In Cold Blonde (18 page)

“I’ve paddled by these houses every day for three weeks and never been
inside one,” Alice said.  She was sitting at Blake’s kitchen counter,
sipping a cup of coffee Blake had made her.  She had a thick terry cloth
towel draped over her shoulders but the ocean chill had passed.

After getting her a towel and making coffee, Blake had gone back outside
and retrieved the kayak and paddle.  Now, back in the house, Blake stared
at Alice.  He’d had countless women in his home but never one washed in
from the sea.  And though he didn’t know her, there was something vaguely
familiar about her.  She intrigued him. 

He said, “I grew up in Orange County, south of here, and surfed every day
as a kid.  And as I sat out in the water, waiting for a wave, I’d stare at
the houses nestled into Shaw’s Cove and dream about one day owning my own beach
house.”

“And now you do.”

“And now I do.”

“I saw the surfboards on the patio, do you still surf every day?”

“That’s the funny part.  I hardly surf anymore.  No time. 
But from time to time I force myself to take an afternoon off and paddle out.”

“I’d love to learn.  I grew up in Denver.  Not too many gnarly
waves back there.”  She laughed.  “But it sure looks like fun.”

Blake hated teaching people how to surf.  It was a lot harder than
it looked so it took forever, and most people totally spazzed out, never
getting to their feet.  But the prospect of teaching this blonde in the
red bikini to surf excited him.  “Maybe I could teach you sometime,” he
said.

“That would be great,” Alice said, getting off the stool and roaming
through the large living room.  It was comfortable with wood floors, a
plush leather couch, and two overstuffed leather side chairs.  They faced
the huge picture window featuring a delicious view of the ocean.  “And is
it everything you dreamed about?  Living here, I mean?”

“Yes and no.  The good is obvious: great view, I love the smell of
the ocean, it’s cooler in summer and warmer in winter, and staring at that big beautiful
sea soothes my soul.  But there’s the bad, too.  You end up with sand
everywhere, the salt corrodes everything, traffic on the PCH totally sucks;
during a storm, the crashing waves sound like artillery shells so sleeping is
impossible.  Oh and there are fires, floods and in June, the fog is so
heavy you can go weeks without seeing the sun.”

“You poor baby.”

Blake laughed.  “Yeah, pity me.”  He thought the blonde looked
so cute with his big towel wrapped around her.  Blake’s eyes went from her
bare feet, up her legs to her bikini clad ass.  Nice.  “So you’re from
Colorado, how long have you been in L.A?”

“Just under a month.  I’m an actress; big shock, huh?  I starred
in all the plays in college, I went to the University of Colorado at Boulder, and
then spent a couple years doing regional theatre in Denver.”  The fake
biography was easy for Alice.  It was based on the life of her friend,
Dawn, from the Institute.   Dawn came to Hollywood full of hope and
confidence but after six months and countless failed auditions – and running
a gauntlet of men promising her anything to get into her pants but delivering
nothing – Dawn swallowed a full bottle of Xanax.  Her parents sent
her to the Institute to get better.  And it worked.  Dawn realized
that being a big fish in a small pond was better than being bait in L.A. and she
returned to Denver.

“I did a three week revival of
Sweet Charity
and got these great
reviews.  The director said I should go to Hollywood; he knew an agent
there, so I figured, hey, you only go around once in life so why not take a
chance?  But it’s a lot harder than I imagined.  His agent friend
turned out to be a sixty-year-old letch that only represented cameramen and
crew people.  And getting an audition with a real agent is tough.  To
be honest, I’m thinking about going home.”

 Blake knew a lot of agents.  It was vital to a young career to
be photographed at all the right movie premieres and A-list parties, so
Hollywood’s ten-percenters needed coverage from Blake’s photographers. 
And this was definitely a you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours kind of
town.  “I know some people, some agents I could set you up with.”

If she hadn’t known Blake in high school, she would have been convinced
by his sincerity.  But Blake Hunter was a player.  He’d say and do
anything in high school to get laid.  It had been
his
idea to
invite her over to Colin’s house and drug and rape her. 
He’d
been
the one to email those horrible pictures of her.  He might have been
trying to charm her now, but in his mind, she was the antelope and he was the lion. 

But if he was acting, she could act, too.  So she cocked her head
and looked at him suspiciously.  “How do I you know you’re not a letch who
just wants to get into my pants?”

She said it playfully and Blake laughed.  “Well, let’s start with
this simple statement of fact: I do want to get into your pants.”  His
eyes dropped to her bathing suit,    “Or, bottoms as the case
may be.  But I
do
know a lot of agents and quite a few owe me
favors.  And I don’t expect anything from you.  I’ll get you a
meeting at CAA, WME and UTA, no strings attached.”

“Really?”

“Really.”  He stepped forward, took the coffee cup out of her
hands.  “Can I get you some more coffee?” 

“Yes, please.”

Her eyes tracked him into the kitchen.  She wasn’t able to bring her
gun with her but Alice figured there would be knives in the house she could use
to kill him.  And sure enough there was a wood block filled with knives on
the counter. 

Her dad made her clean the deer and elk she shot as a kid, and cutting
through the skin, muscle and bone hadn’t bothered her as much as she thought it
would.  She wasn’t crazy about the blood, but it washed off easily enough,
so the prospect of sliding a butcher knife into Blake’s back or slitting his
throat open with a paring knife didn’t bother her.  In fact, the vision of
his blood squirting onto his shiny kitchen floor thrilled her.

“You have a beautiful kitchen,” she said, following him into the
kitchen.  “Do you cook?”

“No,” he said, adding Splenda and milk to her mug.  “But my
decorator was a great chef and she insisted I have a top notch kitchen.” 

Alice leaned on the counter, the set of knives behind her.  She
reached back, wrapped her right hand around the butcher knife.  She was
about to slide it out when Blake turned around with her coffee.

“Here you go,” he said.  “With milk and Splenda, just like before.”

Her hand dropped off the knife, took the cup.  “Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?  I’ve got bananas here somewhere, and apples in the
refrigerator, I think.”

“An apple would be great.”

Blake opened the Sub Zero, bent over and slid open a bottom drawer. 
His back was to her now, and a perfect target.

Alice silently slid the butcher knife out of the block, turned toward Blake
raising the knife over her head. 

Crash!  The front door burst open.  “Hey, Blake, we’re here!”

Alice dropped her hand, slid the knife back into the block and three guys
came around the corner. 

“Sorry we’re late, but…” the guy who was talking stopped when he saw Alice
standing in the kitchen.  A moment later Blake stood up with an apple. 
The guy, Joel, one of Blake’s photographers who looked like a Hell’s Angel
motorcycle outlaw said,  “I thought Eve was the one with the apple, but
hey, I was kicked out of bible studies for wacking off to an illustration of
Delilah.”

The other two men laughed.  One was tall in a luau shirt and cargo
shorts, the other in jeans and a torn tee shirt.  All three had multiple
cameras draped around their necks.

“Funny, Joel,” Blake said.  “Guys, this is Dawn.  Dawn, the
guys.”

“Hi,” she said. 

“I’m sorry,” Blake said to Alice.  “But we’ve got to be in Hollywood
by noon.  Can we drop you somewhere?”

Shit, Alice thought.  Shit, shit, shit.  “No, I’ve got my
kayak, I’ll be fine.”

Blake took her by the arm, led her onto the deck.  “Look,” he
said.  “I feel like we’re just getting started here and I’d love to see
you again.  Are you free tonight?”

Alice wasn’t sure how much time she had left before the cops found Adam
and started putting all the pieces together, but she didn’t have much choice,
now, did she?  “I could be,” she said.  “In fact, I happen to be a
wonderful cook.  What say I put that fancy dancy kitchen of yours to work
and make us dinner?”

“That would be great,” he said.  And then I’m going to fuck you
silly, he thought.  “Say, seven o’clock.”

“I’ll be here.  In a car this time.”

Blake laughed.  “Good idea.” He kissed her on the cheek.  “Be
safe.”

“I will. Oh, and thanks for saving my life.”

“All in a day’s work.”

Alice held his look for a long, provocative moment.  “I’m happy I
met you, Blake Hunter.”  Then she ran down the beach toward her kayak
thinking:  But I’m going to be even happier to kill you.

“Look at the fingers,” Syd said.  “What do you see?”

Ryan saw the index, middle and ring finger spread out, the thumb and
pinkie folded into Adam Devlin’s palm.  “Three fingers,” then it hit
him.  “3.  The three fingers mean 3.”

“Her third victim.  I love a worthy opponent,” Syd said.  “Be a
shame when we finally catch her.”

They stood in the middle of suite 1224 looking at Adam’s dead body. 
He was naked.  There was a single bullet wound which obliterated his left
eye, blew out the back of his skull and left a Rorschach-like blood spray on
the wall behind him.  His penis had been removed but wasn’t in his mouth. 
       

Ramirez and his team were hard at work dusting the room for prints,
vacuuming samples from the floor, taking hair and fibers from the bed. 

Liz knelt at Adam’s head examining the gunshot wound.  Then she
moved to his mouth.  “There’s blood on his lips.  But no
penis.”  She looked at the cops spread throughout the room.  “Anyone
see a severed cock?”

“Okay,” Hanrahan said, a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop jammed in his mouth. 
“That’s something you don’t hear at every crime scene.”

“We have an ID on the victim?” Ryan asked.

“The room’s registered to Adam Devlin.”  Hanrahan held up a plastic
evidence bag holding Adam’s wallet.  “The driver’s license confirms the
ID.  He’s a sports agent according to the business cards in his wallet. 
And, FYI, there is an empty credit card slot and no American Express.”

“And he’s somehow connected to Zachary Stone and Colin Wood,” Syd
said.  “Three down, how many more to go?”

“We ran Devlin’s name, and a missing person report was filed this morning
by his wife.  He never came home last night.”  Hanrahan ripped a page
out of his notebook, handed it to Ryan.  “Here’s the address.”

“Brentwood,” Ryan said looking around the room.  “And he rented a
suite.  This guy had money.”

Ramirez sidled up to Ryan.  “Speaking of money, you get a chance to
look over the business plan yet?”

“Hey, great meatballs, Tony,” Hanrahan said.  “Give him the money,
Ryan, I’d eat there.”

“I did glance at it,” Ryan said.  “And frankly, I don’t know shit
about business.  But I’ll be setting up a foundation and hiring some
experts, so I’ll give them your proposal; promise.  But in return, I want
a solid piece of evidence from this crime scene.”

“Tell me you’re not serious, because this babe is good.  You know our
problem in a hotel room is
eliminating
fingerprints; there are usually
hundreds of them, guests, maids, bellboys.  But not here.  Every
surface has been wiped down; doorknobs, light switches, end tables, in the
bathroom she wiped the sink handles and even remembered the toilet handles. 
A lot of people forget that.  They had sex before he killed her. 
There are semen stains on the bed.  We’ve found pubic hair in the sheets,
black and they all look identical, and they all match him.”  Ramirez cut
his eyes to Adam’s corpse.  “And since I didn’t find any of her pubic hair,
I’m guessing she shaves.  So we’ve got no prints, no hair, no nothing.”

“Then I guess Mirabelle’s Meatballs is out of luck.”

Ramirez’s face fell.  “But …”

Ryan laughed.  “Just kidding.  It’ll be the first thing I give
to the CPA.”

“Thanks, Ryan.” 

“We may not have DNA on her,” Hanrahan said.  “But we may be just a
few minutes from getting a look at her.  The desk clerk who checked Mr.
Devlin in is going through the hotel security videos to see if they’ve got the
Lady in Red on camera. So with any luck…”

Liz stood up.  “Ryan, tell me again about this foundation of yours.”

“I’ve decided to give away most of the Lotto money.  Friends and
family have first shot at it.  But nothing frivolous, just people in need
of a life changing monetary infusion.”

A surprised Liz
looked at Syd.  “When did it happen?”

“When did what
happen?”

“When did Ryan lose his mind?”

Ryan was confused.  “Liz, I thought you’d like the idea.  When
I was a kid, I remember you nagging Dad at the holidays to give money to the
United Way, Salvation Army, Red Cross.”

“That’s right.  I wanted him to give money to
professional
charitable organizations who knew how to equitably distribute the money. 
But let’s back up a bit.  Why the hell do you feel the need to give the
money away in the first place?”

Ryan and Syd exchanged a quick look and then Ryan said, “It just seems a
bit… obscene.  Thirty-four million dollars.  That’s way too much for
one person.”

“I’ll take ten million off your hands,” Hanrahan said.

“Count me in for five,” an SID tech said.

“And I’ll take the rest if you insist,” Liz said.  “Look, Ryan, the
truth is you’re in shock. 
Anyone
would be.  Winning that much
money is beyond your comprehension, you’re justifiably confused.  So do me
a favor; before you piss away your windfall, just stick it in the bank and
wait.  Put your brain on simmer and let the implications of all that money
marinate for a little while.  Your life has just changed forever and
you’re going to need time to adjust.  Find a new equilibrium.  Then
in six months, a year, if you still want to give it away, there will be plenty
of takers, believe me.” 

“Talk about a buzz kill,” Hanrahan muttered.

Ryan respected Liz and under normal circumstances would have listened to
her.  But the only way in Ryan’s mind to assuage the guilty he felt taking
the money in the first place was the rationalization that he’d be giving it
away.  “Liz, I respect your opinion, I do, but Anne and I have given this
a lot of thought and -- ”

“Anne?” asked Liz.  “As in ex-wife Anne?”

“That’s right.”

“When did she get back in the picture?” Liz asked distastefully.

Before Ryan could answer, a uniform guarding the door waved, trying to
get their attention.  In the hallway behind him Ryan saw an older woman
standing with a small dog in her arms.

“I think we’re being paged,” Hanrahan said.  He headed for the door,
Ryan followed.

Syd remained with Liz.  The way Liz had said
Anne,
was filled
with attitude, and Syd realized that if anyone could give her the real story of
what happened between Ryan and Anne, it was Liz.  “Liz, could I talk with
you privately?”

Liz looked at her, curiously.  “Sure.”  She led them to a
corner of the room.   

Syd spoke quietly, “I’d like to ask you something in confidence.”

“Okay,” Liz answered, warily.

“What happened between Anne and Ryan?  What happened to their
marriage?”

“I was afraid you were going to ask me that.”

“Afraid, why?”

“Because you and Ryan are a great team.  But if you’re dating, it’s
just a matter of time until Hanrahan finds out and is forced to spilt you up.”

“Getting a new partner is the least of my problems right now.  Ryan
reteaming
with Anne is at the top of my list.”

“Reteaming
how?”

“Anne’s going to run the foundation for Ryan.  So they’ll be
spending all sorts of time together.  And, she’s getting a divorce. 
Should I be worried?”

Liz answered instantly.  “Oh, yeah.”

“Why?”

“What did Ryan tell you about their marriage?”

“That they were kids; after a couple of years they realized it was a
mistake and split up.  He didn’t make it sound like a very big deal.”

Liz shook her head.  “Men.  If men would learn to vocalize
their feelings, they’d live longer and we’d all be happier.”

“So what happened?”

“If you tell him I told you this, I’ll take a skull saw to your sweet
little neck.”

“Pinkie promise.”  Syd took out her notebook, flipped it open,
started writing notes.

“What’re you doing?”

“If Ryan looks over, it’ll look like I’m working.  So what
happened?”

“She broke his heart.  Called him up one day, said she’d met someone
else and never went back to their apartment.  Her new boyfriend sent
movers to clean out her stuff.  Ryan never got over it.  It’s been
like seven years, and he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend since.  A few
dates here and there, but I think he’s been afraid to commit.  I think
he’s afraid he’s going to be hurt again.  How long have you guys been
involved?”

“A month.”

“That’s a modern day record for Ryan.”

“And I’m crazy about him.”

“He cares about you, too.  I can tell.”

That pleased Syd.  “Really?”

“I see the way he looks at you.  There is that lovely mix of
admiration and adoration.  God, I miss that.”

“What’s Anne like?”

“Let me put it this way.  The first time Ryan brought Anne to my
house, she spent the entire dinner asking me how much things cost.  How
much had I paid for the house?  How much for the couch?  My
Lexus.  My necklace.  She was obsessed with money.  And if you
ask me, that’s why she left Ryan.  When they got married, his dad was
rich.  Ryan was on track to become a lawyer, too.  The future was
gold-plated.  Then his dad lost all his money.  It didn’t seem to
matter to Ryan, but Anne was beside herself; you’d have thought it was
her
money
that disappeared.  Then she meets Rick Rogers,
rich
Rick Rogers,
and Ryan’s out and Rick is in.”

“But now Ryan’s suddenly rich,” Syd said.

“Richer than rich,” Liz said.  “Anne suddenly reappears in Ryan’s
life
and
is getting divorced.  Coincidence?” 

Every fear Syd had was suddenly confirmed.  “So what do I do?”

Liz looked past Syd to Ryan.  “I love that boy, but he’s got a soft
spot in his heart and head for Anne.”  Liz looked back at Syd.  “You
want the truth?”

No, Syd thought, because it doesn’t sound like I’ll like it.  But
she nodded.

“He’s always loved Anne.  He’ll always love Anne.  If she wants
him back, he’s hers.”

The words hit Syd like a body blow.  She didn’t just want
Ryan.  She wanted Ryan to love her.  Pick her over Anne.  And if
Liz was right, that would never happen.

“He’s waving at you,” Liz said.

“What?” Syd asked, jolted out of her reverie.

“Ryan, he’s signaling to you.”

Syd turned.  Ryan waved for her to join him.  Syd looked back
to Liz.  “Thanks for your honesty.  I think.”

“Maybe I’m wrong.  I hope I’m wrong, I really do.”

“Me, too.”  Syd closed the notebook, joined Ryan, Hanrahan and the
older woman in the hallway.

“Syd,” Ryan said.  “This is Edna Kaye, she saw the Lady in
Red.  Talked to her.”

That fact jolted Syd’s love life to the backburner; she was first and
foremost a cop.  Syd extended her hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m Detective Syd
Curtis.”

Maggie, the dog, barked as Syd extended her hand.  “Quiet, Maggie,”
Edna said, taking Syd’s hand.  “Sorry, she’s gets a little excited
sometimes.”

“Tell me about her,” Syd said.  “The Lady in Red.”

“Blonde, very pretty.  Sultry, I think that’s the word.  Did
she really kill someone?  Is there a body in there?”

“All we can tell you is we’re conducting a murder investigation,”
Hanrahan said.

“Edna was walking down the hall with her dog when the Lady in Red came
out of the suite,” Ryan said.  “Maggie ran into the suite just as the door
was closing.”

“No wonder she wouldn’t open the door for me,” Edna said.  “I
thought she was a little suspicious, but I never dreamt she was a cold-blooded
killer.”

“Why did you think she was suspicious?” Syd asked. 

“The way she acted when Maggie got locked inside.  She got, what’s
the word, discombobulated.  Very nervous.  Oh, and did I mention the
gloves?”

“No,” Ryan said.  “She was wearing gloves?”

Edna nodded.  The kind you see on TV all the time, on
CSI
and
such.  The kind doctors wear.  And some of the police I see here.”

Syd pulled her pair of surgical gloves out of her pocket.  “Like
these?”

“Exactly.  Criminals
wear them so they won’t leave fingerprints, right?”

“That’s right, ma’am,” Hanrahan said.     

Edna’s eyes drifted to the body on the floor.  “Seeing that poor man
must be what made Maggie sick.”

“What’s that?  Sick, how?” Syd asked.

Edna grimaced at the memory.  “She threw up when I got her back into
my room.  Coughed up some food.”

Hanrahan, Ryan and Syd exchanged a knowing look.  The dog must’ve
eaten the missing penis.  “Well,” Hanrahan said.  “That’s one mystery
solved.”

“What did you do with the… with whatever Maggie threw up?” Ryan asked.

“Wrapped it in a bunch of toilet paper and flushed it down the
toilet.”  Edna saw the cops disappointed reaction.  “Did I do
something wrong?”