nut. Apparently he was backing out of his parking space while another man was backing out across from him. The cars tapped. There was no damage, but the other gets out and nearly assaults Smith. Witnesses described him as a well, dressed black man, driving a black Lexus," Bevan said. "There was a police report on it. Smith wanted to report it to his insurance in case the guy tried to make a claim against him."

She handed Jordan a piece of paper and took another bite.

"All this from the psychiatrist?" Jordan asked, looking at the thick stack in front of Bevan.

She nodded and swallowed. "Actually it's quite a good read, not Oprah material, but not bad either."

"Did you just crack a joke?" Jordan grinned.

"Ha ha," she smiled. "I'll check on the police report in a few minutes. I'm trying to find the guy's dealer from when he was a junkie.

"I'll check on that," Jordan offered, "You have the report number?"

"Right here," she said, taking a piece of paper and writing down the information.

~~~~

"It checked out," Jordan announced to Bevan in the break room. "The guy was a drug dealer. He also had this tattooed on his left pec."

She handed Bevan a photograph and Bevan smiled. "Black Cloud. His street name I take it."

"Yep. Said he offed the guy because he scratched his car. Shot him full of drugs and forced him to take all the Oxycontin that he had with him. The guy had just gotten his prescription filled, and Cloud followed him from the pharmacy," Jordan said.

"Killed the guy for scratching a generic Mercedes?" Bevan said. "That's a first. He could have just claimed it and kept the money or got it fixed. It's also odd for a dealer to use up a supply of drugs. Oxycontin goes for up to ten thousand a bottle."

"Cloud said he was taking care of his image," she said, sitting down at the table.

"Well, Dr. Cavanaugh, it's been a privilege working with you. Want some popcorn?" Bevan asked gesturing to the microwave where a bag was steadily popping.

"You eat like a horse."

Bevan smiled, "It's been a rather slow today."

"It has. Let's go see what the others are doing. Last time I looked Bug was messing with a tarantula."

"First let me get the popcorn," Bevan said, getting up.