If You Must
Previously: Paco, Mark & Jeannie chat with Ryan Dominguez, close friend of missing teen Alexa Thomas, then discuss their findings over sandwiches at Marina Subs.
2:45 PM - Saturday, November 1, 2014
50 Laurel Street, Presidio Heights, San Francisco
The Dagonet house was an imposing brick pile with bold white window frames. It stretched across almost half of the eastern side of Laurel Street between Jackson and Pacific, with the Presidio Wall dead-ending Laurel — the trees of the Presidio waved in the distance. A white-framed entry portal about a quarter of the way down the block was flanked with twin round windows and a tall multi-paned window above, lighting the stairwell inside. The afternoon sun was trying to break through the gloom, its low angle lighting up the full facade of windows facing west. Paco pulled to the curb opposite and let out a low whistle.
“Dang. That’s a huge house.”
“Yeah.” Jeannie said. “It’s historic too. It was once the home of the head of Wells Fargo Bank. Designed by Bliss and Faville, early 20s, I think.”
“How do you know these things?” Mark asked.
“Architecture is kind of a hobby.” Jeannie replied. She wasn’t about to explain herself to Mark, no matter how much he was growing on her. “Yeah, I’d estimate we’re looking at about 7 figures in San Francisco property value.” Jeannie popped the door and climbed out, with Mark and Paco following. She trotted across the street quickly, giving the front doorbell a good, long press. Mark and Paco stood behind her in the portal, trying to look normal. No one responded to the doorbell. She pressed again, and a third time to make sure it was heard. They could hear the bell outside so it was obviously loud, but there was a low hip hop bass vibration coming from somewhere within. Jeannie rang a third time. A squeak of feedback from the intercom sounded.
“Hey - who is it?” It was the voice of someone young and male.
“Charlie Dagonet? This is Officer Jean Hagen of the SFPD, I need to speak with you?”
No response. Jeannie turned around to look at Paco and Mark; both shrugged. She rang the bell again. The bass vibration cut off abruptly.
“Okay. I’m coming. Keep your bra on.” Came the electronic voice over the box.
“Nice kid.” Mark said to them. They waited another full minute. Jeannie rang the bell and held it. Finally, a loud electronic buzz sounded from somewhere within while the front door made a metallic unlocking sound like “shump”, swinging open a few inches. Jeannie turned to look at Mark and Paco. Mark nodded at her.
“We’ll follow your lead.” He whispered.
“After you, please miss.” Paco said. Jeannie chuckled a little, rolling her eyes. The three of them came in the front door to a small vestibule with a polished black and white checkered floor. A round table dominated the middle with a large vase of autumn florals: antique hydrangea and dark burgundy peonies with autumn leaves and eucalyptus. Jeannie knew the peonies were out of season, and those stems alone would have been hundreds of dollars. A stairway at the back had a Persian runner held in place with brass riser bars. They approached the bottom of the stairway.
“Who are you?” The tone was accusatory. Jeannie, Paco, and Mark all looked up to see the figure of a handsome teen boy standing above them at the next landing. He was shirtless, lean and well-muscled, with a shaved head and furrowed brow.
“Charlie Dagonet? I’m Officer Jean Hagen, I need to speak with you.” Jeannie didn’t offer any explanation to him either. Charlie Dagonet looked them over, his face a mix of skepticism and intolerance.
“Well, if you must, you must.” Charlie said, with faux politesse, gesturing grandly to the stairway. The three officers made their way up the stairs to meet him at the landing. It was empty but for the opulent light fixture and the Steinway Grand stationed on the opposite wall with the large windows. A beautiful brunette girl with luxurious brown eyes was sitting on the piano bench looking at them come up the stairs. Charlie was shrugging into a silk Gucci pajama shirt to match the pajama pants that were low-slung on his lean hips. Jeannie was well-aware of his fit physique, but kept her eyes on his face. He buttoned the second-to last button on the pajama top, leaving plenty of bare skin at the top.
“Charlie Dagonet?” Jeannie ventured, removing her cap and tucking it under her arm.
“You keep asking me. Yes, it’s me.” He answered impatiently, walking forward.
“Good.” She replied. “I’m Officer Jean Hagen, this is Paco Mayfield of the US Park Police, and this is Mark Greenberg of the FBI.”
There was a man in the dining room to the left, packing a small duffel. He had a stethoscope around his neck, but was otherwise wearing jeans and a sweater. He looked up at the three officers.
“Hi - Jake Goodman.” He gave a wave.
“He’s my doctor.” Charlie offered. A private doctor making house calls to a kid?
“Are you sick?” Mark deadpanned.
“Charlie’s had an upset stomach but it’s minor.” Dr. Goodman replied, gathering his bag and heading toward the stairs. “Speak to you soon, Charlie.” He said as he descended quickly, Charlie nodded at him, taking a deep inhale. The girl at the piano stood.
“I should go too Charlie.” Her accent was French, saying his name as “shar-LEE”, but anyone could tell she was French just by looking. She had a whole Jane Birkin thing happening with the curtain bangs, trench coat and little Repetto flats. He nodded quietly and they kissed on both cheeks. “Call me, oui?” She asked softly. He nodded again and she headed for the stairs, offering Jeannie a shy smile. They heard the front door bang and Jeannie looked at their host.
“She’s a little old for you.” She offered. Charlie raised his eyebrows.
“Michelle? She’s my au pair.” His eyes glinted, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’m kidding. I don’t have an au pair. She’s my French tutor.” He grinned. “I’m kidding. I don’t take French.” The smile faded slowly when Jeannie didn’t bite. “Okay. She’s a friend, and the au pair of a family over on Presidio Terrace. She comes over sometimes.” Presidio Terrace - Interesting. “We practice our French.” He smiled again, full of himself and his innuendo.
“Ah.” Jeannie smiled tightly. “Alors, je suis certain que vous parlez très bien Français, non?” She queried. Charlie’s mouth twitched again.
“Mais oui, j’etudait en Suisse l’année dernier. Et vous?”
“La Sorbonne.” Charlie’s eyebrows raised again.
“Well. That was fun.” He spat, eyes narrowing. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to ask you some questions about a party last night?” Jeannie offered vaguely.
“Great. Anyone want a coffee?” Charlie walked away from them on bare feet through the formal dining room, the golden afternoon sun making an effort through the large windows. Jeannie looked at Mark and Paco with a face of disbelief as the kid just walked away. They shrugged and gestured to follow their host. Taking a deep breath she followed his route through the dining room; Jeannie looked the room over and instantly knew the wallpaper in there was hand-painted de Gournay and probably cost at least $150K alone, never mind the furniture and huge chandelier.
Charlie moved through a swinging door at the far end of the dining room, which opened into a sort of butler’s pantry that was overrun with tarnished silver and serving dishes of every shape and size. An overly-high stack of white platters tilted precariously on the back counter, while glass-fronted cabinets reached to the ceiling revealing multiple patterns of china, crystal stemware, vases, and candelabra.
An immaculate kitchen connected through the right, with a double Wolf range, a vast central island, and a long counter with a double-wide sink on the opposite wall. Two SubZero refrigerators stood side by side to the left, with a large wine fridge next to them. Jeannie couldn’t even look at Paco and Mark — she had been in houses like this before, but wasn’t sure how those two would play it.
In the corner, a beautiful, glossy chrome Breville espresso machine was coming to life at Charlie’s command. Jeannie knew it was the one Chris had wanted, but he’d opted instead for the one without the computerized command center, saving at least $500.
“Espresso?” Charlie offered, reaching for the Hèrmes demitasse cups stored above the Breville.
“Sure, I’ll take one.” Mark offered.
“Same,” Paco said.
“Make it three.” Jeannie said. She felt the pommel of her nightstick, it seemed to be grounding her. She also noticed her jaw was tight. Being in a house like this set her on edge and she hated it, but thought it might be useful too. She hated his blasé response to three officers, two of them federal, dropping into his house. Here was a boy whose way had always been made softer in every circumstance. That’s fine. Let him think he’s above it. Jeannie felt her ire growing.
The Breville roared to life while Charlie set up the three demitasse expertly, placing small spoons and sugar cubes on each saucer. Jeannie considered asking for a lemon twist, just to see what he’d do. It took a minute for all three espressos to be ready, but he poured them out quickly in succession, and slid them across the kitchen island. Mark went for his first, slurping it down in two gulps. Jeannie took slightly longer, her eyes on Charlie, who made his last. It was uncomfortable for all of them, but she’d keep it going. Charlie finally looked at her over the top of his cup.
“Thank you,” Jeannie began, “you’re a very good host.” She thought she’d try for polite.
“What about last night, anyways?” He asked her. Jeannie noticed he’d barely looked at Mark or Paco.
“Finally, he asks.” Jeannie smiled at him slyly. Charlie recoiled, eyes getting wide and then narrowing, putting his cup down with a clatter. She tilted her head as she looked at him.
“Let’s go into the living room, then.” He offered, gesturing toward the door they’d just come through.
“Lead the way.” Jeannie said in a friendly tone. Charlie rolled his eyes and led them back through the pantry, dining room, and across the entry landing with the Steinway and through to the formal living room that stretched across the north side of the house. The low sun lit up the Dior gray walls, pale blue sofas, and Hollywood Regency details. And then there was the art. Jeannie knew she’d recognized the Dagonet name, and realized she’d seen it on some of the title cards at the SFMOMA. Charlie took a seat in the center of the far sofa, opening his pajama top and leaning back, exposing his lean, well-defined torso, both arms stretched out across the back of the sofa. The wild Gucci pattern of the pajama was entirely at odds with the elegant room. He immediately propped his feet up on the lacquer coffee table that was laden with a mass of deep pink phalaenopsis. He lifted his two hands in a shrugging gesture as Jeannie eased her way forward, looking around casually. “This is a beautiful room. It used to be different though.” Jeannie said thoughtfully.
This landed with Charlie. She saw him reassess her. Clearly the French didn’t impress, but the idea that she’d have been in his home at some time before seemed to make him curious. Jeannie knew the house, but she’d never been there before at all. Considering the wealth on display, she gambled that there’d probably been vast renovations done to the place, so let him chase the bait.
“You’ve been here before?” Charlie ventured.
“Sure.” She said, again with her friendly tone. “But it was a long time ago. I was probably about your age.” She was looking right at him, noticing his clear blue eyes in his lean face. “Someone’s deb party, I think.” Jeannie feigned confusion and let that sink in. “Where are your parents, Charlie?” He did his hand wave shrug again.
“Somewhere.” He said flatly. “My mother went to fashion week and I haven’t seen her since. My father’s probably…I don’t know, buying art somewhere.” Fashion week is in September. Jeannie tried not to feel sorry for the kid.
“Hmmm. Who bought all this art?” Jeannie asked, casually.
“My grandfather.”
“Ah. That makes sense.”
“You know art?” He asked. Jeannie gave Charlie one of her sweetest smiles.
“I know Diebenkorn. And Matisse.” She gestured at two of the pieces gracing the walls. “And that’s a rather lovely Joan Mitchell over there.” She said, looking at the colorful piece between the windows that faced north. She enjoyed Charlie’s attention - he was starting to see she was a worthy adversary.
“Well, take your pick. No one will notice.” Charlie said, annoyed but pretending to be blasé.
“Ooooh. Trick or treat for me!” Jeannie chose the Chippendale armchair nearest to where Charlie was on the sofa. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Paco leaning against the doorframe of the living room, while Mark had moved in slightly closer, choosing a place near the large fireplace opposite her. “Actually Charlie, I hear you were handing out a lot of treats last night at the party.” Charlie’s face hardened slightly.
“What are you talking about?” He asked quietly. Jeannie cocked her head again.
“The…what were they called?” She looked to Mark.
“Trick or Tito’s” He answered.
“Yeah, I thought that was cute. Little party favor for everyone?” Jeannie gave him the full effect of her big eyes. Charlie chuckled slightly.
“You’re here about some bottles of vodka?” Charlie asked her, clearly bemused.
“Maybe.” Jeannie countered. She waited a beat. Charlie looked from her to Mark, to Paco.
“Look…” Charlie began, but Jeannie cut him off.
“Charlie,” she began a bit forcefully, “I really appreciate this Chuck Bass-Tony Montana thing you’ve got going on, it’s very well-rehearsed. But I find it SOOO interesting that not one, but three law enforcement officers from three different jurisdictions have arrived at your door and you don’t seem to think this is a serious matter.” Charlie’s smirk had flattened into a line, his eyes glinting at her suspiciously. Charlie bolted to his feet and Mark moved forward slightly in response.
“I’m not talking to you. You can call my lawyer.”
“That’s fine Charlie.” Jeannie responded. “I’ll just call my VICE squad,” she said, her voice steely. She looked up at him from her chair. Charlie froze when she said VICE squad. Bingo.“I’m sure they’ll be interested to know who and what you know. And they’re so accommodating on the weekends.”
Mark quietly moved closer to Charlie, getting within two feet of him. Mark’s height was daunting, he had at least 3-4 inches on Charlie, but the look on his face was downright threatening.
“Have a seat.” Mark said softly, gesturing to the sofa. Charlie considered him and looked to Paco who was now blocking the doorway, arms akimbo. Charlie flopped down again into the cushions. Mark stood above him for a long second, then grabbed the other Chippendale chair and moved it in close on the other side. Charlie looked at Jeannie, and she saw him for what he was: a scared kid. The fear behind his eyes was deep.
“Tell us about the drugs you brought to Tripp Hartman’s Gatsby Party last night.” Jeannie said calmly. Charlie looked surprised. Caught off guard, even.
“What?” he shot out. “I didn’t bring any drugs to any party.”
“That’s not what we heard.” Jeannie said. Charlie glared at her. “We heard there was some molly, joints, and maybe some oxy too.” Jeannie made that up, but it made sense. “I also heard there was some GHB going around?” Jeannie did the head tilt again and pulled a face of innocence.
“Okay, woah.” Charlie said, gesturing with his hands, as though he was trying to push away the whole situation. “Who told you this?”
“Someone who was there.”
“Okay, well I didn’t bring any drugs or alcohol to any party last night. Whoever told you I did was lying.”
“Why would they lie to us?”
“I don’t know. Why would I lie to you?” Charlie countered. Fair play to him. Jeannie considered him quietly for a few long seconds. He didn’t look away.
“Okay, so where did the drugs come from?” Jeannie asked. Charlie chuckled and looked away. “What’s funny?” Charlie snorted.
“You’re funny.” He said to her. “”Where did the drugs come from?”” He mocked. “Are you serious? People my age can get drugs from just about anywhere.”
“We heard there was Oxy there.”
“There may have been, but I wouldn’t know. I don’t touch Oxy.”
“So where would someone get ahold of Oxy?” Charlie snorted again and rolled his eyes.
“Where do you think people get their Oxy: their parents’ medicine cabinet.” True. Jeannie gave herself a beat and thought of a new tack.
“So who brought the drugs, Charlie?”
“Who told you there was drugs there?” Jeannie heard Mark scoff lightly. Charlie’s eyes flashed at him.
“You think we’re gonna tell you?” Mark asked, smiling a little.
“You think I’m gonna tell you about drugs last night?” Charlie countered, his face was steel. “Nah.”
“Nah?” Mark asked.
“Nah.” Charlie nodded at him. Mark demurred and Jeannie gave him slight smile. Pausing, she squinted at Charlie a little and began again.
“Charlie, you’re a senior, right?” Charlie exhaled and considered her, warily. “Where are you heading next year?” Charlie looked away.
“Stanford. For water polo.” He said quietly, looking into his lap. “That’s why I don’t do heavy drugs, or deal them.” He looked right into her eyes. Well, that explains the bod. Jeannie cleared her throat, and looked over to Paco.
“Hey Mayfield, what’s the charge for possession of drugs on federal land?”
“Oh, it’s a felony. 9 years, minimum.” Paco returned immediately. “More with intent to sell.” Jeannie looked at Charlie wide-eyed, making sure Paco’s words landed.
“Charlie we have a witness that said that you not only brought drugs to Tripp Hartman’s house, but also to the little VIP party the two of you held at Inspiration Point in the Presidio. And that, is federal land.” She breathed, looking at Charlie’s face which was looking everywhere but at her. “I mean, I know you know that, seeing as how you live about 50 feet away from the Presidio, but I thought I’d just be clear.” Charlie’s right knee was bouncing. “What will Stanford say when you have a federal felony on your record?” Jeannie said this last part slowly, wonderingly, making sure he heard every word.
“Well, I didn’t bring any drugs or alcohol, so they won’t care.” Charlie said diffidently, staring at the ceiling. Jeannie sighed audibly. It was maybe the most revealing thing the kid had said. She had a glimmer of pity for him, but knew it was likely bluster.
“You’re right. Your Daddy will just write them a check.” She countered. Charlie’s face went slack, his eyes dangerous. His fury rolled right off his pool-toned body. She knew that nothing bothered a rich kid like reminding them that they wouldn’t be anywhere without their parents’ money. She had no doubt Charlie was an excellent water polo player, was probably smart, and evidently enterprising, but she also knew that because of these things the hint of nepotism would irritate him to the core. Jeannie leaned toward him. He was denying all of it, so this was shaky ground, but she had to make a final play.
“You don’t seem quite clear on this situation, so let me explain it to you.” She said in a low voice. “If it wasn’t you, then you tell us who was supplying the drugs last night, and who was asking for them, and Greenberg and I will see if it’s enough to keep Mayfield from charging you with a felony.”