The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1)

by Thompson, Jack

  Raja and Vinny grabbed two large bags from baggage claim and headed outside.

  “Looks like you’re over mourning for Leonardo,” said Vinny, noting the bright-red Ferrari 355 Spider Raja was now driving.

  “It’s a rental. There’s no replacing Leonardo, but we do have a case to solve. Should we head to Studio City so you can set up shop?” asked Raja, loading her bags into the trunk.

  “I told you, I’ve got almost everything I need right here.” She held up her iPad.

  Raja was still not used to the rapid advancements in portable computing. It still amazed him that Vinny could do more with a one-pound iPad than a ton of mainframe computer could have handled just a decade ago. The two climbed into the car, and Raja revved the engine. “Okay, then. Talk to me while we drive. What do we have?”

  Vinny had already uncovered data that indicated the widow was right about her husband’s death. “The cremation could be a mix up, but with no record of Randall Hope ever requesting one on file anywhere, I wouldn’t bet on it. So, that’s a definite maybe on foul play. Furthermore, the governor has had a lucky streak that defies the odds. A number of his past political opponents ran aground or withdrew under tainted circumstances. Looks like he plays rough or dirty. Or both.”

  Raja knew that meant trouble. Cases with political ramifications were the worst. Unfortunately, when men get more power, they don’t get more sane. Sometimes a little bit of crazy becomes full blown psychosis. Think Arnold Schwarzenegger, or better yet, Bill Clinton. The man has an eye for the ladies. Then he becomes leader of the free world and, with a flourishing economy and an actual budget surplus, has a chance to go down in history as one of the great presidents. Instead he’s getting blow jobs in the oval office from a twenty-year-old. Crazy. All behind a smile and a friendly handshake.

  That is why political cases were strictly know before you go. And that is why Raja needed Vinny. With her technical wizardry, she could find out anything he needed to know.

  “We better start at ground zero,” said Raja. “What do we know about Randall Hope?”

  “Other than spending a lot of Clarice’s money and a couple affairs, I haven’t found much,” said Vinny. “By the way, where is Mrs. Hope?”

  “I sent her to lie low at her ranch in Santa Barbara. Let’s start with the affairs. What do you have on the most recent? Her name was Griggsby, I think.”

  “You do pay attention. Last known affair was with Ramona Griggsby, trophy wife of a federal judge, the Honorable Daniel Griggsby. The judge is also a friend of Governor Black.”

  “It would surprise me if he wasn’t,” said Raja.

  Vinny continued. “The Griggsbys have a nice place in Thousand Oaks.”

  The red Ferrari arrived at a four-story renovated condo building in Studio City, and pulled into the underground parking garage. Raja stopped next to the elevator and asked, “You have your key?”

  “Yep,” said Vinny pulling out an electronic key-card. She handed Raja a piece of paper with the Griggsby address.

  “I’ll go see the judge and his wife,” said Raja. “You track down everything on the police investigation into Randy’s death and the cremation of his body.”

  “As you wish,” said Vinny, climbing out of the car.

  Raja helped her unload her bags and waited until the elevator doors closed before driving out of the garage and heading to the 101 freeway. The Ferrari growled under Raja’s heavy foot. It was a decent car, but he missed Leonardo.

  Chapter Six: The Girlfriend

  The Griggsby home was a much nicer estate than Raja had expected. Federal judges either got paid more than Raja thought, or the judge had other income sources. Raja wondered if they were all legit as he drove under a row of oaks and around a circle to the front of the house.

  Raja rang the doorbell. A strapping young Latino man in a white cotton wife-beater answered the door. It was definitely not the judge.

  “Jes?”

  “I’m a private investigator,” said Raja. “I’m looking for Ramona Griggsby. Who are you?”

  “Fernando,” he said in a smooth baritone, rolling the R. “I work here. Take care of the pool and stuff.”

  “Sure you do. Is Mrs. Griggsby here?”

  “Jes. She out by the pool. Through here.” He pointed to the rear of the house, and walked back to the bar where he was making piña coladas in a blender.

  Raja followed and stepped through the open french doors onto a flagstone patio that extended around a large pool. A gorgeous woman lay face down on a lounger by the pool, wearing nothing but a baby-blue string bikini bottom. Raja walked to her side, noticing the pool of sweat that glistened in the small of her back. Her face was turned away from him but he recognized the hair and the curves. It was the judge’s young wife, Ramona Griggsby.

  “Oh good,” she said without looking up. “I need you to you rub some more oil on my back. I think I’m drying out in this heat.”

  Raja picked up the bottle of tanning lotion and squirted some between her shoulders. The oil ran down her back and collided with the tiny pool of sweat. He slowly rubbed his hand up and down her back.

  “Mmmmm. That feels good,” she said. “Lower, please.”

  Raja leaned close and asked, “Did your husband know you were sleeping with Randy Hope?”

  Startled, Ramona sat up abruptly facing Raja. “You’re not Fernando,” she said, more disappointed than embarrassed. Raja tossed her a towel to cover her breasts.

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Who the hell are you?” she said, recovering her composure.

  “My name is Raja Williams. You still haven’t answered my question. Did your husband know you were sleeping with Randy Hope?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said, and then barked loudly, “Fernando.”

  “Okay, does your husband know you are sleeping with Fernando? If so, you may want to warn Fernando.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Randy Hope was murdered.”

  The girl didn’t bat an eye. Then she laughed. “My husband didn’t kill him, if that’s what you think. The judge and I have an agreement about our marriage.”

  “Marriage is all about agreement. And many lives have been lost when that agreement is broken.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but I’m talking about a special agreement. I get what I want and he gets what he wants which, by the way, doesn’t happen to be me. I’m just window dressing for the judge. He’s a chickenhawk. Capisce? He would have no reason to kill someone over anything, or anyone, I do.” Ramona smiled like the Mona Lisa.

  Raja had run across the term chickenhawk on an earlier human trafficking case. It was underground slang for an older man who preferred young men or boys as sexual partners. “No doubt,” said Raja. “Is he here now? I’d still like to ask him a few questions myself.”

  “He’s not here. He went to San Francisco for work.”

  “I thought he just retired.”

  “He did. He’s involved with some investment. It’s an investors meeting. And, if you think he was worried about his dirty little secret being exposed, he wasn’t. Out here in La-La land, it’s more a badge of honor than a secret.”

  Ramona Griggsby was not your typical dumb arm candy. If what she said was true, she was probably right. The judge had little to lose on her account and no obvious reason to kill because of reputation. However, not everyone was as cosmopolitan as she made the judge out to be. Moreover, birds of a feather flock together. Raja made a mental note to have Vinny check out who the judge hung around with, in addition to tracking his investments.

  “Then you were seeing Randy Hope?” asked Raja.

  “Yes, I was,” Ramona said nonchalantly.

  “You don’t seem too upset over his death.”

  “He wasn’t my soul mate,” she said sardonically. Fernando came out with a tray of drinks and put it down on the patio table next to Ramona.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Griggsby,” said Raja. “I should let
you get back to your friend.” Raja handed Fernando the bottle of tanning oil on his way out.

  Chapter Seven: The Case

  On his way back to Studio City, Raja called Vinny. She was excited to tell him what she found and started talking a mile a minute.

  “Okay, okay. Hold on,” said Raja, chuckling. “I want to get all of this, so take it out of warp drive.”

  Vinny took a deep breath. “Clarice was right. The whole sequence of the investigation from the initial discovery of her husband’s body to the cremation was a comedy of errors. To start with, the lead detective, Thomas Rafferty, shut down the investigation prematurely. Then the coroner, a Dr. Becker, did only the irreducible minimum in testing and examination, and dug no further. Finally, the body nearly walked itself to the funeral home for cremation—wham, bam, thank you ma’am. I did trace all the calls to and from the funeral home during the critical time path.”

  Raja knew both the names. Detective Rafferty, while no Sherlock Holmes was a good honest cop, a veteran with the LAPD. Dr. Sharon Becker, the LA County coroner, had helped Raja on a previous case. He knew her to be a thorough and competent forensic scientist. The whole thing didn’t add up.

  “Begin at the beginning,” he said out loud, but more to himself than to Vinny.

  Knowing he was planning his strategy, she said nothing.

  “I think we visit the LAPD next,” he said. “Meet me downstairs. I’ll be there in ten.”

  “I’m heading down now.”

  By the time Vinny had reached the parking garage and the elevator doors opened, the red Ferrari was already there. Raja had the top down and was clearly enjoying himself, grinning ear to ear.

  “Let’s go piss off the police,” he said.

  “Do we have to?” asked Vinny.

  “It’s my deal, you know that.”

  She did, to be sure. Raja could be like rough sand in your shorts, and he didn’t mind having that effect if it helped solve a case.

  Inside the police building Raja asked for Detective Rafferty, saying he had pertinent information on one of his cases but refusing any further detail, including giving his name.

  The officer reluctantly called upstairs for Detective Rafferty. “Guy says he has info for you on a case ... No ... He won’t say. Says he needs to talk to you ... I know.”

  “I am an asshole, to be sure,” said Raja.

  “He’ll be right down,” said the officer, ignoring but not protesting the statement.

  Detective Rafferty stepped out of the elevator with his brow furrowed and his jaw set for a fight. He had been in a foul mood all day, due to a gang-war murder case the media was doing their best to parlay into a racial profiling charge against the LAPD. Now some fool was insisting he personally greet him at the front desk. Probably a snitch wanting a handout for some worthless rumor.

  When the detective turned the corner and saw who it was, his face brightened considerably. The last time he had seen Raja Williams, he had gotten promoted, due in no small part to the help Raja had given on a case.

  “Look who the cat dragged in,” said Rafferty. “I should have guessed it was you giving the sarge such a hard time.” The two men shook hands enthusiastically.

  “I was sure you’d be fishing somewhere by now,” said Raja.

  “Soon enough. For now I’m still chasing bad guys. What brings you and your friend to LA?” Rafferty smiled politely at Vinny.

  “I’m not sure you’ll like why I’m here. It’s a closed case that needs to be reopened.”

  Rafferty’s smile disappeared. “Christ,” he said. “Tell me it is not one of mine.”

  “The Randall Hope accidental death, case file number 400305543,” said Vinny, trying to be helpful.

  Rafferty looked at her, wondering how she got the file. “Look Raja, I appreciate the help you gave me two years ago. Put a feather in my cap and more money into my pension. But, I’m right in the middle of a Mexican gang drug war, and despite what you may hear, they are getting worse, not better. Right now I do not need the aggravation. Besides, the Randall Hope case was open and shut. There was more paperwork to fill out than there was a case. Now you are here. Who brought you in? Mrs. Hope? She had some crazy idea he was murdered.” Rafferty shook his head. “Rich people.”

  Vinny opened her mouth to speak, but Raja waved her off. “I am looking into it for Clarice Hope. If it turns out to be nothing, so be it. But Tommy, I know you. If it was murder, you’ll be the first one in line to catch the killer. Besides, maybe you can offload the gang case.”

  That idea brought the start of a smile back to Rafferty’s face. “Okay, come on up. You too, miss.”

  “Vinny,” she corrected.

  Rafferty was already heading to the elevator. “I’m warning you. There isn’t much.”

  Raja and Vinny followed him into the elevator car.

  Rafferty was right. There was nothing in the file notes that Vinny didn’t already know. He couldn’t add anything on the cremation fiasco. He did call Dr. Becker to arrange a meeting for Raja.

  “One more thing,” said Raja. “When did Randall Hope go missing?”

  “Last Tuesday.”

  “Could you get me a list of all homicides from the week prior to now?”

  “Where?”

  “Southern California should do. Maybe you should check San Fran, too.”

  “Is that all?” Rafferty said facetiously.

  “Yes.”

  “That last wasn’t a question.”

  “Oh. I know it’s a hassle, Tommy, but I think we may have other fallout on this case we haven’t yet seen. A puzzle won’t solve without all the pieces.”

  “I hear ya. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  As they left, Rafferty added, “If you do find anything hinky on the Hope case, let me know. I could use a nice straightforward murder right about now.”

  Raja didn’t say it, but he knew this case would be anything but straightforward. “Will do, Tommy. Thanks.”

  On the elevator to the first floor, Vinny asked, “Do you think Detective Rafferty could be involved?”

  “Tommy? No way. He’s blue blood, through and through. Third generation cop, and a straight shooter. I predict we will need his help before we’re done with this case.”

  “What about Dr. Becker?”

  “You tell me,” said Raja. “What do we know?”

  “She did a basic blood tox, and COD autopsy. All standard when there is no hint of foul play. Death by aneurysm, likely precipitated by exposure and dehydration. All fairly routine.”

  “What about the cremation?” asked Raja.

  “You think she arranged it?”

  “Someone did. Let’s ask her.” They drove to the coroner’s office to meet Dr. Becker. The office was in a large white-brick building that looked more like a warehouse than a government office building. Inside was a different story. It was spotless, with lots of expensive-looking medical equipment.

  Sharon Becker was prepared for the inevitable investigation she knew was coming. She had already heard from the mayor’s office and the DA. Now Raja Williams, a skilled private investigator she, in fact, knew and respected, was digging into the matter. Despite having nothing to hide, she could not shake the feeling everyone was looking up her skirt. A sharp knock grabbed her attention. She steeled herself, and opened her office door.

  “Raja, I’m glad to see you again,” said the doctor, sounding less strained than she felt.

  “Hello, Sharon, good to see you, too. You know my partner, Vinny. I guess you know why we’re here.”

  “The Randall Hope death and cremation. I’ve gone over the whole thing in my mind a hundred times. It should not have happened.”

  “Yet it did,” said Raja. “What happened?”

  “After I finished my autopsy and signed off on the death certificate, I sent the report to Tommy—Detective Rafferty—and went to lunch at two, as usual. While I was out of the office someone called from the funeral home, an
d they faxed over an authorization to pick up the body. My assistant saw the death certificate paperwork completed and released the body. At dinnertime, I got a hysterical call from Mrs. Hope asking who had authorized the release. When I said I thought she did, she swore like a sailor and hung up. Later I found an earlier message from her asking for me to reexamine the body. I don’t know how I missed that message. The whole thing was weird.”

  “Mrs. Hope thinks her husband was murdered,” said Raja.

  “I got that much from her message.”

  “I think so, too, Sharon.”

  “Then I’m sorry to say it’s a little late for me to reexamine the body.”

  “What about the ashes?”

  “Anything I could find in the ash of the remains would have shown up in the tests I did. They were all negative. Anything else would be impossible to detect now, especially taking into account probable contamination. However, I will test the ash, if you like. But don’t get your hopes up.” She paused to think. “On the other hand, what’s left of the test samples should still be at the lab.” Dr. Becker made a call. “I’m looking for the tox samples you tested on R. Hope ... Who? ... Are you sure?” She slammed down the phone. “The lab tech says someone called from here and asked for the samples to be rushed back over. I never called and I never got them.”

  “Is your assistant here?” asked Raja.

  “Joey? Sure. He’s probably in the morgue now.” She pressed the intercom. “Joey, come up to my office ... Yes, now.”

  “What’s your assistant’s full name?”

  “Joey Long. He’s a graduate student.”

  Raja looked at Vinny.

  “On it, boss.” Vinny loved to call him the boss. Raja, not so much. Vinny’s fingers were already flying on her iPad.

  “How long has Joey worked here?” asked Raja.

  “Six months,” said the doctor. “You don’t think—”

  “I don’t think. We’ll know soon enough.”

  There was a tentative knock at the door. A nervous-looking young man came into the office. Raja deferred to Dr. Becker.