The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) (5 page)

“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.”