“Want me to come along?”
“No. You keep working on the party guest list.” Minutes later, Raja squealed out of the parking garage and headed to the 101 freeway.
Ten minutes after her conversation with Raja, the front doorbell rang. Ramona was relieved not to be alone. “That was fast,” she said, as she opened the door.
It wasn’t Raja. Fernando stood in the doorway. The look on his face didn’t promise playtime.
Ramona knew she was in trouble. She checked the strong impulse to slam the door, knowing he could easily overpower her. Instead she forced a smile. “I’m so glad you came over.” Fernando stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I’ll bet joo are.”
Ramona was desperate to buy some time. She moved closer and put her hand on his crotch.
Fernando did not respond. “Show me joo love me,” he said coldly.
Ramona got on her knees, touching his thighs. She expected him to unzip his pants.
Instead, he whipped off his belt, cinched it around her neck and pulled it tight. “Who did joo tell?” he demanded.
“Tell what?” Cough. “Stop it, you’re scaring me.”
Fernando dragged her out through the back onto the patio by the pool. He dropped her on the flagstone like a sack of potatoes.
Ramona’s face was bright red and she looked scared. She clawed at the belt to loosen it. Gasping and choking, she pleaded, “Stop, please. You are hurting me.”
“What did joo tell him?” demanded Fernando.
“Who?” Ramona instinctively knew she must not answer.
Fernando backhanded her hard across the face, sending her sprawling across the flagstone deck.
The throbbing in Raja’s temples told him he needed to hurry. He redlined the Ferrari as he raced to Thousand Oaks. He called Vinny. “I’m on the way to the Griggsby’s. I think what she heard may be the reason Randall Hope was killed. And I think she is in danger. Can you get the police there?”
“You want a police alert?”
“That would be great. Make it an armed B&E in progress.” Raja’s confidence in Vinny knew no bounds.
“You want fries with that order?” she asked, expecting no response. Her fingers were already flying.
Ten minutes later, Raja skidded the Ferrari to a stop in front of the Griggsby house. The police had not responded yet and the yawning front door meant trouble. Inside Raja saw signs of a struggle and several spots of blood on the floor. He followed the blood drops out to the pool area. His heart sank when he saw the limp body of Ramona Griggsby floating silently on the lighted aqua surface. Raja jumped in. He dragged her to the side and pushed her onto the edge of the flagstone deck. After climbing out of the water, he knelt down over her, checking for any sign of life. She was already dead. He looked at Ramona’s swollen face. She had been a beautiful woman. Not anymore. She was beaten and choked before being dumped in the pool.
Raja started to stand up when a sharp pain exploded down his spine that made his fingers tingle and his ears buzz. A bright flash of white faded into darkness.
Raja dreamed he was waiting in line to get into heaven and had inexplicably lain down by the side of the road and dozed off while everyone else walked through the pearly gates. For some reason he couldn’t wake up even though he knew the gates were slowly closing. A beautiful angel hovered over him, slowly flapping her wings and telling him to wake up. When Raja opened his eyes, Vinny was staring down at him with a fearful look.
Raja blinked twice, grimaced in pain and then smiled at her. “I didn’t quite make it through,” he said. “Guess it’s not my time.”
Vinny was simultaneously relieved and annoyed. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
“You are such a cowboy, Raj. Promise me the next time you’ll wait for help, will you?”
Raja smiled. “You know I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep.” He looked around at the policemen marking evidence at the scene.
A young Ventura County detective stepped up to Raja and Vinny. “Raja Williams, right?”
Raja sat up, feeling the back of his head. “That sounds about right.”
“Is that your name, or not?” demanded the detective.
“Can’t this wait?” asked Vinny, getting more annoyed.
“No, miss, it can’t. We have a murdered woman and this guy lying right next to her dead body.” The detective zeroed in on Raja. “We gonna find your DNA on the dead girl?”
“Probably. I pulled her out of the pool—but she was already dead.”
“And you know this woman how?”
“She called me. I was coming here to talk to her.”
“About what?”
“A case I’m working on. I’m a private investigator.”
“What case?”
“Did I stutter? I said private—as in, my client’s information is private.”
The detective was about to read Raja the riot act when Detective Rafferty showed up.
“He’s working on a case with me,” said Rafferty.
“That may be,” said the young detective, “but we got a B&E call to this address, and on arrival my officers found him and Mrs. Griggsby laid out on the deck. We haven’t yet located or contacted the vic’s husband, Judge Griggsby.”
Rafferty touched the back of Raja’s head.
“Ouch.”
“Do you think he did this to himself?” asked Rafferty.
“We-l-l-l.” The detective didn’t have an answer.
“Okay, then,” said Rafferty. “What’s your name?”
“Detective James.”
“Detective James, this is your case and your jurisdiction. But, I can vouch for this man. I suggest you get his statement and start looking for whoever did do this.”
Rafferty was well known and respected even in Ventura County. Detective James thought better of challenging him. “What can you tell me?” asked the young detective, now with a decidedly less hostile tone toward Raja.
“As I said, I came to meet with Mrs. Griggsby at her request. When I found the front door open and blood on the floor, I went in. Her body was floating in the pool. I pulled her out hoping to revive her, but she was already gone. Then someone hit me and I blacked out. I didn’t see or hear anything.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“Perhaps a vehicle when you arrived?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
“Okay, you are free to go. But don’t leave town, for now.”
Rafferty said, “If you find out anything please contact my office in major crimes. I will do the same if my case reflects on yours. Okay, Detective?”
“Sure.” Detective James was not satisfied, but he reluctantly walked away.
“Okay, Raja, Vinny already told me you got a call from Mrs. Griggsby. What did you find out?” asked Rafferty.
“Not as much as I hoped. She did tell me that she overheard the judge yelling at someone on the phone. Something about altered documents, and government funding.”
“Who was he talking to?”
“No idea. If she knew, she didn’t want to say over the phone.”
“She won’t tell us much now,” said Rafferty wistfully, looking at her pale cold-grey face.
“Actually, she may be able tell us who killed her. There was no forced entry. If I’m right, you better have that detective compare any DNA from her wounds to any found on that bottle of tanning lotion.” He pointed to the bottle of Hawaiian Tropic on the table. “We might get lucky. He will have to exclude any of my own DNA he may find on the bottle, of course.”
Rafferty didn’t want to ask.
Chapter Ten: The Ranch
Meanwhile, Clarice Hope was biding time at her horse ranch in the foothills outside of Santa Barbara. She owned two Arabians and a half dozen American Quarter Horses maintained by Joe Ferguson, an old-timer who managed the ranch. Riding was a passion from Clarice’s youth, but it could only keep her occupied so long. She trot
ted in from a ride on her favorite horse, Night Sky, a beautiful black Arabian. Joe met her at the stables.
“He still has the spirit of a champion,” she said. “Nearly tossed me on the upper trail when I gave him the reins.”
“I told you he could have been a stakes horse at the very least,” said Joe.
Clarice wrinkled her nose. Because of the deep affection she had for horses, she felt racing was an unnecessary abuse that too often resulted in tragic breakdowns. She wouldn’t allow racing with any horses she owned, despite having high quality purebreds of outstanding lineage. “I’m going into town for a bit, Joe,” she said, while dismounting. “I won’t need another horse to ride for a couple days. After you brush him down, you are free to take some time off.”
“I have been promising to visit my daughter in San Diego. Won’t be gone more than a week, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, Joe. Have fun.” Clarice showered and then drove her silver Bentley down from the foothills into Santa Barbara to do some food shopping. She parked, and as she walked toward the entrance to the Whole Foods Market, a black BMW sedan pulled slowly into a parking spot two rows over from her Bentley.
A man with closely cropped blond hair got out and walked to the oak tree on the right of the store’s entrance. He waited there, chain smoking non-filter cigarettes. Half an hour later when Clarice came out and walked to her car, the man dropped his current cigarette, stepped on it and followed her across the parking lot. Two more women exited the store behind him, talking and laughing. Alerted by the sound, the blond man froze and looked over his shoulder at the women, like a predator sizing up its prey. When he turned back, Clarice had gotten into her car and was driving away.
Chapter Eleven: The Club
The EM at the Griggsby house had checked Raja’s head, and done a few field tests for concussion. Other than a small egg at the base of his skull, there were no outward signs of damage. However, as Raja and Vinny drove from Thousand Oaks back into the city, Raja’s head was throbbing. The painful blow he sustained certainly didn’t help, but the suffocating anguish he felt came more from the rising body count and the lack of direction in the case. The highly developed intuitive sense that often helped him with investigations had an unpleasant side effect—headache. Other than telling Vinny what little detail he had gotten from Ramona Griggsby, he didn’t feel much like talking. Raja stared solemnly out the window. Everything on this case was moving too fast, and he felt like a rookie ball player facing major league pitching for the first time. So far he was swinging late on the fastballs and missing the curves altogether. He needed a break in the case to get back on top of his game.
Vinny could tell when Raja needed to step back and regroup, so she drove the rest of the way back to Studio City in silence. Once inside the loft, she pulled up the time line she had constructed while Raja took a long hot shower.
The large glass display for her new “toy,” as Raja called the cutting edge computer setup, allowed for easily manipulated visuals. Vinny added all the data she had collected onto the time line. The recent events were clearly the work of a cleaner. But there was an obvious gap on the front end of the story that tied all the bodies together. They were missing whatever was going on that Randy Hope had come across before he was killed.
Raja came out of the bathroom in jeans and a clean T-shirt looking rejuvenated. “So, what did you find out about our guests at the governor’s party?”
“So far, we have a lot of fat cats with a lot of money and reasons to stay out of the limelight. We have a U.S. senator, several prominent businessmen, a porn industry leader and a Hollywood mogul or two, including one of the so-called Lavender Mafia.”
“Anyone that connects directly to Randy Hope?”
“You wish it would be that easy. Not a one so far. Although, I did have trouble ID’ing some of the pictures.” Vinny swept her hand over the display, and a collage of shots of ample cleavage appeared on the screen.
“Camera must have slipped on those,” said Raja, feigning innocence.
“The cameras were positioned to follow wherever you look, Raj. And I’ll bet you could identify the owner of every pair of those smart bombs.”
“I do try to be thorough. But why smart bombs?”
“When breasts come out, men get stupid.”
“I’m offended.”
Vinny gave up and rolled her eyes. “I cross-checked everyone at the party with Clarice, as well. Nothing there, either.”
“What about the foreign nationals?”
“The owner of a major Australian engineering firm, and a couple Chinese investors seem remote, although I’m still checking them out. The problem is not knowing what I’m looking for.”
“I almost forgot. This was in Jennifer Gowan’s hand at her apartment.” He pulled out the matches from the Hillcrest Country Club in Century City. “There was no sign of her being a smoker. I think she was trying to tell us something.” He looked at the time line. “We haven’t got to the beginning of this mess yet. Have you tried your Venn diagram program?”
Vinny had customized a mathematics algorithm to be used in their investigations. It often showed with uncanny accuracy what direction they should take to solve a case. “Of course. I don’t have enough data for that to be of any help yet.” She pushed some data around and several circles formed, mostly unconnected.
“I see what you mean. I guess we go with intuition. That brings me back to the matchbook.”
Vinny switched back to the time line view. “I can get you the membership list for the Hillcrest, if that helps.”
“Remind me never to try to hide anything from you.”
Vinny had done well. A study of the member list for the Hillcrest Country Club revealed a who’s who of Los Angeles, with a heavy dose of entertainment industry executives, performers and politicians. The problem was too many choices. Sometimes too much information was a bad thing. Raja decided to stick with the names he had already run across. There was Judge Griggsby. His penchant for boys and his connection to two dead bodies on the case were three strikes against him, as Raja saw it. “I want you to concentrate on the judge and his connections. And find him, will you? He hasn’t shown up yet.”
“Pretty whack, if you ask me,” said Vinny.
Raja stared at her.
“I mean him not showing up—with his wife dead, and all.”
Still the stare from Raja.
“Whack means bad or wrong,” explained Vinny.
“Of course it does.”
“I’ll scope the judge’s scene.”
“Yes, please do scope. The other name that interests me is Governor Black. Maybe you could look for a connection between those two. And I’m going to need to get into the country club. Any ideas?”
“No problemo,” said Vinny. “You have been a dues-paying non-resident member since 2002.”
“Is that right?” Raja didn’t remember having ever joined.
“A VIP, in fact. A major donor.”
“How generous of me.”
“I thought it was a nice touch.” What made Vinny’s computer skills so impressive was her ability to hack into any system and remain undetected.
“Do I need a card to get in?”
“No, no. Your name will be quite enough.”
“Then, I’m off to the club.”
The Hillcrest Country Club was an old and exclusive club that included a full golf course smack in the middle of Los Angeles. It was technically in Century City, but LA had long ago swallowed up that and many other municipalities, rendering any separateness meaningless and making most of LA County and beyond one humongous city. The Hillcrest Country Club had been opened for Jewish members at a time when Jews were unacceptable elsewhere, and it remained exclusively so until, ironically, the anti-discrimination laws finally forced open its membership to non-Jews. While not the Bohemian Grove crowd, the current membership included many Hollywood elite as well as California political and business movers and shakers.
&n
bsp; Right from the gate, Raja got the red carpet treatment, as Vinny had promised. A host showed him around and gave him a clubhouse key with full access. Raja meandered through the building until the host got tired of touring him and left to brown-nose another VIP member. Once alone, Raja headed directly to the bar. The bartender would be a good place to start.
“What do you have in a single malt?” he asked.
“Do you have a preference?” asked the bartender, confidently.
“The Macallan would be nice.”
The bartender poured him a glass. “You know your scotch.”
“I’m wondering if you could help me find someone,” said Raja. “I met her here some months ago, but haven’t been able to find her since.” He pulled out his phone and flipped to a photo of Jennifer Gowan. “She was special, if you know what I mean.”
The bartender smiled. “Yes, Jenny. I’ve seen her working the club. Haven’t seen her lately though.”
“She’s a working girl?”
“Well. I don’t know for a fact she was hooking. But, girls like that get paid, one way or another—you know what I’m saying.”
“Ever see her with this man?” Raja flipped to a photo of Judge Griggsby.
“The judge? Never saw her with him, but she does like powerful men.”
“How so?”
“Last time she was here, she was cozying up to the governor himself. Not sure if she landed that fish. But, I did see her talking to the governor’s aide later that evening. And you did not hear any of that from me.”
“Of course not,” said Raja, slipping the bartender a fifty for his help. So, the governor had contact with Jennifer Gowan. Could he be stupid enough to sleep with a call girl he picked up in public? That didn’t seem likely. Even in a private club like the Hillcrest, all it took was one ambitious wannabe or a spiteful member of the opposition political camp to use that kind of scandalous information to either buy influence or bring a politician down. Of course, then again, no one expected Lewinsky to become a verb.
It was looking like Clarice had been right. If someone threatened to put an ugly end to the governor’s term in Sacramento and dash his hopes for a run at the White House, eliminating a girl like Jennifer Gowan would be a no-brainer. Still, Raja had nothing solid, and no direct connection to Randy Hope. If the governor was involved with the girl’s death, any tracks leading to him would have been swept clean. Raja needed to stir the pot. He had to find the judge.
The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) Page 6
