In Cold Blonde (31 page)

Was tonight’s domino the bus ride eleven years ago when Alice fell in
love with Adam, Syd wondered.  Or her saying yes when he asked her to the
party, or Adam not walking out the door of the game room that night, or Nick
Wood raping Alice, or Alice’s father selling her out, or the doctor’s lying to
her about the cancer or Syd not answering Ryan’s phone call?

Liz asked, “And what was the first domino in your relationship with
Ryan?  The day you first met him… or the day he first met Anne?”

Syd recalled her binocular-enhanced view of Ryan kissing Anne.  A
melancholy smile touched Syd’s lips.  “I’m afraid it was the day he met
Anne.”

Liz touched Syd’s arm.  “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“Well, it’s not over until the greedy bitch sings.”

Liz laughed.

From the kitchen Ryan watched Syd and Liz.  What was Liz laughing
about, he wondered.  But Syd didn’t look amused, if anything, she looked
downright miserable.

Ryan knew Syd lied to him.  She’d said she’d just arrived at the
house a few minutes earlier, but when Ryan arrived, he put his hand on the hood
of Syd’s car.  It was cool, so she’d been there at least a half an hour. 
Plus, she told him to check out the mess in the master bathroom, but if the
Lady in Red had gotten the drop on Syd in the office, how would she have known
what was in the master bath?

He wanted to know why she lied.  He wanted to know what really
happened inside 22756 Pacific Coast Highway.

And then there was the bigger question.  What was to become of
them?  Looking at Syd he knew he still loved her.  But after the way
Anne so easily seduced Ryan, he had to wonder if he loved Syd enough.  And
what does he tell Syd about what happened at the hotel?  If he tells her
the truth, could she ever forgive him?  Should he lie to protect her
feelings? 

Syd’s attention returned to Ryan.  He was tense, tenser than she’d
ever seen him.   And ever since he first walked into Blake Hunter’s
house, there had been a reticence to Ryan, like he was holding something
back.  Anne?  She wanted to ask him what happened at the hotel, but
she was terrified he’d lie to her and she could never forgive him if he lied.

And so there they stood; two people looking across the crowded room at
each other, with so much to say to one another, and no idea how to say it.

The sky outside the picture windows lightened as sunrise approached. 
“Okay, people, time to feed the sharks,” Hanrahan said.  “Ryan, you’re the
reason every reporter in Southern California is camped outside this
house.  You want to make a statement?”

Ryan felt bad about killing the Lady in Red and worse about the lottery. 
The last thing he wanted to do is face a barrage of questions.  “It’s been
a long night, Lieutenant; if it’s all right with you, I’d just like to get home
and grab a little sleep before tomorrow’s lottery presentation.”

“No problem.  Syd, this is your chance to get famous; want to go out
there and tell everyone how you broke the case?”

My chance to get famous, Syd thought.  For years that drive to get
famous had fueled her career in the LAPD.  But now, somehow, it didn’t
seem as important as it did a few days ago.  “I’m kind of beat, too,
Chief.  I’ll pass if you don’t mind.”

Hanrahan reacted, surprised.  “No problem,” he said.  “I can
handle it.  You and Ryan head home and we’ll run interference.”

“Sounds good,” Syd said. 

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Ryan said, and then something occurred to
him.  “Wait, we still need to go through all of Blake Hunter video
material, see if we can find the high school tape.”

Syd panicked for a moment but was saved by Hanrahan.  “It’s late,
you’ve been up all night.  We’ll seal the house, come back tomorrow after
the Lotto presentation.”

“Great,” Ryan said stifling a yawn. 

Ryan and Syd weaved their separate ways through the crowded room and met
at the door.  “Are you coming to the presentation?” Ryan asked.

“Do you want me there?”

“Of course I do.  You’re the one who got me into this mess. 
You’re the one who found the ticket.”

Oh, shit, Syd thought.  Maybe that was the domino in her
relationship with Ryan, finding that stinking ticket.      

 “I’ll be there, Ryan, but I need to go home and grab some sleep.”

Ryan got her meaning.  She wanted to go to her apartment,
alone.  And honestly, so did he.  Ryan needed time to figure out what
the hell to say.  “Yeah, me, too,” he said.

As they stepped outside, the army of reporters, cameramen and
photographers burst to life.  Strobes flashed, camera shutters clicked, video
cameras zoomed in, the helicopters swooped low and questions were hurled at
them over the police barricades.   

Syd stared at the frantic faces of the massed media; part of her still
yearned to step up to the gathered microphones and bask in the limelight and
part of her was revolted by their scavenger-like behavior.   

“Detective Magee, is it true you shot the Lady in Red?”

“Do you know why she went on a killing spree?”

“Can you
confirm reports that she killed a man in Newport Beach last week?”

They ignored the questions as Sherriff’s Deputies cleared a path so Ryan
and Syd could back out of the driveway.  Ryan opened Syd’s door.  Syd
got in, and was about to ask Ryan about his meeting with Anne.  But she
was afraid of the answer; afraid he’d lie, so she hesitated.

“I’ll see you later, sweetie,” Ryan said and closed the door.  He
headed for his car.

Oh, fuck it, Syd thought.  She hit the button to roll down her
window.  “Hey, Ryan.”

He stopped and turned.

“I almost forgot to ask, how’d your meeting with Anne go tonight?” 

Ryan paused, measuring his words.  “Let’s just say, it was full of
surprises.”

Shit, Syd thought.  A non-answer!  But, hey, at least he didn’t
lie.  Yet.

“I’ll give you the details later,” Ryan said, waved and got in his car. 
As Ryan backed up, he’d wished he put his top up because the reporters were literally
shoving their microphones into his face shouting questions:

“Who was the Lady in Red?”

 “What was the final body count?”

“Did she know all her victims?”

Finally, his old friend, Patricia, from KNBC stuck her beauty pageant
winning smile in front of him and said, “Solving the biggest serial killer case
this town has seen in decades and winning the lottery – this must be a
great day to be Ryan Magee.”

A great day to be Ryan Magee, Ryan thought.  Yeah, right. 

He put the Mustang in gear and pulled away, leaving the unhappy media in
his wake.

 Anne couldn’t believe it.  As she drank her room service
coffee, she flicked between the morning news shows.  They were all
covering the same story:  The Lady in Red.

Why hadn’t Ryan called her to tell her the good news?  He’d not only
solved the case but also killed a notorious serial murderer. 

This was huge.

Getting publicity for someone winning the Lotto was one thing, getting
publicity for someone winning the Lotto who is also a genuine American hero was
a whole different ball of wax. 

This was great for the foundation.  Additional money should come
pouring in.  But new avenues for revenue had suddenly opened up. 
Books, movie offers, personal appearances.  Ryan Magee was about to become
an industry.

And he was all hers. 

Which made her wonder again why he hadn’t called?  Probably didn’t
want to wake me, she decided and reached for her phone.  She called him
but it went straight to voicemail.  Anne said, “Hi, honey, it’s me. 
I’m watching TV and I see you’ve had a busy night.  Congratulations, this
is wonderful news.  Call me as soon as you get up.  I want to hear
all the details.  I love you.”

Anne hung up, excitement rippling through her.  Today was going to
be a wonderful, unforgettable day.

Syd never got to bed.  When she left Blake Hunter’s house, she took
the Pacific Coast Highway to the Interstate 10.  She drove east to the
405, but instead of taking it north to head toward her apartment, she suddenly
took the ramp leading south to Orange County. 

It was just a little after dawn so traffic was light and before she knew
it, she was knocking on the front door.     

Betty Waterman answered the door and was surprised to see Syd.  What
was the detective doing back here? 

She obviously hasn’t seen the news, Syd realized.  And no one had
called the Waterman’s because the Lady in Red’s identity hadn’t been released
yet.

Then Betty read the expression on Syd’s tired face and put two and two
together.  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” Syd said, and the next thing Syd knew she was holding
Betty and they were both crying. 

Cliff Waterman greeted Syd brusquely and took the news stoically, as if
he always knew his daughter’s life would end like this.  And Syd sensed
something else, too.  Relief.  He was scared of Alice, she
realized.  Well, she had tried to burn down the house.  And now she
was killing people, so he was probably afraid he was on her hit list, too.

What do you say to the parents of a slain serial murderer?  How do
you console them?  Syd couldn’t tell them about the DVD or video
yet.  They had to remain secret for the time being.  So she said, “In
a few days everyone will know exactly what happened to Alice.  In a few
days everyone will know that Alice was the real victim.”  Then Syd told
them who to call to claim Alice’s body, and left.

Syd got in her car and shut the door.  Now what?  Instinct had
brought her to Orange County to tell the Watermans their daughter was
dead.  Or, was it something else?

Someone else lives in Orange Country.  In nearby Newport Beach not eight
miles from here.  Nick Wood.

Syd hadn’t actually thought it through when she took the DVD and video
from Blake’s beach house.  But she took them for a very specific
reason.  She took them because she didn’t want anyone else to see them until
she’d finished what Alice had started. 

Until she killed Nick Wood.

And now here Syd sat just a few miles from his house.  Of course, he
might not be home.  He’d been in hiding since his son’s murder. 

But if he’d seen the news, if he’d heard the Lady in Red was dead, then
it would be safe for him to reappear, wouldn’t it?

Syd pulled out her cell phone, looked up Nick Wood’s number from her
notes and dialed.  It rang once. 

Pick up, you sleazy bastard, Syd thought.

It rang again.  Alice is dead, you coward, pick up.

Another ring.  Shit, answer, God damn it.

Then, a click and “Hello?”

“Mr. Wood, hi, this is Detective Curtis from the LAPD.  We’ve been
trying to get a hold of you.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I got the messages, but I’ve been so upset by Colin’s
death I haven’t wanted to talk to anyone.”

Horseshit, Syd thought.  You just watched the morning news, saw the
Lady in Red is dead and have crawled out from under your rock.  “Well,”
Syd said.  “Good news, the Lady in Red won’t be hurting anyone else.”

“I know, I just saw the news.  Great work, Detective.”

I knew it, thought Syd.  “Thank you.  Mr. Wood, there are a few
personal items of your son I’d like to return to you.  I’ve just come from
a meeting in Newport Beach and could be at your home in ten minutes or so;
would it be all right if I dropped by?”

There was a longer-than-there-should-have-been pause; obviously Nick Wood
was trying to figure the angles, trying to guess how much Syd knew and didn’t
know.  But he must’ve realized that refusing to see her would have seemed
suspicious so he said, “Sure, I’m at 1412 King’s Road.”  He gave Syd quick
directions and hung up.

The house was a beautiful Mediterranean-style home sitting on an acre of
land with an ocean view.  Syd imagined an excited seventeen year-old Alice
walking up the stone steps to the front door eleven years ago, fantasizing
about her upcoming evening with her crush, Adam Devlin.  

Oh, Alice… 

Syd rang the doorbell.  A few moments later Nick Wood opened the
door.  Though it was only seven-thirty in the morning, he was dressed; Bali
loafers, khaki’s and another Polo shirt, light green this time.  But Nick
Wood looked a bit tired, a bit stressed. 

“Come in, come in,” Nick said.  Syd stepped into the entryway. 
The house was spectacular with hardwood floors, a thirty-foot spiral staircase,
artwork draped walls and the soft tic/tock/tic/tock from an unseen Grandfather
clock.

“You have a beautiful home,” Syd said.

“Thank you,” Nick said leading her down the hall and into the living
room.  It was surprisingly feminine, with a thick white carpet, giant tan couch
that could seat twenty of your favorite people, two loveseats, a coffee table
and vases of fresh cut flowers.  Everything faced the picture window, of
course, and the to-die-for view of the ocean. 

  Syd needed to know if they were alone, so asked, “It must take a
lot of help to keep a house this big.”

“Not really,” Nick said.  “It’s just me now.  So I only have a
housekeeper stop by three days a week.”

Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Syd assumed.  Today was Thursday,
excellent.

“Can I get you some coffee, Detective?  Or a latte?  I’ve got
my own machine in the kitchen.”

A latte would take him longer to make.  “A latte would be wonderful,
thank you.” 

“Be right back.”  Nick Wood left.

Syd wanted to look around.  She drifted out of the living room, down
the paneled hallway to another open doorway. 

The game room.

It all looked so familiar; the pool table sat in the middle of the room,
the bar at the far end.  There was a flat screen TV hanging on the wall
that wasn’t there eleven years ago, otherwise, it looked the same.  Syd
walked in. 

She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do.  Unlike Alice, Syd
had a lot to lose if she murdered Wood.  It would be difficult to put a
bullet in his brain, walk out the front door and escape prosecution.

A simple investigation would reveal she was in Orange County at the time
of the murder, and there was a phone call on her cell phone to the victim only
minutes before he was killed.  So she had opportunity.

She was a cop with a gun.  Means. 

Ryan knew Syd felt sympathy for Alice.  Motive.

Was Alice’s revenge really worth Syd’s own life?

“Oh, there you are,” Nick Wood said.  He handed Syd her latte, then asked,
annoyed, “What are you doing in here?” 

“I wanted to see where it happened,” Syd said, watching his face for the
reaction.

There was the slightest twitch from one of those bushy eyebrows.  “Where
what happened?”

“The gang rape of Alice Waterman.”

Nick Wood studied Syd.  He’s wondering how much I know, thought
Syd.  The police killed Alice in Blake Hunter’s home, so Wood knows we’ve
figured out the connection between Adam, Colin and Blake.  What he doesn’t
know is if we’ve seen the video, if we know about his involvement. 

“That’s why we were calling you, by the way.  We figured out something
happened when your son was in high school; we heard you’d made a payoff to one
of Colin’s classmates.  But we didn’t know who was involved or what
happened.  If you’d returned our calls, you could have told us Blake Hunter
was the third boy.  We would have warned Mr. Hunter, sent officers to his
house and he’d still be alive today.” 

“I’m sorry, but I told you.  I was so upset I didn’t talk to anyone
the last couple of days.  To tell you the truth, my doctor prescribed me
some heavy-duty tranquilizers and I’ve basically been in bed.  I haven’t
called my office or checked my messages.”

“And what about when we first met you in the morgue?  I’m sure you
suspected Alice Waterman then.  If you had been honest with us and told us
about the high school rape, we could have saved Adam Devlin’s life, too.”

“I didn’t suspect Alice, then.  I mean, it happened eleven years
ago, why would I suspect her for killing Colin now?”

“Do you own a gun, Mr. Wood?”

The sudden change of direction threw Nick.  “What’s that got to do
with anything?”

“I’m guessing you do.  And I’m guessing you’ve been holed up here,
with that gun close by, waiting to see if the Lady in Red showed up to kill
you.”

“Why would she have wanted to kill me?” he asked, but with failing conviction. 
He obviously knew where this conversation was going.

“I’ve seen the video, Mr. Wood.  I assume you demanded the video
from Blake Hunter eleven years ago when you agreed to buy Alice Waterman
out.  And Blake gave it to you.  But deep down you were always afraid
he kept a copy, weren’t you?”

Nick Wood played his last desperate card.  “A video of what?”

“You raping an unconscious Alice Waterman right here on this pool table.”

The air seemed to come out of Nick Wood.  He sagged against the bar. 
“Who else has seen the video?”

“Now that you mention it, only me.”  Hope flickered in his
eyes.  “But, sorry, no, it’s not for sale.”

“So you’re here to arrest me?”

“I wish I could.  But the statue of limitations on rape is ten
years, even for a disgusting animal like you.”

Now Nick Wood looked confused.  “If you don’t want money and you’re
not here to arrest me, what are you here for?”

“To kill you.” 

Wood jumped like an electric current hit him.  He stared at Syd,
waiting for her to pull her weapon, but she just stood there.

“But I’ve decided to just destroy you instead.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to send a copy of that tape to a friend of mine.  Before
you can say YouTube, your flabby ass is going to be seen on every computer
screen in America.  Then I’ll send copies to all the television
networks.  How will your friends and neighbors feel about you raping a
defenseless teenage girl?  How many of your clients will want to work with
a sexual predator?”

“But that was years ago!  I was drunk.  I told you before, I’m
sorry for the way I used to behave.  And now I’m impotent, doesn’t that… I
mean…” he tailed off as he realized how empty, how meaningless his excuses
sounded. 

“I want the world to see what you and those boys did to her.  I want
the world to understand that Colin, Adam and Blake
deserved
everything that
happened to them.  Alice killed them as an object lesson for women
everywhere.  As a call to fight back.  And she did something else
you’ll read about in tomorrow’s paper.  She cut off the cocks of her
attackers so that men everywhere would know there is a price to pay for rape. 
And just so you know, she was on her way over here to kill you, to slice off
your useless cock when she was killed by my partner.  I was upset at first;
I wanted Alice to finish her revenge.  But now that I think about it, I’ve
decided your punishment may actually be worse.  You’re going to become the
most hated man in America.  Every woman will know your name.  Every
woman will know what you’ve done.  Wherever you go, whatever you do, you’ll
be the scummy bastard who raped that poor high school kid.  The press will
haunt your every step.  Paparazzi will be camped on your front lawn. 
And once the initial outrage is over, and the media moves on to its next
victim, maybe, just maybe, some woman out there will finish what Alice
started.  I want you to think about that, every day; the next woman you
meet, the next corner you turn, the next doorway you walk through may be your
last.  And I hope that whatever woman finally kills you, cuts your cock
off first.”