The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) (13 page)

“Nice suit,” he said when she stood up.
“Come with me.”

Vinny followed him into a large office where a
middle-aged man in an ascot sat behind an enormous desk.

“Mr. Lesley, your two o’clock,”
said the young assistant.

The exec peered at his schedule, and with a puzzled
look waved her into the room.

“You must forgive me, but I don’t recall
seeing your name before.”

Vinny decided on a straight forward approach. “I’m
not going to lie to you. I’m not with Caribbean Pictures. I’m
not with any studio. My boss is investigating a murder.”

“What? Are you with the police?”

“No.”

“The press?”

“No. My boss is a private investigator. We
were hired by a woman whose husband was murdered. In the course of
our investigation, we came across information that led me here to
you.” Vinny leaned forward. “May I count on your
discretion?”

Now, Mr. Lesley was interested. “Certainly.”

“It has to do with the governor.”

“Governor Black?”

“Yes. According to my research, the governor
has been on the gay side of the marriage issue.”

“There is no secret that we have campaigned
hard to get Prop 8 overturned. The governor’s office has given
us assurances of support for our position. We have therefore
supported his campaign from the beginning. So what?”

“What about the federal judges?”

“What do you mean?”

“One of the federal judges slated to hear an
appeal on Prop 8 was murdered—a Judge Griggsby.”

“If you are suggesting—”

“Of course not. But you did know him.”
It was a statement, not a question.

Lesley paused before answering, but never flinched.
“We have studied the Proposition 8 issue and all those involved
thoroughly. Many people’s lives are drastically affected by the
outcome, as you can imagine. So yes, I know the name. What happened
to him was unfortunate. But we had nothing to do with his death.
Judge Griggsby was a supporter of our cause. That’s all I can
say.”

“Do you know anyone who would want him dead?”

“Why don’t you talk to someone from the
religious right.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“You think I am on familiar terms with any of
them? Now you insult me. I’m afraid, Ms. Moore, if that is your
real name, I must ask you to leave.” He stood up and nodded to
his assistant who was waiting in the hall.

As the assistant escorted her from the room, Vinny
smiled. Lavender Mafia or not, she felt like she just had an audience
with the Godfather.

Chapter Nineteen: Love Bites

Raja could not connect the dots between Judge
Griggsby and the other victims. He called Sharon Becker, the Chief of
Forensics, hoping she could coordinate with the San Francisco coroner
on the judge’s autopsy. He hoped to find a commonality among
the victims. He hoped to profile and identify the killer. While the
phone rang, Raja remembered Vinny’s suggestion. He also hoped
to get lucky.

“Coroner’s office,” said a female
voice, a sexy one at that.

“Sharon, it’s Raja Williams. I was
wondering if I could ask for your help.”

“You can ask. Whether I can help, we’ll
see.” She was still embarrassed for making the wrong call on
Randall Hope’s autopsy.

“It’s about the autopsy of Judge
Griggsby in San Francisco. I need to get the results, if possible.”

“I know the coroner. That should be doable.”

“I was hoping you could get a copy and go over
it yourself. I’m trying to sort out some details.”

“Okay. Anything specific you are looking for?”

“Wish I knew. Anything that ties his death to
the other victims connected to this case. Anything that might help.
Use your considerable skill and judgment.”

“No flattery necessary. I wouldn’t mind
making up for what I originally missed on the Hope case. When do you
need it?”

“Uhh, I have some other business to take care
of this afternoon. If you could check into it today, maybe we could
meet for dinner and you could tell me what you find.”

“Are you asking me out, Mr. Williams?”

“I need your help on the case. But, what if I
were?”

“I’d say Wolfgang Puck’s WP24
restaurant would be nice.”

“How about seven tonight at Wolfgang Puck’s?”

“Seven it is. I’ll meet you there.”

“Great. See you then.”
Win-win
,
thought Raja.

The call with Sharon had brightened Raja up, a
needed boost, considering the struggle he was having on the case.
There was a lot of money in play, and plenty of players, but Raja
couldn’t get the pieces to fit.

Meanwhile, Vinny worked on the money trail. It
wasn’t for humanitarian reasons that the U.S. federal
government put in strict regulations requiring all banking operations
to report large transfers of money in or out of their coffers. The
golden rule that successful kings have followed for millennia, still
applies today. He who has the gold makes the rules. One corollary to
that rule is: It is valuable to keep track of the flow of the gold.

On the one hand, internet banking and cloud
computing have made another old adage of criminal investigation,
follow the money, much easier to do. Now minutes or hours, not weeks
or months are required to track money anywhere on the planet. And who
needs to bother with warrants when a few keyboard clicks do the
trick. Truth be told, the feds don’t even need the burdensome
reports they require of banks. The feds have been mainlining the data
directly for years and usually get it before the banks do. They
collect and track official reports simply to intimidate banks, and to
alert them to any that are colluding with criminal clients.

However, while technology has made snooping easier,
it has also provided ways to defeat the programs that snoop. Anyone
who tells you machines are smart should talk to a pro hacker or two.
Machines have one fatal flaw—they always do what they are told.
You just have to know how and what to tell them to do.

Therefore, hiding money has also become more
sophisticated and is nearly impossible to detect unless you can speak
the language of computers fluently. And that is what Vinny could do,
like a lover whispering into an eager partner’s ear. There
wasn’t a computer or program made that could keep her out.

When Raja assigned her to follow the money it was
never a question of could she. The question was only when. This time
it had taken her three hours. She isolated the investments made by
Judge Griggsby. Most were typically conservative, like mutual funds,
but two stood out. The judge had put a large, disproportionate amount
of his money into two relatively new energy companies. Both had no
track records, much less proven ones.

Another fact became obvious the more Vinny dug. The
governor had more money in his political campaign coffers than could
be readily accounted for. Considerable effort had been made to keep
it that way. Nonetheless, Vinny was confident that, given time, all
would be revealed.

Later in the day, Raja said, “I’m
meeting with the coroner. She may have information that will help
us.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Wolfgang Puck’s.”

“Good for you, Raj. Go get her,” said
Vinny, smiling.

“I’ll be back later,” said Raja
ignoring her implication.

“No hurry. Take your time. I’ve got
loads of research to sort through.”

“Okay, okay. It’s a date. Are you
happy?”

“I am, actually.”

So was Raja. On the drive to the restaurant, Raja
was as excited as a school girl going to prom. He had plenty of
opportunity and experience with the ladies. It wasn’t that.
There was something he liked about Sharon. She had an intelligent
self-assurance that he admired in a woman. She reminded him of a
slightly older, more mature Vinny.

WP24 was Wolfgang Puck’s chic restaurant
twenty-four floors up in the Ritz Carlton on Olympic Boulevard in Los
Angeles. When Raja entered, Sharon was waiting for him at the bar
where a well-dressed male patron was talking to her. When she spotted
Raja, she waved to him, and the man attempting to hit on her walked
away disappointed.

Raja hurried to the bar, and said, “I hope you
were not waiting long.”

“Not at all.” Sharon wore a green summer
dress that flattered her figure and made her eyes pop.

“We have a table reserved,” he added,
looking around for the host.

“I brought that file you wanted,” said
Sharon.

“Huh? Oh, yes, thank you.” Raja had
already forgotten why they were meeting.

“Table for two?” asked the host, a
pleasant young woman.

“Yes, a reservation for Raja Williams.”

“Right this way, Mr. Williams.” The host
led them to a table with a spectacular view of the city.

Raja waited to hold Sharon’s chair before
sitting himself.

“A man with manners,” said Sharon.

“Vinny calls me old school.”

“I’m not complaining. As long as you
don’t try to decide my order for me.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. Would you like
a drink?”

“Seagram’s and coke.”

The waiter arrived at the table.

“Seagram’s and coke for the lady. Scotch
neat for me. The best you have.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter left.

Sharon pulled out the medical file she brought with
her. “I went over the autopsy and police report on Judge
Griggsby. Nothing much to see. A heroin overdose killed him. Assuming
his death was not accidental, it was done with a professional’s
attention to detail. A very minor bruise on the neck is all that
pointed to foul play. Nothing conclusive, to say the least.”

“It sounds consistent with our other bodies.
Could we be looking at the same killer?”

“Not with the judge’s wife. That one was
nasty and personal. I’d say sociopath, plain and simple.”

“That one was confirmed to be Fernando Lopez.”

“With that one exception, the rest could have
been done by the same guy. That’s really all I found.”

“Thanks.” Raja was eager to finish up on
work-related talk. He prompted Sharon with a few personal questions
and spent some time getting to know her.

When it was Sharon’s turn, she asked, “What
made you decide to become a private investigator?”

“It seemed like a good way to learn about
people.”

“I would imagine you see some of the worst in
people during your investigations.”

“You should talk. You see dead people.”

Sharon laughed at the phrase. “Yes, I suppose
it is all relative. For me, I am solving a puzzle, completing a
picture. It just happens to involve a dead body. On the plus side,
there is never any disappointment. They are already dead. But you, on
the other hand.” She paused.

“Plenty of room to fail, I know. Sometimes I
do.” Raja thought about how that didn’t matter to him.
His father had told him stories of the revolution in Cuba. How Castro
and the freedom fighters said they fought to stop the starvation and
sickness that claimed so many lives. Then after the bloody military
coup took over the country, the purging began. Rioters tore down the
homes of the wealthy, and dragged their dead bodies through the
streets. Those who got out could do little to help those trapped on
the island but pray for their immortal souls. The survivor’s
guilt had left Raja’s father empty inside for the remainder of
his life.

Seeing the toll on his father made Raja realize that
a man could be haunted as much by what he did not do as he could by
what he did do. Perhaps more so. Raja decided that he would be an
active force for justice and would use his resources to help others
in need.

“You take the bad with the good,” said
Raja. “I get to help people. That makes it all worthwhile.”

After the meal, they walked along Georgia Street
outside the hotel.

Sharon stopped and asked, “So, Raja, am I here
more as a pathologist or as a woman?”

“Busted,” he said, leaning in for a
kiss. Mid the passionate embrace that followed, Raja’s phone
beeped once. He ignored it until a female voice from the phone said,
“It’s Vinny.” Vinny had programmed Raja’s
phone with her voice as the ring from her number.

“Cute,” said Sharon.

Raja winced. “I better take this,” he
said.

“Vinny, hey, what do you need?”

“Sorry to interrupt, boss. I just got a
message from Detective Rafferty. Says he has some information you are
going to want. He called it a game-changer.” Vinny couldn’t
resist any longer. “So, how’s your date going?”

“Good, until now, thanks. I’ll call
Rafferty.” Raja ended the call. He looked at Sharon, and said
defensively, “It’s about the case.”

“Uh-huh. Well, look, I should be going
anyway.”

“Wait. I just need to call Tommy. He has some
important news.”

“That’s okay. You go ahead.”
Sharon started to walk away. Raja looked disappointed until Sharon
turned and said, “I had a great time, by the way. Thanks.”

Raja watched her walk off, making a winner out of
the dress she was wearing. After she turned the corner, Raja called
Detective Rafferty. “Hey, Tommy. What’s up?”

“I might have something for you,” said
Rafferty. He sounded excited. “I just got a call from one of my
techies. He recovered remnants of some emails that were on Jennifer
Gowan’s hard drive. From the looks of the data, she and the
governor were knocking boots, and on more than one occasion. The man
identified himself as ARBY, but coming from the governor’s
computer—ARBY, R-B, Robert Black.”

“I get it, Tommy.”

“Well get this. Turns out Jennifer was a
registered porn actress. You’ll never guess what her stage name
was?”

“Cherry Long,” said Raja, without any
doubt.

“Yes. How did you know that? You know, you
could have just played along.”

“Sorry, Tommy. Blame it on Vinny. She doesn’t
miss much. Can you pull the governor in for questioning, or get a
search warrant?”