The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1)

by Thompson, Jack

  Chapter Eighteen: Tinseltown

  As they cruised along Santa Monica Boulevard in the Ferrari Spider, Raja attempted to make small talk.

  Vinny knew right away something was up. “Where are we going, Raj?”

  Raja refused to say, and had that goofy smirk he always had when he was up to something fun. When he turned into the Dream Cars West rental lot, he said, “Vinny, I didn’t want to cramp your style, so I rented a car for you to use in LA. With all the directions this case is taking, it may be helpful if we split up on occasion.” He drove slowly along a row of high-end cars, stopping in front of a blue BMW X6. “I thought one of these would work.”

  Vinny got out and peered into the driver side window.

  “I know you don’t like stick shifts, so, of course, the one they are prepping for you is automatic.”

  The manager pointed to a metallic silver coupe pulling out of the detailing bay into the driveway.

  “There it is,” said Raja. “Go ahead. I’ll finish the paperwork.”

  Vinny hurried over and walked around the car twice before climbing inside. She looked like a kid in the candy store, and that made Raja smile. He signed the rental agreement and walked to the car.

  “Smoking hot,” said Vinny. “Thanks.” She looked good behind the wheel.

  “The X6 is a deceptively fast car, so ease into it until you get used to it, will you?” said Raja.

  Vinny had already rolled up the window and pealed out of the lot by the time Raja finished his sentence.

  A ride through Griffith Park up to the Observatory was enough to satisfy Vinny’s excitement over the new car. She parked in a spot looking out over the city while continuing to research on her iPad.

  Vinny started a dialogue with one of the bloggers who had mentioned the Lavender Mafia in his blog. Although the LGBT community denied such an organization formally existed, no one could deny the influence they had in Hollywood. Anyone looking at recent television and movie content could see it plain as day. It was the eight hundred pound gorilla no one talked about in Hollywood. The blogger had pointed Vinny in the direction of the studios, and to one executive in particular.

  Vinny took a public tour of the studio lot, and then used her computer skills to set an appointment for herself to see the studio executive.

  “Name?” asked the receptionist in the outer office.

  “Livinia Moore.”

  “I don’t recall—wait—here it is. Livinia Moore, with Caribbean Pictures. You are his two o’clock. Have a seat.”

  Vinny nodded and sat down. She was dressed in a grey woman’s power skirt suit to match her pretense for being there. The horn-rimmed glasses completed the look.

  At quarter after two the receptionist made a call. A young man came out to escort Vinny into the studio exec’s office.

  “Nice suit,” he said when she stood up. “Come with me.”

  Vinny followed him into a large office where a middle-aged man in an ascot sat behind an enormous desk.

  “Mr. Lesley, your two o’clock,” said the young assistant.

  The exec peered at his schedule, and with a puzzled look waved her into the room.

  “You must forgive me, but I don’t recall seeing your name before.”

  Vinny decided on a straight forward approach. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m not with Caribbean Pictures. I’m not with any studio. My boss is investigating a murder.”

  “What? Are you with the police?”

  “No.”

  “The press?”

  “No. My boss is a private investigator. We were hired by a woman whose husband was murdered. In the course of our investigation, we came across information that led me here to you.” Vinny leaned forward. “May I count on your discretion?”

  Now, Mr. Lesley was interested. “Certainly.”

  “It has to do with the governor.”

  “Governor Black?”

  “Yes. According to my research, the governor has been on the gay side of the marriage issue.”

  “There is no secret that we have campaigned hard to get Prop 8 overturned. The governor’s office has given us assurances of support for our position. We have therefore supported his campaign from the beginning. So what?”

  “What about the federal judges?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One of the federal judges slated to hear an appeal on Prop 8 was murdered—a Judge Griggsby.”

  “If you are suggesting—”

  “Of course not. But you did know him.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Lesley paused before answering, but never flinched. “We have studied the Proposition 8 issue and all those involved thoroughly. Many people’s lives are drastically affected by the outcome, as you can imagine. So yes, I know the name. What happened to him was unfortunate. But we had nothing to do with his death. Judge Griggsby was a supporter of our cause. That’s all I can say.”

  “Do you know anyone who would want him dead?”

  “Why don’t you talk to someone from the religious right.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “You think I am on familiar terms with any of them? Now you insult me. I’m afraid, Ms. Moore, if that is your real name, I must ask you to leave.” He stood up and nodded to his assistant who was waiting in the hall.

  As the assistant escorted her from the room, Vinny smiled. Lavender Mafia or not, she felt like she just had an audience with the Godfather.

  Chapter Nineteen: Love Bites

  Raja could not connect the dots between Judge Griggsby and the other victims. He called Sharon Becker, the Chief of Forensics, hoping she could coordinate with the San Francisco coroner on the judge’s autopsy. He hoped to find a commonality among the victims. He hoped to profile and identify the killer. While the phone rang, Raja remembered Vinny’s suggestion. He also hoped to get lucky.

  “Coroner’s office,” said a female voice, a sexy one at that.

  “Sharon, it’s Raja Williams. I was wondering if I could ask for your help.”

  “You can ask. Whether I can help, we’ll see.” She was still embarrassed for making the wrong call on Randall Hope’s autopsy.

  “It’s about the autopsy of Judge Griggsby in San Francisco. I need to get the results, if possible.”

  “I know the coroner. That should be doable.”

  “I was hoping you could get a copy and go over it yourself. I’m trying to sort out some details.”

  “Okay. Anything specific you are looking for?”

  “Wish I knew. Anything that ties his death to the other victims connected to this case. Anything that might help. Use your considerable skill and judgment.”

  “No flattery necessary. I wouldn’t mind making up for what I originally missed on the Hope case. When do you need it?”

  “Uhh, I have some other business to take care of this afternoon. If you could check into it today, maybe we could meet for dinner and you could tell me what you find.”

  “Are you asking me out, Mr. Williams?”

  “I need your help on the case. But, what if I were?”

  “I’d say Wolfgang Puck’s WP24 restaurant would be nice.”

  “How about seven tonight at Wolfgang Puck’s?”

  “Seven it is. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Great. See you then.” Win-win, thought Raja.

  The call with Sharon had brightened Raja up, a needed boost, considering the struggle he was having on the case. There was a lot of money in play, and plenty of players, but Raja couldn’t get the pieces to fit.

  Meanwhile, Vinny worked on the money trail. It wasn’t for humanitarian reasons that the U.S. federal government put in strict regulations requiring all banking operations to report large transfers of money in or out of their coffers. The golden rule that successful kings have followed for millennia, still applies today. He who has the gold makes the rules. One corollary to that rule is: It is valuable to keep track of the flow of the gold.

  On the one hand, i
nternet banking and cloud computing have made another old adage of criminal investigation, follow the money, much easier to do. Now minutes or hours, not weeks or months are required to track money anywhere on the planet. And who needs to bother with warrants when a few keyboard clicks do the trick. Truth be told, the feds don’t even need the burdensome reports they require of banks. The feds have been mainlining the data directly for years and usually get it before the banks do. They collect and track official reports simply to intimidate banks, and to alert them to any that are colluding with criminal clients.

  However, while technology has made snooping easier, it has also provided ways to defeat the programs that snoop. Anyone who tells you machines are smart should talk to a pro hacker or two. Machines have one fatal flaw—they always do what they are told. You just have to know how and what to tell them to do.

  Therefore, hiding money has also become more sophisticated and is nearly impossible to detect unless you can speak the language of computers fluently. And that is what Vinny could do, like a lover whispering into an eager partner’s ear. There wasn’t a computer or program made that could keep her out.

  When Raja assigned her to follow the money it was never a question of could she. The question was only when. This time it had taken her three hours. She isolated the investments made by Judge Griggsby. Most were typically conservative, like mutual funds, but two stood out. The judge had put a large, disproportionate amount of his money into two relatively new energy companies. Both had no track records, much less proven ones.

  Another fact became obvious the more Vinny dug. The governor had more money in his political campaign coffers than could be readily accounted for. Considerable effort had been made to keep it that way. Nonetheless, Vinny was confident that, given time, all would be revealed.

  Later in the day, Raja said, “I’m meeting with the coroner. She may have information that will help us.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Wolfgang Puck’s.”

  “Good for you, Raj. Go get her,” said Vinny, smiling.

  “I’ll be back later,” said Raja ignoring her implication.

  “No hurry. Take your time. I’ve got loads of research to sort through.”

  “Okay, okay. It’s a date. Are you happy?”

  “I am, actually.”

  So was Raja. On the drive to the restaurant, Raja was as excited as a school girl going to prom. He had plenty of opportunity and experience with the ladies. It wasn’t that. There was something he liked about Sharon. She had an intelligent self-assurance that he admired in a woman. She reminded him of a slightly older, more mature Vinny.

  WP24 was Wolfgang Puck’s chic restaurant twenty-four floors up in the Ritz Carlton on Olympic Boulevard in Los Angeles. When Raja entered, Sharon was waiting for him at the bar where a well-dressed male patron was talking to her. When she spotted Raja, she waved to him, and the man attempting to hit on her walked away disappointed.

  Raja hurried to the bar, and said, “I hope you were not waiting long.”

  “Not at all.” Sharon wore a green summer dress that flattered her figure and made her eyes pop.

  “We have a table reserved,” he added, looking around for the host.

  “I brought that file you wanted,” said Sharon.

  “Huh? Oh, yes, thank you.” Raja had already forgotten why they were meeting.

  “Table for two?” asked the host, a pleasant young woman.

  “Yes, a reservation for Raja Williams.”

  “Right this way, Mr. Williams.” The host led them to a table with a spectacular view of the city.

  Raja waited to hold Sharon’s chair before sitting himself.

  “A man with manners,” said Sharon.

  “Vinny calls me old school.”

  “I’m not complaining. As long as you don’t try to decide my order for me.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. Would you like a drink?”

  “Seagram’s and coke.”

  The waiter arrived at the table.

  “Seagram’s and coke for the lady. Scotch neat for me. The best you have.”

  “Yes, sir.” The waiter left.

  Sharon pulled out the medical file she brought with her. “I went over the autopsy and police report on Judge Griggsby. Nothing much to see. A heroin overdose killed him. Assuming his death was not accidental, it was done with a professional’s attention to detail. A very minor bruise on the neck is all that pointed to foul play. Nothing conclusive, to say the least.”

  “It sounds consistent with our other bodies. Could we be looking at the same killer?”

  “Not with the judge’s wife. That one was nasty and personal. I’d say sociopath, plain and simple.”

  “That one was confirmed to be Fernando Lopez.”

  “With that one exception, the rest could have been done by the same guy. That’s really all I found.”

  “Thanks.” Raja was eager to finish up on work-related talk. He prompted Sharon with a few personal questions and spent some time getting to know her.

  When it was Sharon’s turn, she asked, “What made you decide to become a private investigator?”

  “It seemed like a good way to learn about people.”

  “I would imagine you see some of the worst in people during your investigations.”

  “You should talk. You see dead people.”

  Sharon laughed at the phrase. “Yes, I suppose it is all relative. For me, I am solving a puzzle, completing a picture. It just happens to involve a dead body. On the plus side, there is never any disappointment. They are already dead. But you, on the other hand.” She paused.

  “Plenty of room to fail, I know. Sometimes I do.” Raja thought about how that didn’t matter to him. His father had told him stories of the revolution in Cuba. How Castro and the freedom fighters said they fought to stop the starvation and sickness that claimed so many lives. Then after the bloody military coup took over the country, the purging began. Rioters tore down the homes of the wealthy, and dragged their dead bodies through the streets. Those who got out could do little to help those trapped on the island but pray for their immortal souls. The survivor’s guilt had left Raja’s father empty inside for the remainder of his life.

  Seeing the toll on his father made Raja realize that a man could be haunted as much by what he did not do as he could by what he did do. Perhaps more so. Raja decided that he would be an active force for justice and would use his resources to help others in need.

  “You take the bad with the good,” said Raja. “I get to help people. That makes it all worthwhile.”

  After the meal, they walked along Georgia Street outside the hotel.

  Sharon stopped and asked, “So, Raja, am I here more as a pathologist or as a woman?”

  “Busted,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. Mid the passionate embrace that followed, Raja’s phone beeped once. He ignored it until a female voice from the phone said, “It’s Vinny.” Vinny had programmed Raja’s phone with her voice as the ring from her number.

  “Cute,” said Sharon.

  Raja winced. “I better take this,” he said.

  “Vinny, hey, what do you need?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, boss. I just got a message from Detective Rafferty. Says he has some information you are going to want. He called it a game-changer.” Vinny couldn’t resist any longer. “So, how’s your date going?”

  “Good, until now, thanks. I’ll call Rafferty.” Raja ended the call. He looked at Sharon, and said defensively, “It’s about the case.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, look, I should be going anyway.”

  “Wait. I just need to call Tommy. He has some important news.”

  “That’s okay. You go ahead.” Sharon started to walk away. Raja looked disappointed until Sharon turned and said, “I had a great time, by the way. Thanks.”

  Raja watched her walk off, making a winner out of the dress she was wearing. After she turned the corner, Raja
called Detective Rafferty. “Hey, Tommy. What’s up?”

  “I might have something for you,” said Rafferty. He sounded excited. “I just got a call from one of my techies. He recovered remnants of some emails that were on Jennifer Gowan’s hard drive. From the looks of the data, she and the governor were knocking boots, and on more than one occasion. The man identified himself as ARBY, but coming from the governor’s computer—ARBY, R-B, Robert Black.”

  “I get it, Tommy.”

  “Well get this. Turns out Jennifer was a registered porn actress. You’ll never guess what her stage name was?”

  “Cherry Long,” said Raja, without any doubt.

  “Yes. How did you know that? You know, you could have just played along.”

  “Sorry, Tommy. Blame it on Vinny. She doesn’t miss much. Can you pull the governor in for questioning, or get a search warrant?”

  “Hell no. A sitting governor? That’s a good one. We do have a motive, but we don’t have anything concrete to connect the governor to the girl’s death,” said Rafferty. “Without more, there is no way I can go after the governor.”

  “And, you won’t find anything.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. By the way, I’m starting to think you are holding out on me.”

  “It’s not like that, Tommy. There is a real pro at work here. No crime signature, no loose ends, no evidence.”

  “That’s why I’m giving this information to you. You have more leeway. Maybe you can make use of it.”

  “I will. I need a favor. I’m getting worried about Clarice Hope. Any chance you could send someone to check on her? I sent her to lie low at her ranch outside Santa Barbara. But she’s not the type to stay put for long.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Tommy.”

  After the phone call, Raja paced back and forth on the sidewalk. The governor was deep in the middle of this whole mess. But Raja still didn’t know what or who or why. It was time to up the ante. He called Vinny.