In Cold Blonde

by James L. Conway

  Then with a jolt the implications rocked him. She’d killed Adam and Colin and now she wanted to kill him.

  Kill him!

  But who the hell was she? He studied her face. He didn’t recognize her, though he remembered thinking there was something familiar about her when they first talked.

  Then he thought about her victims; Colin, Adam and an Orange County attorney… and then it hit him. Zachary Stone was the lawyer who handled the payoff to that girl from high school, Annie, Angie, no wait, Alice. Alice Waterman.

  He studied the picture again. That woman looked nothing like Alice Waterman. Well, not that he really remembered what that slut looked like. But wasn’t she brunette and chunky? He could quickly check the video he made that night. He kept it, of course; he kept everything he shot.

  But if she dyed her hair and lost weight… He studied the surveillance shot one more time, it could be her.

  Could be, hell, it must be her, otherwise why would she be killing everyone who was there that night?

  And what was with the damsel in distress act this morning? She must have been researching him. Knew where he lived, knew he liked to run in the mornings. She had to have been waiting for him in that kayak, waiting for him to take his run on the beach so he’d be able to rescue her.

  But then why didn’t she kill him this morning? And then he remembered standing with her in the kitchen making her some more coffee and getting her an apple. She was standing behind him; he pictured the kitchen, the counter…the spice rack…the jar of utensils…and the knives. She was standing in front of the fucking knives!

  He vaguely remembered sensing movement behind him when he bent over to get her that apple, but then Joel and the guys suddenly walked in.

  Was she going to kill him then? Had the guys interrupted her, saving his life?

  Now Blake was starting to get mad.

  That bitch. She tried to kill him this morning, failed, so she was coming back tonight to finish the job. He picked up his phone, started punching in the number on the bottom of the TV screen, then stopped as an idea struck him. A brainstorm, actually.

  There may be an incredible opportunity here.

  It would be risky; she was a killer, after all. But she didn’t know that he knew who she was. And that should buy him both time and opportunity.

  The doorbell rang. She was here. Decision time. The more he thought about his plan, the more he liked it. He hung up the phone.

  Alice drove her Prius to Malibu. It was a gift from her parents when she got out of the Institute a month ago. She hated taking gifts from them since they were all bought with the blood money.

  She’d driven by Blake’s house twice, looking for any sign of police. She saw none. Relieved she was still a couple of steps ahead of the cops, she pulled into Blake’s driveway.

  She’d chosen a red skirt that was just a little too short and a white tank top that was a little too tight. She’d had sex with Adam and given head to Colin but she wanted nothing to do with this sleazebag. She didn’t mind tempting him, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep with him.

  She’d come prepared. The scalpel was washed. Her .25 Colt was cleaned and loaded. And she had a grocery bag filled with the makings for dinner. Pasta, sauce, bread, premixed salad from Whole Foods and a low calorie Italian dressing.

  She almost made a mistake this morning. She was just going to kill him and be done with it. But it occurred to her that Blake was the one shooting the video on that terrible night. She’d really like to finally see that video. Find out once and for all what really happened to her. So she was going to flirt, and cook and pry and hopefully find out where he kept his old videos. And then finally, with her gun pressed to his forehead, as he was begging for his life, she might even get an apology.

  She walked to his door filled with hope. Hope that she’d finally learn what those boys did to her and hope that her bloody revenge would finally come to an end. Fixing a smile firmly in place, Alice rang the bell.

  Blake opened the door. “Right on time,” Blake said, motioning her inside.

  “My mother taught me to never keep a man waiting,” she said walking in.

  Blake eyed the grocery bag. “What’s for dinner?”

  “My specialty,” Alice said heading for the kitchen. “Pasta.” She dropped her purse on a chair in the living room and giggled. “To be honest, it’s about the only thing I know how to cook. But it’ll be good, I promise.”

  “I love pasta.” Blake said as he watched her unpack the food. He studied her face, tried to see Alice in there. Couldn’t. This woman has the most dazzling green eyes, did Alice have green eyes? He didn’t think so. Contacts?

  “So,” he said, joining her in the kitchen. “Before you start cooking,” he said looking deeply into her eyes, “I insist we have a drink on the deck. The sun sets in a few minutes and, with that mountain of cumulous clouds on the horizon, it should be spectacular.”

  God, he’s intense, Alice thought as Blake stared into her eyes. And a little bit creepy. But she had a job to do so she raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, tilted her head and said, “Sounds wonderful.”

  Yep, contacts, Blake thought as he finally discerned a bit of the edge. “You go out on the deck and I’ll make us a drink. What’ll you have?”

  “Wine, white if you have it.”

  “I’ve got a Chardonnay with your name on it.”

  “Thank you,” Alice said, sliding open the French doors and stepping outside. It was like stepping into a postcard. The sea was calm and the sun hung like a huge crimson sphere just above the surface. Alice breathed in the air, allowed herself to enjoy the smell of the sea, the sound of the surf, the visual splendor of nature’s charismatic swan song.

  There was this one doctor at the Institute who was experimenting with aural psychology and would make her lie on a waterbed listening to sounds of the surf, waves breaking and seagulls singing and watch her brainwaves. He showed her the results and they were amazing. Her alpha wave went from a network of huge hills and valleys to an almost smooth line. She was revved up now and could do with a little modulating, so Alice breathed deeply, closed her eyes and let her ears take over.

  Blake watched the blonde from kitchen. As soon as her back was to him, he inched toward her purse. He opened it and looked inside. He moved a wallet aside and saw a handgun. It was small, easy to conceal. Good.

  With a quick glance to make sure she still wasn’t looking, he snatched the gun, slipped it into his pocket. Then he put the wallet back in place, closed the purse and walked to the Sub Zero. The blonde’s eyes were closed. She looked peaceful, he thought.

  Enjoy it while you can, baby.

  He took out a bottle of Cakebread chardonnay and set it on the counter. Then he took the gun and surreptitiously slipped it into the dishtowel drawer, shoving it well back and out of sight. He closed the drawer.

  His eyes went back to the blonde on the deck, still in her trance. He had to admit she was beautiful. Hard to believe she’s killed three people. He didn’t want to become number four and thought briefly about calling 911. But, hell, he had her gun, what could she do to him?

  He picked up his Nikon D90 and started taking pictures of her. She was in profile, and looked spectacular silhouetted against the setting sun. Her eyes were closed and she had just a hint of a smile on her lips.

  Candid shots of the notorious Lady in Red. They would be worth a fortune in worldwide sales. But the stills were just the appetizer in Blake’s plan. He had something much more spectacular in mind. He had the actual video of the Lady in Red having sex with the men she would kill eleven years later!

  The commercial implications were staggering. Besides the millions of dollars it could gross in DVD, internet and licensing sales, it would be a great way for him to re-introduce himself to mainstream Hollywood. Hollywood was a sucker for comeback stories and what better comeback was there than capturing the notorious Lady in Red?

  He zoomed in for an extreme close-up
just as she opened her eyes, turned her head and looked right at him.

  CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

  He took shot after shot. A dazzling smile lit up her face as the sunset scorched the sky behind her. Photographers wait hours for this kind of light. It was called the magic hour even though it usually only lasted about twenty minutes each day as the sun set.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Taking pictures of a beautiful woman. Do you mind?”

  She thought about it, decided she had nothing to lose at this point; he’d be dead soon and she could take the camera. On second thought, she might leave the camera for the police to find, these pictures should look a lot better than those lousy surveillance shots they’re showing on TV. So she posed, playfully. “Not at all.”

  CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

  “Did you ever model while you were in Denver?” Since Blake knew her wannabe actress from Denver story was bullshit, he thought it’d be fun to poke at the lie.

  Actually, Alice’s actress friend, Dawn, did some modeling in Denver and had told her all about it. “I did,” Alice said, turning her head from one side to the other like she’d seen so many models do on TV. “Mostly print ads for Khol’s Department Store.”

  “You should think about modeling in L.A.; you’re fabulous.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sweetly.

  All right, Blake thought. Enough of this; she is a cold-blooded killer after all, don’t get too cocky. He lowered the camera. “Time for that drink I promised.” He traded the Nikon for the bottle of Cakebread. “Would you get the glasses while I open the wine?” He pointed to a row of wine glasses hanging above the bar in the den.

  “Sure,” she said, turning for the bar.

  As soon as her back was turned, Blake swung the bottle.

  Alice sensed the movement, started to turn but too late, the bottle whacked into the back of her skull. Her head snapped back and she went down.

  Blake looked down at the unconscious woman at his feet. He’d done it!

  Now the fun would begin.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Syd wrote down a name: Blake Hunter.

  Could he be the next victim, Syd wondered? It was written on her yellow legal pad beneath six other names: Kris Adams, Jonathan Battle, Edward Bartowski, John Crystal, Ted Dearborn, and James Eagleton.

  Syd was alone in the bullpen, comparing the names in the address books of Colin Wood and Adam Devlin, and had found seven matches through the first five letters of the alphabet. And all seven names were also listed in the yearbook. A notation in Colin Wood’s appointment book explained it; they’d had a ten-year high school reunion last year. So they gotten together with all their old friends and exchanged numbers.

  Syd was sure the names of other potential victims were on that list, but the way it was going, there were going to be twenty or thirty names on the list before she finished. Far more names than she’d expected, which disappointed her. She was hoping the combination of the two address books and yearbook would point her at just one or two people. But even twenty or thirty names did help narrow their focus and at this point, every little bit helped.

  Syd leaned back in her chair and stretched. She was stiff. She hadn’t been to the gym or dojo in almost a week. She depended on her workouts, not only to stay fit, but also to help throttle back her stress. And she could feel her anxiety level building. Not the case so much; Syd was confident they were close to finding the Lady in Red. It was Ryan. Well, Ryan and Anne to be more precise. Syd could live with Ryan taking the Lotto money; she didn’t agree with it but she understood the money’s irresistible appeal. Hell, there was a fresh stack of messages piled on Ryan’s desk from friends, relatives and complete strangers hitting him up for some of that precious money.

  Anne was another story. She was truly dangerous.

  Syd’s cell phone rang. She answered. “Syd Curtis.”

  “It’s Alex Cortez from Newport Beach.”

  “Hey, how you doing, Detective?”

  “A little frustrated to be honest. I’ve come up empty on Colin Wood’s dad. His office says he is in seclusion due to the death of his son. I stopped by his house and he’s either not there or refusing to come to the door. Short of getting a warrant and breaking down the door, I’m not sure what else we can do.”

  Something didn’t feel right. “What kind of man won’t help the police find his son’s killer?” asked Syd.

  “One who can’t deal with his feelings,” Cortez said, not convinced. “Or has something to hide.”

  “Yeah, my spidey sense is tingling, too.”

  “I do have some good news, though,” Cortez said. “I showed the surveillance photo of the Lady in Red to Zachary Stone’s assistant, and she positively ID’d her as the woman who met him.”

  “Great. And we’ve had some other interesting developments.” She brought him up to date on the interview with Emily Devlin and the yearbook discovery. “I should have twenty names or so by morning. So far, half the numbers I’ve found have OC area codes, so we could use your help contacting them.”

  “You mean warning them, don’t you?”

  “And then some. Something happened in high school, I’m sure of it, some kind of brutal humiliation or gang rape, something horrible enough for a woman to kill and mutilate her attackers years later. So if any of the guys we go see were involved, they may lie about it. I think we should do a lot more than just warn these guys, we should interrogate them.”

  “Good point.”

  “I’ll finish some time tonight and email you a list of the OC names. But here are two to get you started tonight.” Syd grabbed her list. “Blake Hunter, oh, wait, no, he lives in Malibu. Here, Jonathan Battle and John Crystal.” She told him the phone numbers.

  “Thanks, Detective. I’ll let you know what I find. And hey, I hope we can all actually meet face to face one of these days.”

  “Oh, we’ll meet,” Syd said. “At the Lady in Red’s trial.”

  Cortez laughed. “I like the way you think. Have a good night.”

  “Yeah, you, too,” Syd said and hung up.

  At the Lady in Red’s trial, Syd thought. They were going to catch her, Syd was more certain of that than ever before. But she wondered if they should be in such a hurry. As she just told Cortez, something dreadful went down eleven years ago. These guys must have done terrible things to the Lady in Red. Syd didn’t know why she waited so long to seek her revenge, but she understood, firsthand, the Lady in Red’s desire for revenge. Syd, herself, had killed twice.

  Syd felt her murders were justified. In court she would probably be acquitted of Ernesto’s murder; a self-defense plea would certainly fly. But her stepfather was another story. She planned that one. She intentionally closed that garage door knowing the fumes would kill him, clearly pre-meditated murder.

  And the thing was, Syd had no regrets. Given the chance, she would kill them both again.

  Syd was sure that the Lady in Red felt the same way. Her murders are totally justified in her mind. The Lady in Red must know she’s going to get caught and has decided that revenge is worth any incarceration or execution.

  And here was the irony; these boys broke the law when they attacked her in high school, but didn’t get punished. And now, because of their crime, the innocent victim has become a serial killer. Yeah, yeah, Syd knew that two wrongs don’t make a right; but she also knew that sometimes revenge sure makes you feel better.

  She glanced at the clock, seven-fifteen; almost time for Ryan’s dinner meeting with Anne at the Beverly Hilton. And that meant it was time for Syd to take a break. Syd would get back to the appointment books later, but first, a little surveillance.

  On Ryan and Anne.

  Ryan would freak if he found out, Syd knew. But hey, a girl’s got to protect herself, doesn’t she?

  THIRTY-NINE

  Alice woke up with a start. And then she panicked. She was blind. Something was stuffed in her mouth, her hands were tied behind her and her
feet were bound. She tried to scream, kicked her feet, fought to free her hands.

  “Take it easy, Alice, you’re going to hurt yourself,” a voice said. Blake’s voice. And he called her Alice. Shit, she thought, he knows who I am.

  He did indeed. Blake had dragged Alice into his office after knocking her out, and then grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his bedroom. Fur-lined, of course, and usually used for Blake’s kinkier call girls, but the handcuffs were real so he pulled Alice’s arms behind her back, snapped the cuffs snuggly around her wrists and slipped the key into his pocket. He used rope from his bedroom to bind her ankles. The rope had been used to bind feet before, but usually to his bedpost.

  And to Blake’s surprise, the whole thing was turning him on. “Freak,” he mumbled to himself, laughing at his own perversions.

  He finished off by gagging her with a washcloth held in place with a bandana then slipped her head inside a cloth, eco-friendly grocery bag from Whole Foods.

  She was out for a long time. At first Blake was grateful as he used the time to find the infamous video in one of the storage boxes stacked in his office closet and set up his video camera. After fifteen minutes, she was still unconscious and he began to worry that he’d hit her too hard. He actually put his hand on her chest to check her breathing, and once he determined it was slow but steady, he copped a quick feel of her tits. Very nice.

  She finally woke up a few minutes later kicking and screaming into her gag. After he calmed her down, he pulled the sack off her head. He expected her eyes to be wild with fear, but instead they burned with a fierce hatred as she continued to curse at him through the gag.

  “Whoa, throttle back the venom, dude,” Blake said. “I’ll take the gag off if you promise not to scream. No one can hear you anyway, so chill, Alice. And if you’re nice, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  But Alice wasn’t done venting yet. In an incomprehensible rant into her gag, she bitched him out then called herself a fucking idiot for letting him get the drop on her. Finally, she leaned back against the wall, her vitriol spent.