In Cold Blonde (16 page)

 “I’ve got a good feeling about today,” Syd said.  She was
working her cell phone as Ryan threaded his way through morning rush hour
traffic.  She checked her notebook, and dialed.  “Today we take one
more step on the road to immortality.  Today we’re going to get a lead on
the Lady in Red case, we’re going to tenaciously follow that lead using
intuition, skill and a little luck, and after a stunning revelation or two,
we’ll break the case wide open, bringing the murdering bitch to justice.” 

Ryan smiled, got to love her enthusiasm.  “Before or after lunch?”

“That depends on when,” she glanced at the bottlenecked traffic, “or
if
you finally get us to the office.  Yes, hello,” she said shifting to her
official voice as the cell phone was answered.   “This is Detective
Syd Curtis, Los Angeles Police Department; I’d like to speak to Mr. Reade please.” 
Chris Reade was Kathy Tuttle’s lawyer, the attorney who handled the
half-million-dollar settlement she received from Colin Wood’s father. 
“Yes, I know I’ve called before,” Syd said patiently.  “In fact, I think I
left two voice mails on your phone last night which speaks to the urgency of our
situation.  We’re in the middle of an ongoing murder investigation and Mr.
Reade may have information critical to the case.”  Syd listened for a few
moments, scribbled down a note then said, “That would be great, thank
you.”  She hung up, turned to Ryan.  “He’s out of town.  He’s
been in Miami for the last few days and is now on a flight to New York,
scheduled to land in less than an hour.  She’ll make sure he calls as soon
as he checks in.”

“Great.”

Syd called Colin Wood’s father but just got his voice mail, again. 
“Still not answering,” she said.  “Hello, this is Detective Syd Curtis,
LAPD, we need to speak to you as soon as possible, Mr. Wood, so please call us
back.”  She left her number and disconnected.  “Why is this guy so
hard to get a hold of?”

“Think he’s hiding something?”

“Hard to say.  I can’t imagine he’s involved in his own son’s
murder, but I did get the feeling he knew more than he told us at the morgue
yesterday.”

Ryan sensed the same thing.  “Me, too.”  Ryan’s cell phone rang;
he glanced at the caller ID, Anne.  An excited thrill shot through him,
surprising him.  Was he excited because of the money or because he’d be
talking to her? 

Syd read the same reaction.  “Let me guess,” she said.  “The
former Mrs. Magee.”

“You’d make a pretty good detective, you know that,” Ryan said and then
he answered the phone.  “Good morning.”

“Morning, Handsome.   I’ve got some papers I need you to sign
this morning.  I’m just leaving my CPA’s office now and I can be at the
Hollywood Division in about fifteen minutes.  You going to be there?”

“I’m about five minutes away.”

“Good.  And, Ryan, things are going to move kind of fast the next
couple of days.  We’ve got a lot of work to do setting up this foundation
before tomorrow afternoon.”

“No problem.”

“And keep tomorrow morning clear, I’m calling the lottery office as soon
as we hang up and asking for an eleven o’clock presentation.”

“Eleven o’clock,
got it.”

“Good. 
I’ll see you in a few minutes.”  Anne hung up.

Syd unhappily watched Ryan’s side of the phone call.  Ryan was
hanging on Anne’s every word and his excitement was palpable.  “She’s
coming to the station?”

Ryan nodded.  “I’ve got some papers to sign.”

Syd simply nodded.

Ryan picked up her mood.  “You said last night you were okay with
this.”

“I am,” she said, smiling at Ryan.  But she wasn’t.  She’d
accepted his taking the money, sort of.  At least there was some logic to
that.  But she had a major problem with Ryan spending so much time with
his ex-wife.  She just didn’t know what to do about it.  Yet.

Every cop on the force had heard about Ryan’s Lotto ticket by now so he was
besieged by well-wishers at the station, high-fiving him as he made his way
down the hallway.  When Ryan and Syd stepped into the bullpen, Ryan’s eyes
went to the guest chair next to his desk.  It was empty.  No coverall-clad
tow truck driver to ruin his day. 

But a pile of yellow phone messages were piled on his desk. 

“Jesus Christ,” he said picking up the stack.  “There must be a
hundred of them.”  He thumbed through a few.  “Calls from the
Today
Show
,
Good Morning America
, CBS, CNN, Fox News.”

“Ah, the official start of your fifteen minutes of fame.”

“
Time, Newsweek, New York Times, L.A. Times, Chicago Tribune
;
don’t these guys have real news to write about?” 

Syd picked up the one message on her desk.  “I got a call from my
hairdresser.”

Ryan rifled through the messages.  “There are calls from stock
brokers, financial planners, girls I dated in high school, and guys I haven’t
seen in years.”

“And they all want your money.  Tell me, Ryan, just how are you
going to decide who is entitled to share your bounty?”

“Hell if I know.”  Then Ryan cocked his head.  “Do you smell
something?” 

“What’s that?” Syd asked pointing to a paper bag sitting on the corner of
Ryan’s desk. 

Ryan opened the bag, took out a plastic covered dish.  “Meatball
soup.”  Something else was in the bag.  Ryan pulled it out. 
“And a business plan for Maribel’s Meatballs.”

Hanrahan stepped up.  “I love albondigas.”

“Here,” Ryan said shoving the dish into the Lieutenant’s hands. 

“Thanks,” Hanrahan said.  “Anything new on the Lady in Red?”

“Apparently Colin Wood didn’t believe that no means no.”

“There are two cases of date rape we know of so far,” Syd said. 
“And we’re guessing that we’ll find more.”

“And you think the Lady in Red was one of his victims?”

Syd nodded.  “Don’t suppose any bodies turned up last night with a
relocated penis?”

“No.”  Hanrahan eyed Ryan’s pile of messages.  “I’m hoping
those are from concerned citizens with tips on the Colin Wood murder, but I’m
guessing they’re from people hoping to pick your newly enriched pockets.”

“Yep.”

“Just remember to save a little for your brothers in blue.”

“And the inspirational man you work for,” Syd said.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”  Hanrahan took his
meatballs and headed back to his office passing Anne who walked in, spotted
Ryan, smiled and joined him.

“Good morning,” she said giving him a peck on the cheek, but her eyes
were on Syd.  She didn’t like what she saw.  Way too cute, and from
the way Syd was looking back at her, way too possessive.

Syd wanted to strangle Anne right there and then.  She hated the all
too familiar way she kissed Ryan on the cheek.  And she was so fucking
beautiful.      

“Anne,” Ryan said, “I want you to meet my partner, Syd Curtis.” 

“How do you do,” Anne said extending her hand.  Syd took it and they
shook, both squeezing a bit too hard.

“A pleasure,” Syd said, smiling so insincerely it could only mean one
thing. 

She’s fucking him, Anne realized.  The little bitch is fucking Ryan. 
This may complicate things.  “Look, I know you guys are busy, so if I can
just borrow Ryan for a few minutes…”

Ryan indicted the empty conference room.  “This way.” 

Syd watched them cross the room.  Anne was everything Syd admired in
a woman: smart, confidant, successful.  And one thing she hated;
predatory.  Anne had her sights set on Ryan, Syd could tell. 

Shit, Syd thought, this woman was going to be trouble.

“Syd seems nice,” Anne said as Ryan closed the conference room door. 
Anne opened her attaché case, pulled out some papers.  “How long have you
been partners?”

“Just a couple of months,” Ryan said, nonchalantly.  He didn’t want
to give any indication they were having an affair.  But Anne had always
been able to read him like a book, so he suspected she had already figured it
out.  “Syd transferred in after making a name for herself in Vice.”

Anne wanted to probe further, but resisted the temptation.  First
things first, she decided; getting the lottery money was priority one. 
“You’re going to get a check for thirty-four million dollars tomorrow,” she
said laying the papers out on the table, “and the immediate problem becomes
what you do with it.  Individual bank accounts are only insured for two
hundred and fifty thousand dollars per account per bank, so we’re going to
spread some of the money to a network of banks and buy thirty-day T-bills with
the rest.  These documents give me your power-of-attorney to open the
accounts and buy the T-bills, but nothing can be sold or withdrawn without
your
signature.”

“So you can’t steal my money.”

Anne looked at him to see if he was kidding, realized he wasn’t. 
“That’s right.  Only you can get at the money.  Ryan, you do trust
me, don’t you?”

If they were going to be working together, Ryan needed to clear the
air.  He knew how he felt, but he wasn’t the kind of man who liked to
vocalize his insecurities or fears.  Like many men, he bottled everything
up.  But this was an extraordinary circumstance and called for
extraordinary candor.  “I trusted you with my life and you broke my heart.”

If there was ever a doubt Anne still loved Ryan, it vanished with those
words.  Now it was time to start winning that heart back.  “And I’ve
regretted it ever since,” Anne said.  “To be honest, I’ve never been
happier than I was those three years we were married.  I was a fool to
leave you.  And if it makes you feel any better, Rick and I are getting a
divorce.”

Ryan’s heart leapt, catching him by surprise.  Suddenly Anne was
available again.  And part of Ryan wanted to win her back.  Prove to
her that leaving him was a terrible idea.  And part of him was still loyal
to Syd.  He had no idea what to say, so he settled on, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was a long time coming.  A fresh start is just what I
need, personally and professionally.  Ryan, your winning the Lotto couldn’t
have come at a better time.”  She took out a pen, handed it to him and
then with her best courtroom closing argument sincerity she said, “You can
trust me, Ryan.  I promise.”

Ryan looked into the face he loved for so long, missed for so long. He believed
her.   “Okay.”  He took the pen.

“Just sign here and here and I’ll get to work on opening these accounts.”

He signed.

In the bullpen, a worried Syd tried to work at her desk but her attention
kept drifting to the closed conference room door.  Her cell phone rang,
she answered.  “Hello.”

“Detective Curtis, this is Chris Reade; my office told me you called.”

“Yes, Mr. Reade, Kathy Tuttle told us you represented her in a
transaction with Colin Wood and his father.”

“I did.”

“She told us about the date rape, Mr. Reade, and she said you told her
Colin Wood had trouble before, in high school.”

“My assistant told me this was a murder investigation; could you tell me
who was murdered?”

“Colin Wood.”

There was long pause, then Reade said, “Now that’s interesting.”

“Why?”

And when Reade told Syd, she thanked him and rushed to the conference
room, knocked on the door and entered.  Anne was slipping some papers back
into her attaché case.  “Sorry to bother you,” Syd said.  “But we
just got a break.”

“Great.  Anne and I were finishing up.”

“I’ll call you later with an update,” Anne said to Ryan.  “And I’ll
probably have more papers to sign.  I’m moving into the Beverly Hilton
this afternoon, we can meet there tonight to sign the papers and go over
everything for tomorrow morning.”  She turned to Syd.  “Nice to meet
you, Detective.”  Anne swept out the door.

A worried Syd asked, “Why is she moving into a hotel?”

Ryan knew the answer would upset her.  “She’s getting a divorce.”

A silent moment registered between them as the implications settled
in.  “Should I be worried?” Syd asked.

I honestly don’t know, Ryan thought.  “No,” he said and then got
back to business.  “Tell me the news.”

“I just spoke to the lawyer, Chris Reade.  There was a rumored date
rape incident involving Colin Wood in high school.  In fact a few boys might
have been involved.  Reade knew the lawyer that handled the case, a man
named Zachary Stone.”

“Did you get a number, can we talk to him?”

“No, and that’s the good part.  For us, not him.  He’s dead. 
Shot to death in Newport Beach on Sunday.”

“The day before Colin Wood’s murder,” Ryan said, excited. 

“We’ve got a conference call scheduled with Newport Beach Homicide in
fifteen minutes.”

Technically there were no private beaches in Malibu, much to the chagrin
of the rich beach house owners.  The courts ruled that the public had a
right to build sandcastles wherever they wanted.  But for all intents and
purposes, many of the beaches were rendered private by the lack of public
parking.  And the closest public parking to Carbon Beach was miles away.

So Alice had to figure out a way to get close to Blake Hunter.  There
was plenty of information about Blake online.  His company, BHPIX, was one
of the largest suppliers of paparazzi photos in the world.  There was a
profile published in
L.A. Magazine
that talked about his statutory rape
conviction, which didn’t surprise Alice at all.  The fact that when Blake
got out of jail and actually dated the victim, who had finally turned eighteen,
did.  The relationship didn’t last but it certainly made Blake infamous.

 According to all her online research, Blake worked from home and
though he often went out, there was no schedule, no rhyme or reason to his
comings and goings.

And Alice knew there was a clock on her now.  She checked the news
when she got up this morning.  There was a story about the lucky homicide
detective who won the lottery and is investigating the Colin Wood murder, but there
was still no report of a dead body at the Bel Air Regent.  The old lady
should have come down to the desk fifteen minutes after the Lady in Red had
left the hotel looking for a way to retrieve her dog.  What
happened?  Did the old lady die?  Not likely.  Did they find the
body and decide to keep it quiet?  No, the cops didn’t work that
way.  Alice knew there were security cameras all over the hotel and the
cops would use them to get video of her.  And they would want that video
on television as soon as possible hoping someone would see her and turn her
in. 

So what?  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Alice
accepted the extra time gratefully.

Now her research did mention that Blake liked to go for a run every morning,
a three mile jog up and down the beach.  Since she couldn’t park nearby, Alice
rented a kayak at Paradise Beach and paddled two miles to a spot about one
hundred yards off shore of Blake’s house.  Then she waited. 

Blake, meanwhile, had sent the hookers home and was now hard at
work.  He’d converted one of his bedrooms into an office.  It had a
full on ocean view.  A huge desk sat in the middle of the room dominated
by a 27-inch iMac.  This is where Blake worked and did his photo
editing.  A 42-inch flat screen TV hung on the wall across from the
desk.  Two bookcases flanked the TV filled with a mixture of books and
DVD’s.  Another wall was filled with photos, shots of celebrities that had
helped make BHPIX so successful:  Lara snorting coke in a nightclub
bathroom; Britney climbing out of a car sans panties and flashing the world; Tara,
drunk, throwing up on the sidewalk. 

Blake had no guilt about what he did for a living.   Stars
needed publicity to pimp their movies and TV shows.  And most of the
celebs who adorned the
Enquirer, Star, People,
and
US
were people
who asked for it.   Everyone knows the paparazzi hang out at certain restaurants;
if you don’t want to be mobbed, don’t go to the fucking restaurant.  Eat
somewhere else!  Yet the twits continue to go to the Ivy, to Skybar, to
Morton’s and act annoyed when the paparazzi descend.     

And yes, some photographers went too far.  Blake didn’t really
condone extreme behavior publicly, but he paid his people huge bonuses for
those priceless snaps and never asked how they got them.

Blake checked his email and then turned to look out the picture
window.  It was a beautiful spring day, temperature in the low sixties, a
calm sea.  He checked his watch.  He had a meeting in about an hour,
but he still had time for a run.

Blake noticed a girl in a red bikini kayaking nearby as he jogged down the
beach but didn’t pay too much attention.  He was jogging away from her so
couldn’t see her for long.  But after he turned around and was jogging
back up the beach, he saw plenty of her.  Kind of hot, he thought, but she
was too far away to be sure. 

She seemed to be having trouble paddling and then as he got closer, the
kayak suddenly flipped and she disappeared under water.  Kayaks are
supposed to flip back over but this one didn’t.  And moments later the
girl popped to the surface, arms flailing, obviously in distress.

Blake kicked off his sneakers and dove in.  He was a good swimmer
and a few powerful strokes quickly brought him to her.  Her eyes were
panicked, wild.  She must’ve swallowed a mouthful of water when she
flipped over, because she was coughing, having trouble breathing.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Blake said, wrapping an arm around her. 
“Stay calm and I’ll get you to shore.”  The woman obeyed, relaxed, and Blake
paddled.

When they got to shore, the women bent over coughing as Blake’s retrieved
his shoes.   When he came back, the woman stood up and he got his
first real good look at her.

She was blonde, with green eyes, great tits and incredible legs. 
The ocean was cold, goose bumps covered her body and she was shivering. 
“You saved my life,” she said.

“But it looks like you’re about to freeze to death.  I live right
there,” he said pointing at his house.  “Come inside and let me get you
warmed up.”

She dazzled him with a smile.  “I’d like that.  Thank you.”