The queen, p.2
The Queen, page 2
“You love this face,” Maria said.
“So where do you want to start?”
“They probably ripped off the wrong person, and she took the brunt for it, so we should start looking for who they might have ripped off,” Maria said.
“It definitely feels businesslike. Shooting her through the window. Very impersonal. Almost like a mob hit,” Michael said.
“Was the car on?” Maria asked.
“It’s electric. It was on but not running,” Michael said.
“So she’d applied the parking brake,” Maria said.
“Yup, which means she wanted to be here. But why would a woman like her want to be in a place like this?”
“I can guarantee you we will not find the answer here. And I sincerely doubt that whoever killed her was killing for the first time. This person knew what they were doing,” Maria said.
“Are we going to interview all the warehouse workers?” Michael asked.
“The guy who called it in, did you talk to him?” Maria said.
“Yeah, he thought she was asleep until he got close enough to see the bullet holes in the window, and he called 911 right away. His wife was dropping him off to work, she confirmed his story,” Michael said.
“Let’s have someone ask all of them where they were last night and get phone numbers of whoever can confirm their alibis, but I would be shocked if her killing had anything to do with this place,” Maria said.
“What do you want to do first then? Go by her place or talk to the family,” Michael said.
“Let’s go by her place first. It’ll be quick. I’ll buy lunch if she actually lives at that address,” Maria said.
2
Maria leaned back into the seat.
“There’s someone I’ve been wanting to introduce you to,” Michael said.
“You got a puppy,” Maria said.
“No, I met someone,” Michael said.
“Our rule is six months. You had me meeting women every other week last year, and I had such a hard time keeping track I made a spreadsheet,” Maria said.
“You did not,” Michael said.
“I did. I was terrified I’d call them by the wrong name. There was one, the tall one, the ex-basketball player, I liked her. She was way too smart for you though,” Maria said.
“Beatrice. Yeah, Beatrice was great,” Michael said.
“She dumped your ass quick,” Maria said.
“I wouldn’t say dumped,” Michael said.
Maria rolled her eyes.
“But seriously, I’d like you to meet this one,” Michael said.
“How long have you been talking to her?” Maria asked.
“A few months,” Michael said.
“This isn’t the prosecutor, is it?” Maria said.
“Angie? No,” Michael said.
“The real estate agent?” Maria said.
“Vanessa? No, definitely not Vanessa. That one didn’t end well,” Michael said.
“How the hell do you remember all their names?”
“I have the names saved in my phone,” Michael said.
“You have their name with how you met them or their job, don’t you?”
Michael ignored her. Said he really liked this one. He met her at his boxing gym.
“I like her already,” Maria said.
“Shared interests are good, right?”
“No, when you mess up, she can give you a black eye,” Maria said.
* * *
Jasmine did not live at the address on her driver’s license.
The current occupants of the apartment were a couple from Minnesota who had moved to Vegas to work for a tech company. They looked to be in their late twenties with that eerily polite demeanor of all people from the Midwest. They could be the nicest people a person could meet, or they could have a graveyard in the basement. Maria settled on nice because she wasn’t up for searching anyone’s basement. They were very excited because they were buying a house next month. So excited that they mentioned it three times.
Michael asked them how long they’d lived in the apartment.
“About a year and a half,” the woman said.
“Thanks for your time,” Michael said.
* * *
Jasmine's family was waiting at the station. The mother looked to be about early fifties, long dark hair and brown eyes. The father was older, probably approaching 60. He had a well-tended beard with flecks of gray and the red rimmed eyes of someone who had been crying. Jasmine's sister looked to be about 18, maybe 19. Her hair was naturally black but the top half was blonde, the two tone look gave her a punk rock feel. Maria wondered if she’d gone with Jasmine to get her hair done.
“How did she die?” the father asked.
“She was shot,” Maria said.
“So, she didn't suffer?” the father asked.
“No, she didn't suffer,” Michael said.
“I told her it would end like this,” her mother said.
The sister rolled her eyes.
“Why did you tell her that?” Maria asked.
“Because that's what happens to people who live like that. Drugs, parties, sex. All the narcissism. All she did was take selfies all fucking day. Of course, someone was going to kill her, and only God knows where they got all the money from,” her mother said.
“Can we at least get her in the ground before you start trashing her?” the father said.
“I did what I could. She never listened,” the mother said.
“Pretty sure she inherited that from you,” the father said.
“We went by the address on her driver’s license, but she hadn’t lived there in a while,” Michael said.
“She moved in with her boyfriend over a year ago. Maybe two years ago,” the father said.
“Where exactly?” Maria asked.
“I don’t even know to be honest,” the father said.
“We weren’t invited. We weren’t chic enough for her new friends,” the mother said.
“What about you?” Maria asked the sister.
“What about her?” the mother asked.
“Did you ever go visit your sister at her boyfriend’s house?” Maria asked.
Before the sister could answer, the mother jumped in to say that of course she hadn’t been over there because her mother wouldn’t allow her to go hang out with the trash that Jasmine lived with.
“Look, I wish we could be more helpful, but Jasmine was very independent. She moved out as soon as she graduated from high school and kept her life separate from us. Not that I can exactly blame her,” the father said.
“What is that supposed to mean?” the mother said.
“The person you should talk to is Veronica. I can give you her number. The two of them had been best friends since grammar school, and I’m sure Veronica can answer any of your questions much better than we can,” he said.
3
Veronica lived in a condo off of Fremont Street called the Ogden.
She met them on the street outside the front door and asked what they wanted to see her about. She was about five and a half feet tall with long blonde hair and clear blue eyes. She was better looking in person than she was on the social media posts and videos that Maria and Michael had checked on their way over, a rarity in the age of filters and well-lit social media shots.
“We want to talk to you about Jasmine Olivera,” Maria said.
“Jasmine?” Veronica wrinkled her nose. “Why?”
“Maybe we should go inside,” Michael said.
“Does this have something to do with her and Slate?” Veronica asked.
“Were there issues between them?” Maria asked.
Veronica shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“But you were her best friend, right? Had been since grade school?” Michael said.
Veronica looked from Michael to Maria and back to Michael. The shock of being called out of the blue by the police was wearing off, and she was starting to process their presence.
“What type of police are you?” Veronica asked.
“We’re homicide detectives,” Maria said.
“Why did you say ‘were her best friend’?” Veronica asked.
“Maybe we should go inside,” Michael said.
“You already said that. But I want to know right now why you’re here,” Veronica said.
When they told her, Veronica crumpled to the ground and started sobbing.
* * *
Veronica’s apartment was furnished almost entirely from Ikea. The only thing inside that looked high end was the television, a massive wide screen mounted on the wall, but those televisions had gotten so cheap, pretty much everyone had them. The reality of Veronica’s life with the opulent wealth of Jasmine’s social media feed was jarring.
Veronica collapsed onto her couch, and Maria sat there watching her sob while Michael checked the rest of the apartment. Veronica sat up, brushed blonde hair out of her face.
“How did she die?” Veronica asked.
“Gunshot.”
“I just saw her yesterday. Literally yesterday. She was sitting right where you are, and we were talking and had a glass of wine and then she left,” Veronica said.
“What time was that?” Maria asked.
“God, I don’t know. It was dark when she left but not too late. Maybe eight. No idea.”
“And what did you do after she left?” Michael asked.
“I watched a series until I fell asleep,” Veronica said.
“What series?” Maria asked.
“Some true crime documentary about a woman who disappeared in Texas in the seventies,” Veronica said. “I wasn’t really paying attention to be honest. I was scrolling through my socials, checking my likes and comments.”
“Do you own a gun?” Michael asked.
Veronica shook her head, no.
“Can you think of any reason why this would happen to Jasmine?” Maria asked.
“God no, she was the sweetest. Got along with everyone. She didn’t let all the attention go to her head. Some people, they get a hundred thousand followers, and they think they’re Kendall Jenner, start wanting free gifts and tickets to everything, but Jasmine didn’t care about any of that. She wasn’t in it for approval,” Veronica said.
“What was she in it for then?” Michael asked.
“At first, she did it for Slate. He really saw her potential before anyone else. Then when she realized how much money she could be making, she focused on building something that was going to last. Something she could use to make sure her parents didn’t have to struggle,” Veronica said.
“So, she was making a lot of money off of her social media posts?” Maria asked.
“She had to be. She never told me exactly how much, but that lifestyle wasn’t cheap, and she did say on multiple occasions she was going to be buying her parents a new house soon. Slate probably knows all the details. He must be devastated. He loved her so much,” Veronica said.
“The parents mentioned she lived with Slate, but they didn’t know where the house was,” Michael said.
“His mansion is in Queensridge,” Veronica said.
“I figured he had money, but I didn’t know he had that kind of money,” Michael said.
“Me neither. He had a place in Summerlin until like a year ago, and then they moved over there. The social media stuff really took off,” Veronica said.
“About that social media stuff, was there anyone maybe obsessed with her?” Maria asked.
“Only a million guys blowing up her DMs every day offering to take her to exotic locations.” Veronica rolled her eyes, said Jasmine never gave any of them the time of day.
“Anybody stick out as more obsessed than the rest?” Maria asked.
“There was a guy, maybe six months ago, Jasmine posted a story and normally, like, she’d never post a story at a location until we were out of the location because creepers will show up. You have to be gone to post that story, right? You know what I mean.”
Maria didn’t know what she meant because her social media had like twenty followers, all family and friends, but what Veronica was saying made sense.
“So, Jasmine posted this story at the mall. We ate one of those oversized pretzels with cinnamon and sugar, and we were there just hanging out and walking around, and this guy came up, he had bought a gift card for the pretzel store, and he gave her the gift card and told her it was so she didn’t go broke. Now maybe that guy was just there watching us, but I don’t think so. Because her post was like, I love this place so much I’m going to go broke buying these pretzels. So, he had to see the post and then go get the gift card. Of course, we were super freaked out, and she was like, I’m good, and he got mad because she didn’t want the gift card,” Veronica said.
“When you say mad, like how mad?” Michael asked.
“He called her an ungrateful bitch. Looked at her like he wanted to hit her. We walked off as fast as we could,” Veronica said.
“You didn’t happen to get his name, did you?” Maria asked.
“His name was Tom. We found him on our followers list and blocked him. Guy was a total freak show,” Veronica said.
“We’re going to need his social media info,” Michael said. “Anyone else you can think of?”
“Not off the top of my head. But let me go back through my blocked list and see if anyone sticks out,” Veronica said.
“When we talked with her family, they mentioned they hadn’t ever been to the house where she lived,” Maria said.
“The parents haven’t been there,” Veronica said.
“The sister has though, hasn’t she?” Maria said.
“Definitely, though they couldn’t let the mom know. She’d freak,” Veronica said.
“So, it’s a little confusing to me, and maybe it’s just because I’m not big into social media, I’m obviously not an influencer, so what is the reason why the parents had never gone to the house?” Maria asked.
“Some of it was Jasmine wanting distance from her mom. She’s a little high strung and super judgmental. Always worried about something drastic happening. Some of it was that Slate doesn’t really have much of a filter. He was just going to be Slate no matter what, and I think Jasmine wanted to keep her parents away from that,” Veronica said.
“Was Jasmine and Slate’s relationship genuine?” Michael asked.
Veronica looked at him like she didn’t understand the question.
“How much of being together was for the social media feed and how much of it was because they really cared about each other?” Michael asked.
“Their relationship was real. Arguments, makeup sex, working together to be better, all the things any couple goes through. But I’m sure they were also both aware that they fit together well because they both had the same goals and they complimented each other businesswise,” Veronica said.
“What were those goals?” Maria said.
“Everyone’s goals. Get rich and live happily ever after,” Veronica said.
“Do you know how Slate and Jasmine met?” Michael asked.
“We used to bartend at this speakeasy around the corner, and Slate came in with some friends one night. Invited us to a party at his place,” Veronica said.
“You mentioned he used to live out in Summerlin, so he must have had some money to start with. What did Slate do for work before he became this social media guy?” Maria asked.
“Honestly, I think he was a trust fund kid. His dad is some developer. George Powell,” Veronica said.
“You’re saying that Slate is George Powell Jr,” Michael said.
“God, he hates that name. No one calls him George,” Veronica said.
“Slate definitely has a better ring to it, especially for a social media post,” Maria said.
“I know, right? Slate really understands the power of image. He went from living off of his dad’s name to making his own money in a few short years. It’s admirable, and now that we’re talking about all this, Jasmine’s ex was not happy when she got with Slate. I think it was hard for him to see her all over social media, living that life, and him working as a mechanic,” Veronica said.
“Were there ever any threats made?” Michael asked.
“I never heard him threaten her directly, but she didn’t want him to know where she was living. Like now, when she was at Queensridge, who cares because no one was getting in there. But when she first moved in with Slate in Summerlin, she was really careful about telling anyone. She didn’t say it directly, but I thought she was worried Juan would come by and cause problems. He’s a little hot headed,” Veronica said.
* * *
Outside, Michael unlocked the car doors and looked over the hood at her. Maria knew what he was thinking.
“Yeah, not political at all this case. The victim’s boyfriend is George Powell’s son. No pressure whatsoever,” Maria said.
“It’s like you’re cursed,” Michael said.
“And he’s blaming it on the woman,” Maria said.
“You think there’s anything to this Juan the mechanic guy,” Michael said.
“Not really, but we’ll need to go talk to him. The pretzel guy too.”
“I’ll pull up the information on the mechanic. What was the last name again?”
“And miss our chance to go to the mansion in Queensridge? We can go talk to Juan later,” Maria said.
“Good point. Let’s go piss off the son of one of the wealthiest men in Vegas. That’ll be a way more productive use of our time,” Michael said.
“Knew you’d see it my way,” Maria said.
“Who needs a pension anyway?” Michael said.
4
Gated communities were their own kind of hell.
Queensridge was an uber exclusive development between Charleston Boulevard and Alta Drive accessed through a gate fronted by two enormous white unicorns.
