Page 63 of Wild Sentinel

We stepped into another room that was more of a lounge area. It wasn't quite as loud, and you could almost have a conversation. Almost. There were more cozy couches and dim lighting.

That's where I saw Autumn.

She was asleep on one of the couches.

I approached and gently shook her shoulder. She didn't move, and I shook her again. Her skin was cold to the touch. I checked for a pulse, and it was long gone.

I reclined her fully on the couch, checked her airway, then began chest compressions while Jack called 911. He had to step outside with the smokers so the dispatcher could hear him.

I kept up with the chest compressions, but Autumn wasn't coming back from this. I looked over her body for signs of trauma, but didn't see any.

It took about 15 minutes for the EMTs and paramedics to arrive. They started chest compressions again and broke out the defibrillator.

They couldn't bring her back.

Even if they could have, she wouldn’t be the same.

It took a while, but eventually two LAPD officers showed up, followed by the medical examiner and sheriff’s deputies. To my surprise, the party still raged, though I'm sure the organizers had left, not wanting any part of a dead body.

It didn’t take long for law enforcement to cut the power. That was the end of the show.

I displayed my badge to one of the LAPD officers. He interviewed us. "Do you know what kind of drugs your friend was taking?”

I shrugged. "I don't know. I had just spoken to her on the phone, and we were supposed to meet her here. She said someone was following her. I think we’re dealing with a homicide."

He seemed unconcerned. "Who called 911?”

"I did," Jack said.

“Who was following her?”

“I don’t know.”

That was the extent of the questions.

He took our names and contact information, but didn't seem to care one way or the other. This was just another occurrence in Los Angeles. Something they dealt with multiple times a night on the weekends.

I talked to the medical examiner after he finished with the body. This was a different pathologist from the one who worked the Molly Dean scene. By that time, the place had cleared out.

"I see no obvious signs of trauma. There is no standardization to these drugs they're taking. Sometimes, one hit is all it takes.”

“I don’t think she OD’d or had taken drugs voluntarily,” I said. “She sounded coherent, albeit panicked, when I talked to her.” I explained the situation. "Did you see any punctures from a needle?”

"Not on my initial evaluation, but I will look more closely when I'm back at the lab. Was she an IV drug user?”

"I don't know. I didn't know her that well. I only met her yesterday.”

“Perhaps she was having some kind of paranoid delusion when she called you.”

“It wasn’t a delusion.”

“I see quite a lot of this type of thing. You’d be surprised at what people start to believe on these drugs.”

“I’m aware.”

A confident smirk curled his lips. “Trust me, I’ll determine the cause of death.”

Autumn's body was bagged and transferred to a gurney. The medical examiner's crew wheeled her out of the warehouse. News crews waited outside to capture the footage. I'm sure the tagline would read young woman dies at illegal rave downtown.