The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1)

by Thompson, Jack

  Mickey had a sweet deal, and he knew it. All he had to do was take care of any upkeep on the multimillion dollar jet and he could use it for his own rent-a-jet business in between flying Raja around. The jet touched down in Long Beach at five o’clock West Coast Time.

  “Don’t suppose you want to stick around for a few days?” asked Raja.

  “I do have an Atlanta charter scheduled for Sunday that I’d like to make, if that’s okay with you,” said Mickey.

  “Sure, go ahead. I have a feeling I am going to be here for a while. How long is the charter trip?”

  “A week. It’s a honeymoon in the Bahamas.”

  “Okay. Better add a case of Dom on me.”

  “That’s a lot of champagne.”

  “You only get married once, right?”

  “We can always hope,” said Mickey.

  “Call me when you’re back in Clearwater.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Knowing Mickey, he would probably wolf down some food while the plane refueled and head right back to the East Coast. Raja checked his watch, noting he was just in time to meet Clarice Hope as planned. He headed to the Legends restaurant. It was a nice little place that had been newly renovated in an Art Deco style, with murals of classic planes from the early days of aviation. Nothing fancy, but they served a decent meal and the casual, relaxed atmosphere would help him get to know his new client. When he entered he saw a woman sitting at a table. Raja knew Clarice was in her fifties, but she didn’t look it, at all. She was well-preserved with attractive curves. Modern science could do wonders these days.

  The woman looked around nervously, like she felt out of place.

  “Mrs. Hope?” asked Raja as he approached. “Clarice?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, looking relieved. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  “I said I would,” said Raja bluntly.

  “Of course. Don’t take offense. I mean nothing by it. It’s just that, well, I have not had much luck getting any cooperation lately—especially from the police.” Clarice shook off her troubles for a moment, and looked Raja over. “You are much better looking than Mary let on.”

  Despite her recent loss, Clarice had not lost her eye for younger men. Raja had done his homework. Thirty years back Clarice had been a finalist in the Miss Universe contest, where she had caught her first husband’s lecherous eye. He was thirty years her senior and not much to look at, but he more than balanced the marriage equation as the sole heir to the Crayola crayon fortune. You might not think there was much money in wax crayons, but millions of kids happily scribbling in their coloring books had made her first husband’s family uber-wealthy. Clarice had been faithful arm candy for him for fifteen years until he died. Then the bulk of his estate fell into her lap. Turn about is fair play, so when she passed forty, Clarice began a habit of dating young virile men, mostly athletes or actors.

  It wasn’t Raja’s nature to judge. He said only, “Thank you,” and sat down across from Clarice. He looked at her expectantly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been so out of sorts since Randy died.”

  “I understand. Tell me why you think he was murdered.” Raja had an unusual manner that combined empathy with a sometimes withering bluntness. While he had a knack for putting people at ease, he had little of the social veneer most people used automatically to grease their relationships. And, he had no tolerance for small talk of any kind. It was something he had learned from his Jamaican grandmother. When he was a young boy, she would listen to him babble and then say, “Sonny, if you have nothing important to say, your lips should not be moving.” As an investigator, he had learned that much of what people say does more to confuse the facts than clarify them. So his curt manner could sometimes rub someone the wrong way, as well. The maddening part was that he didn’t seem to care which one he did.

  The pleasant smile dropped from Clarice’s face. “I know he was murdered,” she asserted. “As I told you on the phone, he was healthy as a horse. And his seamanship was practiced—more than I preferred.” A pained, sad look gripped her face for a moment and her face turned red. “He usually didn’t go boating alone. I doubt he went out alone that day.”

  “What was her name?”

  “I didn’t begrudge his party friends, but I didn’t want to know them. You understand?”

  Raja understood he hadn’t gotten an answer. “Do you have a name?”

  “No.” Clarice turned a darker shade of red. Her dalliances with younger men had been the acts of an aging woman craving validation, devoid of the emotional connection Clarice actually needed. That is, until she met Randall Hope, a tennis player twenty years her junior, whose kindness had captured her heart.

  Seeing she cared enough to have motive, Raja had to ask her the obvious. “Clarice, did you kill your husband?”

  “No, of course not,” she said without any lag. “I may be a middle-aged woman, but I’m not a fool. It wasn’t like that. We understood each other. I loved Randy and he loved me.”

  Raja was satisfied she was sincere. “Okay. The murder?”

  “Randy found out something—something about some important people.”

  “What people?”

  “I’m not sure, but it had to do with business and politics. He said it could ruin a lot of people, and he even mentioned the governor.”

  “Governor Black?”

  “Yes.”

  “Some personal scandal?”

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, but I know he was scared. He said he was going to talk to someone he thought could help. And to think I donated to Governor Black’s campaign.”

  “That’s pretty vague, but it does present a possible motive.” Raja did not sound convinced.

  “That’s not all. When I contacted the coroner’s office to request that they take another look at the circumstances of his death, I found out his body had already been released to a funeral home. And he was immediately cremated.”

  “Did he want to be cremated?”

  “Yes, but that’s beside the point. He had only told me his wishes. We had talked about documenting his intent in a will, but we never did. Just the idea of making a will creeped him out so badly, we dropped the whole thing. No one else would likely have known, and certainly no one should have authorized the cremation.”

  “Now we have a fact that doesn’t fit. I think you are right, Clarice. Randy was murdered. I am going to help you find out how and why.”

  Clarice exhaled forcefully. A hint of anger flashed in her sad eyes. “Good. I want someone to answer for what they have done.”

  Raja waved the waiter over to their table. “Let’s order some food and we’ll make a plan. I’m famished.” Raja was pleased to be on another case.

  The two ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. Raja sent a text while they waited for their food. While Clarice sipped a glass of white Bordeaux, Raja studied her closely. She was actually a decent sort of person, more innocent than her sophistication would have you believe. Despite her bluster, she had no idea the size of the hill they were about to charge up. Raja only hoped he could keep her out of the line of fire he knew was coming.

  They ate in silence. Afterward while they sipped coffee, Raja said, “I’m going to need some time to dig around. Is there someplace you can go—someplace outside the city?”

  “Do you think I’m in danger?”

  “Probably not, since you are still alive. But, I do want to keep you safe. Whoever killed your husband may not know how much he knew or what he told you.”

  “Ironically, I was invited to go to the governor’s private party on Friday night, but I certainly don’t want to go now. I do have a horse ranch near Santa Barbara. I could head up there if you think that would be prudent.”

  Raja sent another quick text message on his phone. “Let’s call that Plan B until I find out a little more. For now, I want you close by. A hotel here in Long Beach, perhaps?”

  “Okay. I’ll be at
the Marriott. Let me know what you find out.”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Chapter Three: The Party

  After meeting with the widow, Raja checked into a small no-name motel near the airport. Then he called home to Florida.

  “Okay, Vinny, what do we have?”

  “You act like I’ve got nothing better to do than work on your cases. Did it ever occur to you that I might be otherwise engaged?” Raja knew that Vinny could not stay away from a case any more than he could, but he played along.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, changing his tone. “If I am not interrupting your personal life, could I ask a couple of questions?”

  Vinny ignored the attitude, and said, “Lucky for you, I am presently free. I did a search on the governor’s party and on Governor Black in general. The governor is pretty well connected. He got elected primarily on the promise to bring corporate business back into the California economy. I’m still looking for any direct connections to Clarice or her husband. As for the party, it is a very private affair, not the PR ball type of event, set to be held on a private estate in the hills above Los Angeles.”

  “Whose estate?”

  “Don’t even know that yet. The host running the party is Veronica Jansen, but she doesn’t own the place. Just a hired gun. There is no rental contract on file anywhere. The property was once owned by a dead actor named Bob Hope, but it is currently held by a corporation registered in the Caymans. Looks to be a shell company. I’m still tracing the money that bought the place, but it’s buried. Even the invitations to the party were printed as blanks and all hand inscribed by a trusted aide. So far, no records of who’s attending, but I’m still looking. There is a tight lid on this one, Raj.”

  “The tighter the lid, the bigger the secrets.”

  “Then there must be ginormous secrets connected to this party. You best be careful.” Vinny had a habit of picking up on every new slang word or phrase that came along in the computer culture.

  Although the hipster lingo offended Raja’s Oxford sensibilities, it was a small price to pay for Vinny’s skills. “Not to worry,” he said. “I’ve got the best hacker in this hemisphere looking over my shoulder.”

  That was no exaggeration. After a short criminal career hacking into banks, Vinny had “volunteered” to work for the NSA in exchange for immunity from prosecution. When she saw firsthand how intrusive the government had become, Vinny’s NSA career ended abruptly after the names of a number of criminal operatives who were on the government payroll, among other sensitive information, were accidentally dumped onto the Internet. Although there were questions about her patriotism and the usual threats, there was never any question about Vinny’s mad skills with a computer. The NSA feared what else might get exposed, and quietly released Vinny from their service.

  “Best in this hemisphere, you say? I should be offended,” said Vinny.

  “You are the one who told me Wu Tsing in Hong Kong was the best.”

  “True dat. He is. Okay, you are forgiven. You’ll find some new hardware in your bag that we will need to break out for the party. There are micro-cameras that will snap on your lapels inconspicuously. You can use a hand controller in your pocket to take pictures. The cameras are wide angle and self-focusing. Pretty much aim and shoot—just stand still when you do.”

  “I thought you would simply tap into the security cameras,” said Raja.

  “Word is they will be offline for the party. I doubt I’ll be able to activate them remotely. They are keeping this hush hush. What’s up with that?”

  “There are always high profile events for the supposed big donors that get all the fanfare and media. This party is for unique supporters who aren’t on the donor rolls. Individuals who don’t want media attention or in some cases, people who can’t afford to have anyone looking too closely at where their money is coming from or what it is used for. They are known simply as ‘friends.’”

  “Friends with secrets. Sounds like we are fishing in the right pond,” said Vinny.

  Later Raja called Clarice. The one thing he wasn’t going to be able to do inconspicuously was get into the party without an invitation. He would need some help.

  “Clarice, it’s Raja.”

  “Yes, have you solved the case?”

  “I appreciate the confidence, Clarice, but no, not yet. And, I’m sorry to say, I’m going to need more of your help. I’m reluctant to ask. It involves the governor.”

  “Ask away. I’ve never been intimidated by politicians or businessmen, though both tried after my first husband died. No reason to start now. What do you need?”

  “I need you to take me to the governor’s party on Friday night.”

  “So you do think he’s involved?”

  “At this point, I have no reason to think so. But it is a good place to start.”

  “I want to help. Count me in.”

  “Great. I’ve got some preparations to make first. I will meet you there at eight sharp. Can I count on you to get there on your own?”

  “I’ll get there all right. I’ve got my Bentley. But, I can’t promise to behave. I am grieving, you know.”

  “We’ll deal with that at the party. Eight sharp.”

  “Eight it is.”

  Raja arrived at the estate by seven, giving him a chance to check the place out. It was a large isolated hilltop property. An expansive three-story mansion covered the top, providing magnificent views all around. On one side were more hills and the mountains beyond. The other side looked down on the city.

  A silver Bentley pulled up in front just before eight. Clarice Hope climbed out, dressed in a one-of-a-kind blue evening dress that tastefully accented her curvaceous figure. Raja greeted her at the entrance. “How are we doing?” he asked.

  “I don’t know how we are doing, but I plan on getting drunk. Let’s do this.” Clarice took his arm.

  Raja knew how tough this would be on Clarice. She hid it well, but he could tell she was hurting. He put his hand on top of hers and they entered the party.

  Just inside the door, a tough-looking man in a tux that tried but failed to hide his muscles took Clarice’s invitation. He wore a Bluetooth headset on his ear. After looking the two of them over, he nodded his approval. Raja was in.

  The interior was spacious, with twenty-foot ceilings and an area the size of a full basketball court where the party was centered. In the middle of that room was a ten-foot ice sculpture likeness of the governor of California, Robert Black. Archways all around opened onto more large rooms, which opened onto outdoor patios. The place was a palace.

  “Clarice, why don’t you go powder your nose while I do a little recon. I’ll meet you by the governor’s monument in fifteen minutes,” said Raja, pointing to the ice sculpture.

  “I’m taking shots of all the patrons,” said Raja, into his micro earbud headset. Both his lapels had the wide angle cameras that Vinny had rigged up.

  “I need clear images, so remember to stand still.”

  “I am a professional, I’ll have you know.”

  “And let’s skip the booty shots. As lovely as they are, I need faces for ID.”

  “Okay, okay, Vinny. I better mingle.”

  An attractive forty-something woman was smiling and heading toward Raja. “I don’t remember seeing you at any of the governor’s parties before,” said the well-dressed woman covered with expensive jewelry. “And I would have noticed you.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I would have noticed you, as well,” said Raja, but with an entirely different meaning in mind. He remembered it was a party and adjusted his charm setting. “I’m sorry to say I’m here with someone else.”

  “Loyal, too. How rare. You must call me,” she said, slipping her business card into his hand before walking off.

  Raja looked at the card. The name Miranda Cummings was scripted on the front in gold and it had only a phone number on the back. Raja thought she probably had them printed in bulk. “There you go,” he sa
id. “I got her card. No picture needed.”

  “Just try to keep on task,” said Vinny into Raja’s ear.

  “Can’t a fellow have fun doing his job?”

  “Not if I’m going to get the pictures I need to identify everyone. Fuzzy pictures take ten times longer for my face recognition software.”

  “I can’t believe you couldn’t just hack the guest list.”

  “Are you kidding—the actual names of the governor’s real key campaign donors? That list is guarded like Fort Knox. Never put online—at least I haven’t found it—and you know I would. I bet you won’t see any photographers there tonight either.”

  “No doubt. Quiet now, I’ve got company.”

  Two young ladies approached Raja. After a short exchange Raja saw the widow Clarice heading back his way.

  “There’s my date now,” he said urgently. The two twenty-something girls who had just offered to take Raja home with them walked away disappointed.

  “You are a popular fellow tonight,” said Clarice. “I can certainly see why. You look sharp in that tux,” said the widow, fingering his lapel, flirting and bringing her augmented breasts close to Raja.

  “Oh, brother,” said the voice in his ear with disdain.

  “Is the woman your husband was seeing here at the party?” asked Raja. That cooled Clarice momentarily and she scanned the room.

  She stopped and stared in one direction for a long moment. “Over there. Ramona Griggsby.” The words sounded more like something rotten than a person’s name. “Her husband is a federal judge.” Across the room a tall brunette, no more than thirty, with a curvaceous yet athletic build was holding the arm of a man who was twice her age and six inches shorter. It was the judge, no doubt. Raja snapped a couple photos.