The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) (8 page)

“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 trotted 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.

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.

Raja called Vinny on the way back to Studio City. “I
hope you have something good for me,” he said.

“That’s what she said,” said
Vinny.

“And what I’m asking,” said Raja,
not feeling playful.

“I’ve got a sketchy trail of credit
receipts from Judge Griggsby with an epicenter in San Francisco.”

“That’s where he was supposed to be
going for business, according to his wife. And his business is now
our business.”

“Time for a road trip to No Cal?” asked
Vinny.

“Time for a road trip.”

Although he owned two jets and flying was an option,
Raja preferred driving if the distance wasn’t too great.
Something about the open spaces on the road cleared his head and
driving always gave him a better sense of control. “I’ll
be there in fifteen minutes. Might as well go tonight.”

Raja called Clarice on the drive home. “I hope
you are keeping your head down.”

“Like an ostrich at the beach,” said
Clarice. “Any news?”

Raja didn’t want to alarm Clarice with the
body count. “We have some good leads. In fact, we are on the
way to San Francisco to follow up on one right now.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“For now, stay safe.”

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of
myself.”

“That’s good. I’ll keep you posted
when we find out more.”

Raja ended the call just before pulling into the
parking garage in Studio City.

Vinny was waiting by the elevator when he pulled up.
She loved the open road as much as Raja did. She had her hair tied in
a pony tail and sticking out the back of her Rays cap. With her
rolled up jeans and baggy shirt, she looked like an overgrown kid
going on a family outing to a ball game.