In Cold Blonde

by James L. Conway

  “Yes and no. The good is obvious: great view, I love the smell of the ocean, it’s cooler in summer and warmer in winter, and staring at that big beautiful sea soothes my soul. But there’s the bad, too. You end up with sand everywhere, the salt corrodes everything, traffic on the PCH totally sucks; during a storm, the crashing waves sound like artillery shells so sleeping is impossible. Oh and there are fires, floods and in June, the fog is so heavy you can go weeks without seeing the sun.”

  “You poor baby.”

  Blake laughed. “Yeah, pity me.” He thought the blonde looked so cute with his big towel wrapped around her. Blake’s eyes went from her bare feet, up her legs to her bikini clad ass. Nice. “So you’re from Colorado, how long have you been in L.A?”

  “Just under a month. I’m an actress; big shock, huh? I starred in all the plays in college, I went to the University of Colorado at Boulder, and then spent a couple years doing regional theatre in Denver.” The fake biography was easy for Alice. It was based on the life of her friend, Dawn, from the Institute. Dawn came to Hollywood full of hope and confidence but after six months and countless failed auditions — and running a gauntlet of men promising her anything to get into her pants but delivering nothing — Dawn swallowed a full bottle of Xanax. Her parents sent her to the Institute to get better. And it worked. Dawn realized that being a big fish in a small pond was better than being bait in L.A. and she returned to Denver.

  “I did a three week revival of Sweet Charity and got these great reviews. The director said I should go to Hollywood; he knew an agent there, so I figured, hey, you only go around once in life so why not take a chance? But it’s a lot harder than I imagined. His agent friend turned out to be a sixty-year-old letch that only represented cameramen and crew people. And getting an audition with a real agent is tough. To be honest, I’m thinking about going home.”

  Blake knew a lot of agents. It was vital to a young career to be photographed at all the right movie premieres and A-list parties, so Hollywood’s ten-percenters needed coverage from Blake’s photographers. And this was definitely a you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours kind of town. “I know some people, some agents I could set you up with.”

  If she hadn’t known Blake in high school, she would have been convinced by his sincerity. But Blake Hunter was a player. He’d say and do anything in high school to get laid. It had been his idea to invite her over to Colin’s house and drug and rape her. He’d been the one to email those horrible pictures of her. He might have been trying to charm her now, but in his mind, she was the antelope and he was the lion.

  But if he was acting, she could act, too. So she cocked her head and looked at him suspiciously. “How do I you know you’re not a letch who just wants to get into my pants?”

  She said it playfully and Blake laughed. “Well, let’s start with this simple statement of fact: I do want to get into your pants.” His eyes dropped to her bathing suit, “Or, bottoms as the case may be. But I do know a lot of agents and quite a few owe me favors. And I don’t expect anything from you. I’ll get you a meeting at CAA, WME and UTA, no strings attached.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He stepped forward, took the coffee cup out of her hands. “Can I get you some more coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Her eyes tracked him into the kitchen. She wasn’t able to bring her gun with her but Alice figured there would be knives in the house she could use to kill him. And sure enough there was a wood block filled with knives on the counter.

  Her dad made her clean the deer and elk she shot as a kid, and cutting through the skin, muscle and bone hadn’t bothered her as much as she thought it would. She wasn’t crazy about the blood, but it washed off easily enough, so the prospect of sliding a butcher knife into Blake’s back or slitting his throat open with a paring knife didn’t bother her. In fact, the vision of his blood squirting onto his shiny kitchen floor thrilled her.

  “You have a beautiful kitchen,” she said, following him into the kitchen. “Do you cook?”

  “No,” he said, adding Splenda and milk to her mug. “But my decorator was a great chef and she insisted I have a top notch kitchen.”

  Alice leaned on the counter, the set of knives behind her. She reached back, wrapped her right hand around the butcher knife. She was about to slide it out when Blake turned around with her coffee.

  “Here you go,” he said. “With milk and Splenda, just like before.”

  Her hand dropped off the knife, took the cup. “Thank you.”

  “Are you hungry? I’ve got bananas here somewhere, and apples in the refrigerator, I think.”

  “An apple would be great.”

  Blake opened the Sub Zero, bent over and slid open a bottom drawer. His back was to her now, and a perfect target.

  Alice silently slid the butcher knife out of the block, turned toward Blake raising the knife over her head.

  Crash! The front door burst open. “Hey, Blake, we’re here!”

  Alice dropped her hand, slid the knife back into the block and three guys came around the corner.

  “Sorry we’re late, but…” the guy who was talking stopped when he saw Alice standing in the kitchen. A moment later Blake stood up with an apple. The guy, Joel, one of Blake’s photographers who looked like a Hell’s Angel motorcycle outlaw said, “I thought Eve was the one with the apple, but hey, I was kicked out of bible studies for wacking off to an illustration of Delilah.”

  The other two men laughed. One was tall in a luau shirt and cargo shorts, the other in jeans and a torn tee shirt. All three had multiple cameras draped around their necks.

  “Funny, Joel,” Blake said. “Guys, this is Dawn. Dawn, the guys.”

  “Hi,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Blake said to Alice. “But we’ve got to be in Hollywood by noon. Can we drop you somewhere?”

  Shit, Alice thought. Shit, shit, shit. “No, I’ve got my kayak, I’ll be fine.”

  Blake took her by the arm, led her onto the deck. “Look,” he said. “I feel like we’re just getting started here and I’d love to see you again. Are you free tonight?”

  Alice wasn’t sure how much time she had left before the cops found Adam and started putting all the pieces together, but she didn’t have much choice, now, did she? “I could be,” she said. “In fact, I happen to be a wonderful cook. What say I put that fancy dancy kitchen of yours to work and make us dinner?”

  “That would be great,” he said. And then I’m going to fuck you silly, he thought. “Say, seven o’clock.”

  “I’ll be here. In a car this time.”

  Blake laughed. “Good idea.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Be safe.”

  “I will. Oh, and thanks for saving my life.”

  “All in a day’s work.”

  Alice held his look for a long, provocative moment. “I’m happy I met you, Blake Hunter.” Then she ran down the beach toward her kayak thinking: But I’m going to be even happier to kill you.

  THIRTY-THREE

  “Look at the fingers,” Syd said. “What do you see?”

  Ryan saw the index, middle and ring finger spread out, the thumb and pinkie folded into Adam Devlin’s palm. “Three fingers,” then it hit him. “3. The three fingers mean 3.”

  “Her third victim. I love a worthy opponent,” Syd said. “Be a shame when we finally catch her.”

  They stood in the middle of suite 1224 looking at Adam’s dead body. He was naked. There was a single bullet wound which obliterated his left eye, blew out the back of his skull and left a Rorschach-like blood spray on the wall behind him. His penis had been removed but wasn’t in his mouth.

  Ramirez and his team were hard at work dusting the room for prints, vacuuming samples from the floor, taking hair and fibers from the bed.

  Liz knelt at Adam’s head examining the gunshot wound. Then she moved to his mouth. “There’s blood on his lips. But no penis.” She looked at the cops spread throughout the room. “Anyone see a s
evered cock?”

  “Okay,” Hanrahan said, a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop jammed in his mouth. “That’s something you don’t hear at every crime scene.”

  “We have an ID on the victim?” Ryan asked.

  “The room’s registered to Adam Devlin.” Hanrahan held up a plastic evidence bag holding Adam’s wallet. “The driver’s license confirms the ID. He’s a sports agent according to the business cards in his wallet. And, FYI, there is an empty credit card slot and no American Express.”

  “And he’s somehow connected to Zachary Stone and Colin Wood,” Syd said. “Three down, how many more to go?”

  “We ran Devlin’s name, and a missing person report was filed this morning by his wife. He never came home last night.” Hanrahan ripped a page out of his notebook, handed it to Ryan. “Here’s the address.”

  “Brentwood,” Ryan said looking around the room. “And he rented a suite. This guy had money.”

  Ramirez sidled up to Ryan. “Speaking of money, you get a chance to look over the business plan yet?”

  “Hey, great meatballs, Tony,” Hanrahan said. “Give him the money, Ryan, I’d eat there.”

  “I did glance at it,” Ryan said. “And frankly, I don’t know shit about business. But I’ll be setting up a foundation and hiring some experts, so I’ll give them your proposal; promise. But in return, I want a solid piece of evidence from this crime scene.”

  “Tell me you’re not serious, because this babe is good. You know our problem in a hotel room is eliminating fingerprints; there are usually hundreds of them, guests, maids, bellboys. But not here. Every surface has been wiped down; doorknobs, light switches, end tables, in the bathroom she wiped the sink handles and even remembered the toilet handles. A lot of people forget that. They had sex before he killed her. There are semen stains on the bed. We’ve found pubic hair in the sheets, black and they all look identical, and they all match him.” Ramirez cut his eyes to Adam’s corpse. “And since I didn’t find any of her pubic hair, I’m guessing she shaves. So we’ve got no prints, no hair, no nothing.”

  “Then I guess Mirabelle’s Meatballs is out of luck.”

  Ramirez’s face fell. “But…”

  Ryan laughed. “Just kidding. It’ll be the first thing I give to the CPA.”

  “Thanks, Ryan.”

  “We may not have DNA on her,” Hanrahan said. “But we may be just a few minutes from getting a look at her. The desk clerk who checked Mr. Devlin in is going through the hotel security videos to see if they’ve got the Lady in Red on camera. So with any luck…”

  Liz stood up. “Ryan, tell me again about this foundation of yours.”

  “I’ve decided to give away most of the Lotto money. Friends and family have first shot at it. But nothing frivolous, just people in need of a life changing monetary infusion.”

  A surprised Liz looked at Syd. “When did it happen?”

  “When did what happen?”

  “When did Ryan lose his mind?”

  Ryan was confused. “Liz, I thought you’d like the idea. When I was a kid, I remember you nagging Dad at the holidays to give money to the United Way, Salvation Army, Red Cross.”

  “That’s right. I wanted him to give money to professional charitable organizations who knew how to equitably distribute the money. But let’s back up a bit. Why the hell do you feel the need to give the money away in the first place?”

  Ryan and Syd exchanged a quick look and then Ryan said, “It just seems a bit… obscene. Thirty-four million dollars. That’s way too much for one person.”

  “I’ll take ten million off your hands,” Hanrahan said.

  “Count me in for five,” an SID tech said.

  “And I’ll take the rest if you insist,” Liz said. “Look, Ryan, the truth is you’re in shock. Anyone would be. Winning that much money is beyond your comprehension, you’re justifiably confused. So do me a favor; before you piss away your windfall, just stick it in the bank and wait. Put your brain on simmer and let the implications of all that money marinate for a little while. Your life has just changed forever and you’re going to need time to adjust. Find a new equilibrium. Then in six months, a year, if you still want to give it away, there will be plenty of takers, believe me.”

  “Talk about a buzz kill,” Hanrahan muttered.

  Ryan respected Liz and under normal circumstances would have listened to her. But the only way in Ryan’s mind to assuage the guilty he felt taking the money in the first place was the rationalization that he’d be giving it away. “Liz, I respect your opinion, I do, but Anne and I have given this a lot of thought and — ”

  “Anne?” asked Liz. “As in ex-wife Anne?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When did she get back in the picture?” Liz asked distastefully.

  Before Ryan could answer, a uniform guarding the door waved, trying to get their attention. In the hallway behind him Ryan saw an older woman standing with a small dog in her arms.

  “I think we’re being paged,” Hanrahan said. He headed for the door, Ryan followed.

  Syd remained with Liz. The way Liz had said Anne, was filled with attitude, and Syd realized that if anyone could give her the real story of what happened between Ryan and Anne, it was Liz. “Liz, could I talk with you privately?”

  Liz looked at her, curiously. “Sure.” She led them to a corner of the room.

  Syd spoke quietly, “I’d like to ask you something in confidence.”

  “Okay,” Liz answered, warily.

  “What happened between Anne and Ryan? What happened to their marriage?”

  “I was afraid you were going to ask me that.”

  “Afraid, why?”

  “Because you and Ryan are a great team. But if you’re dating, it’s just a matter of time until Hanrahan finds out and is forced to spilt you up.”

  “Getting a new partner is the least of my problems right now. Ryan reteaming with Anne is at the top of my list.”

  “Reteaming how?”

  “Anne’s going to run the foundation for Ryan. So they’ll be spending all sorts of time together. And, she’s getting a divorce. Should I be worried?”

  Liz answered instantly. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “What did Ryan tell you about their marriage?”

  “That they were kids; after a couple of years they realized it was a mistake and split up. He didn’t make it sound like a very big deal.”

  Liz shook her head. “Men. If men would learn to vocalize their feelings, they’d live longer and we’d all be happier.”

  “So what happened?”

  “If you tell him I told you this, I’ll take a skull saw to your sweet little neck.”

  “Pinkie promise.” Syd took out her notebook, flipped it open, started writing notes.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “If Ryan looks over, it’ll look like I’m working. So what happened?”

  “She broke his heart. Called him up one day, said she’d met someone else and never went back to their apartment. Her new boyfriend sent movers to clean out her stuff. Ryan never got over it. It’s been like seven years, and he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend since. A few dates here and there, but I think he’s been afraid to commit. I think he’s afraid he’s going to be hurt again. How long have you guys been involved?”

  “A month.”

  “That’s a modern day record for Ryan.”

  “And I’m crazy about him.”

  “He cares about you, too. I can tell.”

  That pleased Syd. “Really?”

  “I see the way he looks at you. There is that lovely mix of admiration and adoration. God, I miss that.”

  “What’s Anne like?”

  “Let me put it this way. The first time Ryan brought Anne to my house, she spent the entire dinner asking me how much things cost. How much had I paid for the house? How much for the couch? My Lexus. My necklace. She was obsessed with money. And if you ask me, that’s why she left Ryan. When they got m
arried, his dad was rich. Ryan was on track to become a lawyer, too. The future was gold-plated. Then his dad lost all his money. It didn’t seem to matter to Ryan, but Anne was beside herself; you’d have thought it was her money that disappeared. Then she meets Rick Rogers, rich Rick Rogers, and Ryan’s out and Rick is in.”

  “But now Ryan’s suddenly rich,” Syd said.

  “Richer than rich,” Liz said. “Anne suddenly reappears in Ryan’s life and is getting divorced. Coincidence?”

  Every fear Syd had was suddenly confirmed. “So what do I do?”

  Liz looked past Syd to Ryan. “I love that boy, but he’s got a soft spot in his heart and head for Anne.” Liz looked back at Syd. “You want the truth?”

  No, Syd thought, because it doesn’t sound like I’ll like it. But she nodded.

  “He’s always loved Anne. He’ll always love Anne. If she wants him back, he’s hers.”

  The words hit Syd like a body blow. She didn’t just want Ryan. She wanted Ryan to love her. Pick her over Anne. And if Liz was right, that would never happen.

  “He’s waving at you,” Liz said.

  “What?” Syd asked, jolted out of her reverie.

  “Ryan, he’s signaling to you.”

  Syd turned. Ryan waved for her to join him. Syd looked back to Liz. “Thanks for your honesty. I think.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong, I really do.”

  “Me, too.” Syd closed the notebook, joined Ryan, Hanrahan and the older woman in the hallway.

  “Syd,” Ryan said. “This is Edna Kaye, she saw the Lady in Red. Talked to her.”

  That fact jolted Syd’s love life to the backburner; she was first and foremost a cop. Syd extended her hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m Detective Syd Curtis.”

  Maggie, the dog, barked as Syd extended her hand. “Quiet, Maggie,” Edna said, taking Syd’s hand. “Sorry, she’s gets a little excited sometimes.”

  “Tell me about her,” Syd said. “The Lady in Red.”

  “Blonde, very pretty. Sultry, I think that’s the word. Did she really kill someone? Is there a body in there?”