“And since it was a quick pick, no one could prove these were numbers he played every week. And since it was six months ago, the 7-Eleven won’t have a video tape.”
“Right. So if they can’t find the real owner, what happens to the money?”
“It goes back into the State general budget fund. Meaning no one gets it.”
Ryan slumped; that’s what he was afraid of. “What a waste,” he said.
Okay, Anne thought. Got to go careful here. “Ryan, who else knows the truth about the lottery ticket?”
Ryan looked at her. He knew where she was going. She was going to try and find a way to justify keeping it. And so was he. That’s the real reason he was here, wasn’t it?
“Just my partner.”
“Can you trust him?”
“Her. And yes, totally.”
She didn’t like that answer; too quick, too definitive. There was only one reason he could be so sure, he was probably involved with her. Anne wanted to probe further, but there would be time for that later.
“What does she think you should so do with the ticket?”
“She hasn’t told me. She says it’s my decision.”
Good, Anne thought. Smart girl. “Then let’s look at a couple of options. I know you used to look at life in absolutes, Ryan, your John Wayne syndrome; right is right, wrong is wrong, life is black and white, period. Has nine years in law enforcement dulled your integrity?”
Nine years on the streets usually turned the biggest idealist into a jaded cynic. And Ryan had seen enough injustices, corruption and abuse of power to rattle his belief system, but it still worked, somehow. “Dulled, perhaps, destroyed, no.”
“But I’m sure you now realize that there is a lot of gray mixed in with the black and white.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well, that’s what we’ve got here, Ryan. A gray area. In a perfect world you’d turn the ticket in, the rightful owner would get it and the angels in heaven sing a chorus of Halleluiah. But, since turning in the ticket would mean no one gets the money, those angels have got nothing to sing about. If you did claim the lottery and used the millions for the greater good, those angels could unleash their voices.”
“The greater good?”
“Charities, friends in need; Ryan, we’re talking forty-seven million dollars!”
“Thirty-four after taxes.”
Anne laughed. “Okay, thirty-four. That’s still a boatload of cash. Think of all the great things you could do with that money. All the people you could help. You could be a one-man United Way, giving help and money to whomever you want.”
Ryan hadn’t thought of that. And taking the money for charitable purposes didn’t seem as dishonest somehow.
“Look, I’m just spit-balling here, I need to get back to my office and check a few things. How much time do we have? When does the ticket expire?”
“Thursday.”
Anne’s jaw dropped. “The day after tomorrow? Aren’t you cutting this a little bit close?”
“We just found the ticket. Syd, that’s my partner, wanted some gum so I told her to look in my glove compartment. And there it was, buried in a few years worth of crap.”
“Sounds like she’s the real hero in this story,” Anne said. Then something occurred to her. “Wait a minute, you don’t still drive the Mustang, do you?”
“It was my dream car in college and it’s my dream car now.”
And then Anne remembered a night long ago. They were driving back from Malibu the night Ryan proposed, the top was down, their hair was blowing and he said, “I’m in my dream car with my dream girl. Does it get any better than this?” The memory filled her with such a sense of melancholy that she looked away, oddly embarrassed.
Ryan noticed. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, and then regrouped. “You know,” she said, getting back to the heart of her idea, the heart of her salvation. “I could help you set up this foundation. I’ve been living the life of a greedy corporate attorney for long enough. Taking and never giving back. This could be a great opportunity for both of us. You’d resign from the police department and we could run it together.”
“Wait, hold it. Who said anything about leaving the police department?”
“You’d have millions of dollars, why would you want to still be a cop?”
“I love being a cop.”
He said it with such conviction Anne was envious. She wished she loved something that much. “Then you remain a cop and oversee the foundation on the side. The important thing is we put that money to good use.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple, Ryan. You’ve been given an incredible opportunity to help thousands of people. Frankly, it’s a no brainer. In fact, as I fully unwind my powers of rationalization, I could make a case that you winning the Lotto and using the money for charity is much more humane than some beer guzzling tow truck driver who would no doubt piss away all the money. It’s better for everyone.”
“Well, almost everyone,” Ryan said.
“Sure. But what the tow truck driver doesn’t know can’t possibly hurt him.”
Anne made so much sense. And for the first time since he’d found out about the winning lottery ticket, Ryan began to see a way he could actually justify keeping the money. And the idea of working with Anne every day, seeing Anne every day, was surprisingly appealing.
“You have time for one more drink?” he asked.
Anne shook her head. “No, if we’ve got a Thursday deadline, I’ve got a ton of work to do.” She slid a twenty-dollar bill onto the bar. “You have time tomorrow if I need you?”
“I’ll make time.”
Anne stood. “I’ve missed you, Handsome.” And then she kissed him gently on the lips.
The kiss surprised Ryan. It felt good. It felt familiar. It felt right. Ryan suddenly realized how much he had missed her. “Talk to you soon, Beautiful.”
Anne walked out of the bar, a smile on her lips. She had him.
EIGHTEEN
Syd sat at her desk in the deserted bullpen, eyes focused on her computer screen. The more Syd read about Anne Rogers, formerly Anne Magee, formerly Anne Reich, the less she liked her. Syd had Googled her, checked her Facebook page and the Rogers, Middleton and Roberts homepage. What emerged was an up-from-the-bootstraps story of a poor young girl raised in a trailer park by an alcoholic mother who made it to the top with pluck, brains and determination. There is no mention of her brief college marriage to Ryan Magee, but blog after blog accompanied by the appropriate pictures, chronicled her worldwide travels to the far-flung capitals of the world, Zurich, Dubai, Paris, etc., with her wonderful husband Rick. They were always photographed either hand in hand or with arms around each other; clearly two people in love.
That was a bit consoling; at least she was happily married.
Anne’s legal career seemed successful but uneventful. She represented Fortune 500 firms in a variety of corporate litigations; lawsuits that make money, not headlines. Syd double-clicked on Anne’s picture on the Rogers, Middleton Roberts homepage and the smiling brunette face filled the screen. She was pretty, if anything, too perfect; almost like she was trying too hard.
Syd had met a few women like her in the Police Academy. Overachievers, who studied harder and worked out longer than all the other cadets. Syd knew the type well; she was one of them.
In a way, becoming a cop was a going away present from EMT Eric Templeton. At Eric’s funeral, Syd met his sister, Andrea. She was a vet, too, an MP in the Army who joined the LAPD after her discharge. Eric had told Andrea all about Syd, and the two women hit it off immediately.
Andrea saw the same potential in Syd that Eric had, and helped her get her high school GED, enroll in Santa Monica City College and even got Syd a part-time job working at a friend’s cafe.
Andrea wasn’t pretty. She had a nose that was a bit small on a face that was a bit too long and eyes that were just a tad too close together. She ke
pt her brown hair cut short and wore almost no make-up. She was tall and skinny, but strong. She spent five hours a week in the gym and was a first-degree black belt.
She was also gay. In the Army, nobody asked and she didn’t tell. In the LAPD, it was nobody’s fucking business.
Andrea lived in a three-bedroom house in Burbank she inherited from her folks. She offered Syd one of the spare bedrooms until she got on her feet. They became lovers a month later.
Syd was smart enough to realize a pattern was developing; she was using sex as the glue to cement important relationships. It happened with Ernesto and now Andrea. But she didn’t care; she was so desperate for security, for stability that sex seemed a small price to pay.
Syd didn’t think of herself as gay; bi-sexual at best. When she was a hooker she’d had to do a number of threesomes; guys always loved to see two girls get it on. Syd liked it okay; women certainly were better lovers than men. However given a choice, Syd preferred men.
But Andrea was so much more than a lover. She was teacher, friend, and inspiration. She took Syd to the gym, to the dojo so she could learn karate, to museums and art galleries. And Andrea instilled in Syd her love for law enforcement. Andrea relished running into a dangerous situation when everyone else was running away. She felt she made a difference every day. There were millions of people living in L.A. just trying to mind their own business, raise their children and get safely through the day. Millions of people who are preyed on by thugs, thieves, rapists and murderers. Andrea was proud to man the wall that separated good from evil. And what better way for Syd to get over her former life as a victim than by becoming an advocate for justice.
She never told Andrea that she’d killed two men. In Syd’s mind those weren’t crimes, they were clear-cut cases of self-defense. Besides, she feared Andrea’s sense of justice would land her in jail.
Syd joined the LAPD as soon as she graduated from Santa Monica City College. She was determined to be number one in her Academy class and make Andrea proud. So she was an overachiever.
But Andrea didn’t live to see Syd’s graduation. Andrea was killed by a gangbanger trying to hold up a Wendy’s.
Syd’s reaction was surprising. She was heartbroken, of course, but a part of her was relieved. Syd was hoping to start her LAPD career on her own. She was ready to move on with her life and that meant breaking up with Andrea. Andrea would have been devastated, so a valiant death in the line of duty was at the very least, a consolation.
Syd’s success as a cop was due, in great deal, to the lessons learned from Andrea and the ambition seared into her soul by her late lover. And though Syd had dated a few times in the ensuing years, men only now, nothing stuck until Syd met Ryan.
But at times like this she really missed Andrea. Andrea was a great judge of character and Syd would love Andrea’s take on ex-wife Anne and the whole lottery mess.
The bullpen door swung open and Ryan walked in. He had a bounce to his step and a smile on his face.
“You look happy,” Syd said clicking a window on her computer banishing the picture of Anne Rogers.
“I do? Well, I guess I kind of am. Anne was very helpful.”
“What, tell me?”
He plopped into his chair, facing her. “You first; any luck finding the Tuttle girl?”
“Of course, nobody can hide from me. She’s a wannabe actress working nights as a waitress at Tony Roma’s.”
“I love Tony Roma’s.”
“I know you do. I thought we could stop for a little third degree and a side of baby back ribs.”
“Genius.”
“I also got the VICAP report on numbers scrawled into corpses. 666 seem to be the numerals of choice, often left on corpses, walls, floors or cars.”
“Devil worship.”
“Right, which is what we don’t have here. Aside from the 666 freaks, I couldn’t find any reports of a body found with the number 1 carved or painted on it, or the numbers 2, 3 or 4 for that matter.”
“Okay. Guess we’ll have to crack this case the old fashioned way.” Ryan stood. “So, we good to go?”
“Wait, what about your ex-wife and the lottery ticket?”
“I’ll tell you on the way,” Ryan said heading for the door. “But here’s the headline: Ryan Magee saves the world.” And he walked out the door.
Intrigued, and more than a little worried, Syd followed.
NINETEEN
The five most expensive items on the Bel Air Regent Hotel room service menu were: Iranian Ostera Caviar, three hundred and sixty-five dollars an ounce; Lobster Thermador with Wilted Baby Spinach, sixty-five dollars; Crispy Duck Confit with Sautéed Fingerling Potatoes, Smoked Mushrooms and Wild Mushrooms, fifty-five dollars; a twenty-four ounce Rib Eye at fifty-two dollars and finally, Duo of Foie Gras with Scented Wild mushrooms a paltry forty-five dollars.
Of course, the most expensive things on any restaurant menu are the wines and the Bel Air Regent room service menu was no exception. So Adam also ordered the priciest wine, a six hundred dollars bottle of Chateau Margaux ’89 to wash it all down.
Adam watched Susie gobble up the caviar. And that’s exactly what it looked like. He’d never seen anyone enjoy something so much. It was a far cry from her reaction when she first saw the jet-black pile of fish eggs.
“I’ve never had caviar,” she said staring at the caviar warily. “Why would anyone want to eat fish eggs?”
“Because they’re good. Here, let me make you one.” Adam picked up a cracker, doled out a small scoop of caviar, added a little chopped onion, chopped egg and a dollop of sour cream. He handed it to her; she took it cautiously but made no motion toward her mouth.
Adam smiled. “They don’t charge hundreds of dollars an ounce because it’s bad, Susie. Go ahead, you’ll love it, I promise.”
She closed her eyes, slipped the cracker into her mouth and took a tentative bite. First her eyes popped open, then a smile spread as the miraculous mixture of salty eggs, crunchy onions, sour cream and egg engulfed her taste buds. “Oh, my God,” she said, her mouth still full. “This definitely does not suck.”
“Told you.”
She closed her eyes relishing the flavor. Only one word could describe her reaction, ecstasy. And watching her bliss was thrilling for Adam. His wife Emily was a spoiled bitch who grew up in Beverly Hills and had probably been spoon-fed caviar as a baby. Nothing seemed to delight her any more. She’d seen it all, done it all. She was totally jaded.
But not Susie. She was like a kid with a new toy and Adam was surprised how much pleasure he was getting from Susie’s happiness. Then he had an epiphany.
“Come work for me.”
“What?”
“Now that I’ve found you I don’t want to let you go. If I get you a job with one of my clients who knows when I’ll see you again. I want you all to myself.”
Alice looked at him and smiled provocatively. “What kind of job do you have in mind?”
“No, I’m serious. I’ll train you to become an agent. You’re smart, beautiful, and ambitious; you would make a fantastic sports agent.”
Alice realized he was serious. “You’re offering me a job?”
“Not just a job, a career. You could make enough money to order caviar whenever you liked.”
She threw her arms around him. “Yes, I’d love to; Adam, thank you so much.” She kissed him.
“Of course,” he said slipping his hand under the robe, rubbing his finger on her nipple, “we’re going to need to spend a lot of time together while I train you.”
“I suppose I could stomach it,” she said, nibbling his ear.
“And I travel a lot, all over the world. You’d need to come with me.” His hand moved to her other breast.
She purred. “Sounds exhausting, but I’m game.” She kissed his neck.
Then Adam realized something. “I can’t believe it, I’m hard again.”
“Then I guess we’re just going to have to do something about that,” she said,
slipping off her robe.
“Four times in one night!” Adam reached past her to put down his glass of wine. “Okay, I’ve haven’t had sex four times in one day since college. Whoops…” his hand hit her purse, knocking it to the floor. It landed upside down, spilling most of its contents. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’ll get it.”
“No!” Alice blurted, leaping off the bed. “Let me.”
But she was too late, Adam picked up the purse revealing a pile of purse detritus — including the Colt Vest Pocket .25.
“Is that a gun?”
“Yes,” she said, picking it up. “A girl can’t be too careful these days.”
Something else caught Adam’s eye; he picked it up. “And a scalpel, what’s this for?”
Alice said the first thing that came to mind. “They’re great for getting stains out of clothes. Just scrape them off and good as new.”
“What a great idea.” Adam looked at the blade. “Guess you spilled some red wine recently, this blade is filthy.”
Colin Wood’s dried blood, Alice thought. She’d meant to wipe it off when she got back to the apartment after killing him, but forgot. Shit. “I spilled wine on a sweater the other day, worked like a charm.” She took the scalpel from him, dropped it in the purse along with the gun.
Adam reached into the pile to help her refill her purse, coming up with a Platinum American Express card. He stared at the name, confused. It said Colin Wood. “What the hell?”
Alice looked up. Fuck, she thought, Colin’s credit card. She’d stolen it as a souvenir to go along with the card she stole from Zachary Stone and forgotten to take it out of her purse.
Adam stood up, the Platinum card clutched in his hand. He glanced at the TV remembering the news report of Colin’s murder. His face clouded as pieces of an impossible puzzle tried to fall into place. When he looked back at Alice, she had the gun pointed at him.
TWENTY
“Where were you last night between midnight and 2:00 a.m.?”
In Cold Blonde Page 10