Authors: James L. Conway
“Tell me about your marriage.”
“I’ve told you. We were just kids, still in college; it was a bad
idea and when we both realized it, we split up. End of story.”
Ryan and Syd were eating dinner at Tony Roma’s. They’d both ordered
the baby back ribs and were sharing sides of coleslaw and the corn fritter casserole.
Ryan nursed a Michelob, iced tea for Syd. She didn’t drink. She’d
told Ryan it was because she just never had a taste for it; he knew nothing
about her drug-addicted days and she wasn’t ready to tell him yet, if ever.
And even though Syd had a suitcase full of secrets she kept from Ryan,
she felt entitled to know everything about him. “Were you in love with
her?”
“I guess. Or thought I was.” He’d been crazy in love with
Anne, corny-greeting-card kind of love. And the memory of her dumping him
still hurt. But Ryan wasn’t about to tell Syd that. Not because he
was necessarily hiding something from her, he’d just never verbalized it to
anyone. The closest he came was a drunken night with his ex-stepmom,
Liz. Liz never liked Anne, told Ryan she was a mercenary, gold-digging
bitch, and he was better off without her. Ryan tried to embrace that
anger and it kept him going for a little while, but deep down there was still
an open sore on his heart.
“And how did you feel when you broke up?”
Ryan put down his rib, looked at Syd. “What’s with all the
questions about Anne, sweetie? Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Isn’t every girlfriend jealous of the ex-wife?”
“I guess so. But trust me, you have nothing to worry about.” Ryan went
back to work on his ribs, a not so subtle signal that she should change the
subject. Because the truth was, Syd had a lot to worry about. The
time Ryan spent with Anne at Musso and Frank had left him wanting more.
The idea of starting a foundation with her, or spending time with her every day
excited him. Deep down he felt their earlier relationship was
unfinished. He’d invested a lot of hopes and dreams in that marriage and
when she ended it so abruptly, he was left at sea. He not only lost his
wife, but his life’s plan. He wasn’t supposed to be a cop forever; he was
going to be a lawyer. And as much as he loved being a cop, he often
wondered what would have happened if he’d found a way to go to law
school. And now with the lottery money, he might be able to find out.
“I guess you’re right, I’m being silly, sorry,” Syd said, knowing she
should just shut the fuck up but unable to stop herself. “Besides, she’s
happily married.”
“Exactly,” Ryan said, not thrilled to be reminded of that. “So now
let’s talk about something important, murder and our Lady in Red. The way
I see it we’ve got two possibilities. One, Colin Wood was the only victim and
the 2 carved into his chest was misdirection.”
“Since we’ve found no evidence of a victim number one, a definite
possibility.”
“Or, two, there was a victim one, still unaccounted for, and there is
going to be a victim three or there has already been a victim three and our
phones will ring any second with the location of a new crime scene.”
“Be still my heart,” Syd said. “A new crime scene is
exactly
what we need. A new body means new clues. But if this crime was
revenge for a rape of some sort, what’s with multiple victims?”
“A gang rape?”
“Maybe, but does Colin Wood seem the type to be involved in a gang
rape? I don’t know; I’m still leaning toward a nutjob going after all her
old boyfriends. But that raises the question, why now?”
Ryan finished his last rib, dropped the bone on the table. “God,
that was good.” Syd was done too, even though she only ate half her rack.
Ryan asked for a check and a takeout carton. “Well,” Ryan
said. “Until Colin Wood’s father or Kathy Tuttle’s attorney call us back,
there’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
Actually there was, Syd thought. They could talk about the lottery
and Anne’s idea to set up a foundation. Syd hated the idea. The Lotto
ticket wasn’t Ryan’s and he had no right to take the money. But she could
see Ryan was a bit fragile tonight, so Syd decided to wait and stay in safer
waters.
“Then you won’t mind if I ask you a favor?” Syd said, her green eyes
flashing.
“No, sweetie, what?”
“Take me home and fuck my brains out.”
Ryan laughed. There was something so sexy about this innocent girl next
door talking dirty. And in bed there wasn’t an innocent bone in her body.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Let’s leave your brain intact and I’ll
fuck everything else.”
Ryan thought making love to Syd was like starring in porno. She
was so enthusiastic it was almost like she was being paid for it. And she
would do anything, wanted to do everything. Take tonight, for
example. As soon as they walked in the door of Ryan’s apartment, Syd
kicked off her shoes, pulled off her blouse, stepped out of her dress and
yanked off her panties. Then she stood before him, stark naked, threw her
arms out by her side, turned a slow circle and said, “Where would you like to
start?”
He chose her belly button. It was an innie; he kissed it, flicked
his tongue into it a couple of times, then blew a raspberry. She laughed,
pulled Ryan to his feet and kissed him. It was a hungry kiss that seemed
to inhale him, not just into her mouth but into her body.
Her hands expertly undid his belt buckle and his pants fell to the
floor. She pulled his shirt off as he stepped out of his pants, then she
dropped to her knees, yanked off his boxer shorts and took him into her mouth.
When Syd gave him head, she seemed to enjoy it more than Ryan. She groaned
with pleasure as her hands caressed his balls.
Suddenly the thought of another woman giving him head invaded Ryan’s
brain. Anne. The first time they made love was in her crappy studio
apartment shared by three broke co-eds. All four of them were in the
apartment that night, Ryan and Anne, plus Anne’s two roommates. Ryan and
Anne had finished off a bottle of Merlot and been making out while her
roommates watched
American Idol
and pretended to ignore the horny
lovers. Ryan and Anne had their hands all over each other and Ryan
ached for them to be alone. Anne got the message and led them into the
bathroom. As soon as the door closed she dropped to her knees, freed
Ryan’s hard- on from his pants and wrapped her mouth around it. Ryan was
so turned on that he immediately felt himself ready to blow.
Oh, God
he’d
said then, gripping the back of Anne’s head.
“Oh, God,” he said now, gripping the back of Syd’s head.
Back in college, as Kelly Clarkson sang a song on
Idol,
and Anne’s
lips and tongue worked him to a climax, he said, O
h, Anne, yes, baby, yes.
And now, as Syd expertly brought him to an orgasm he blurted, “Oh, Anne,
yes baby, yes.”
Syd’s eyes popped open.
Ryan’s eyes popped open.
And they both thought the same thing.
“Oh, shit.”
Alice’s fingerprints were everywhere. Wearing her surgical gloves, Alice
wiped down the entire hotel room: the bathroom, the champagne bottle, glasses, plates,
silverware, end table, doorknob, light switches. She knew she’d probably left
DNA in the bed but she didn’t care. Her DNA wasn’t on file anywhere, so
it couldn’t be used to catch her, just convict her. And right now, she
was only concerned with avoiding capture and, since her fingerprints were on
file, she had to be sure to get rid of every single one.
She glanced down at Adam’s body, but that’s all it was now. A slab
of meat. Adam was gone, he was obliterated a few milliseconds after the
bullet pulped his brain. So it didn’t bother her to cut off his penis and
stick it in his mouth. She did it more for her legacy than out of rage at
this point. If the brutality of her revenge made another potential rapist
stop and think, mission accomplished. If it made another woman fight
back, mission accomplished.
Alice didn’t believe in God anymore, but she did believe in Satan.
She couldn’t understand the people who thought you couldn’t have one without
the other. One look at all the evil in the world should be all it takes
for everyone to realize we were living in Satan’s playground. You always
read about schools or churches collapsing during earthquakes killing scores of
innocents. When was the last time you read about a whorehouse going down
in a natural catastrophe? Wake up people!
Three down and one to go. But Alice needed time. Once Adam’s
body was found, it wouldn’t be long until the police connected him to Colin
Wood and Zachary Stone. From there, with a little research, they’d be able
to predict her next victim. So the Lady in Red needed to buy as much time
as possible before Adam’s body was found.
She rolled the room service cart into the hall and then called down and told
room service the food was fantastic and they’d find the cart in the
corridor.
Then she called the hotel operator and told her she and her husband had
just flown in from Shanghai and needed to sleep. Please hold all their
calls until further notice.
She wiped off the telephone, took a final look around the room to make
sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, and then saw Colin’s Platinum card lying a
few inches from Adam’s outstretched hand. Damn, so much to
remember.
She picked it up, shoved the credit card in her purse and then fished Adam’s
wallet out of his discarded pants pocket. She knew he had a Black
American Express card, she’d seen him use it to pay for the drinks. She
would have preferred a Platinum one so they would all match, but the black one
would do.
She also took the wad of hundreds out of his other pants pocket; the extra
money might come in handy.
And now just one final touch remained. She bent down to his right
hand. She took the thumb and folded it into his palm and then folded his
pinkie on top of his thumb. Then she laid his hand, palm down on the
floor. She looked at the result and smiled. Perfect.
She triple checked the room; satisfied, she grabbed the Do Not Disturb
sign. The sign hanging on the doorknob should keep the housekeepers at
bay in the morning and perhaps throughout the afternoon. With luck, the
body wouldn’t be found for at least twenty-four hours.
Alice pulled opened the heavy door with the pneumatic hinge and stepped
into the hall. An elderly woman was walking with her dog, a yappy little
Maltese, who was clearly unhappy and tugging at its leash.
Alice smiled at the guest, dropped the Do Not Disturb sign on the
doorknob and pulled on the door to hasten its closing.
And then the shit hit the fan.
The dog barked and jerked the leash out of its owner’s hand and bolted
down the hall. “Maggie, no!” screamed the woman, running after the dog.
She looked at Alice, called, “Stop her!”
Alice instinctively used her arms and legs to block the corridor, so the
dog skittered left toward the only avenue of escape left open, the slowly
closing door of Alice’s room.
The dog shot inside just as the door hissed closed. There was
silence for a moment, and then they heard the muffled barks of the dog.
“I’m so sorry,” the elderly woman said. “If you’ll just open up,
I’ll get Maggie and we’ll be on our way.”
“I don’t have the key,” Alice said, realizing how the captain of the
Titanic must have felt seconds after striking the iceberg. “I left it
inside the room.” Which was true, it was on the end table right next to Adam’s
dead body.
“Tell you what,” Alice said. “I’ll go down to the desk, get another
key and then come right back up.”
“Thank you so much,” the old woman said. “And again, I’m so
sorry.”
Tell me about it, Alice thought as she hurried to the elevator. She
used her knuckle to hit the call button so as not to leave a fingerprint, and
then realized she still had her surgical gloves on. She stripped them
off.
She had no intention of stopping by the desk. She was going to walk
straight out the door. It would probably be fifteen or twenty minutes
until the old lady made her way downstairs wondering what happened to her;
plenty of time for Alice to get far from the Bel Air Regent. The elevator
arrived. She got in and hit the Lobby button with her knuckle. So
much for a twenty-four hour grace period, Alice thought, as the elevator door
slid shut.
A crossroad. Syd knew that Ryan’s slip of the tongue had put
their relationship at a critical crossroad, and what Syd said and did in the
next few seconds would affect the rest of her life. Throw a fit?
Storm out of the apartment? Pretend she didn’t hear it? Accept his
inevitable apology?
Well, first things first; she swallowed.
Ryan dropped to his knees, took Syd’s face in his hands and said, “Jesus,
sweetheart, I am so sorry.”
Syd could see the pain in his face, the embarrassment, the humiliation.
And he couldn’t have sounded more sincere. Syd loved Ryan, and, Erich
Segal be damned, but sometimes love means
letting
someone say they’re
sorry.
“Well,” she said, “So much for me not being jealous of Anne.”
Ryan laughed. Now it was his turn to say just the right
thing. But it couldn’t be the truth, could it? He was thinking
about his ex-wife while having sex with his girlfriend. Syd would freak
out. But what other explanation could he give her? Syd was not
stupid and expected the truth, deserved the truth. And Ryan knew if he
said the wrong thing, he might lose her forever.
“I don’t know what to say. I guess seeing Anne today stirred up
some old memories. While you were giving me head, I flashed back to the
first time Anne gave me head. And before I could refocus on you, I
came. I don’t fantasize about Anne; I’m crazy about you, I love you, and
I am so sorry.”
Syd could hear the truth in every word. And she wasn’t into playing
games. So she let Ryan off the hook.
“To tell you the truth,” she said. “I was fantasizing about
Lieutenant Hanrahan.”
Ryan laughed, relieved, and hugged her.
“Now,” Syd said, playfully shoving Ryan back onto the floor, “where were
we?”
Anne sat on the balcony of her soon-to-be-foreclosed Santa Monica condo
staring out at the black glob of the Pacific Ocean. There wasn’t
much to see at night unless the moon was cycling through its more incandescent
phases. Tonight a feeble crescent hung tentatively in the sky turning the
sea into a murky mess. But the view was glorious during the day, and the
sunsets were breathtaking.
Unfortunately, the only nice thing about the condo was the view. It
was a boxy three- bedroom two-bath unit on the fourth floor of a twelve story
building. And it wasn’t even a full- on view; you had to sit on the far
edge of the balcony and look around the edge of the building.
It had been tough for Anne to move out of the Malibu house. Trading
three thousand square feet of beachfront for eleven hundred feet of poured
concrete was humiliating. And now, having to trade this rat hole for
what, a studio in the Valley? Dear God, what a mess.
Rick came onto the patio, beer in hand. “I’ve found some office
space we can look at tomorrow, decent building, just off Washington in Culver City.”
Oh yeah, she wasn’t only losing her home, she was getting kicked out of
her office, too. Trading a corner office on the fiftieth floor of L.A.’s
most prestigious high-rise to what, Culver fucking City? Well, Anne
always had a plan and now was no exception. She turned to her
husband. “I’m not going to start a law firm with you, Rick,” she
said. “And I’m not going to move into a hotel with you. We’re
done.”
“You mean, now that you’ve sucked me dry, you need to go find another
sugar daddy?”
“How dare you.”
“Don’t get self-righteous with me, Anne. You’re the one with a Gucci
closet, you’re the one who has to fly in private jets, rent villas on the
Riviera, drive a Bentley, and flash a fistful of diamonds.”
“Don’t you dare make this about me.
You
lost all our money
in the market.”
“And
you’re
the one who came up with the idea of forging dad’s signature.”
Anne shook her head. It was the same argument they’d been having
for months. She was sick of it. “Look, Rick, let’s make this
simple. I want a divorce. Let’s just split what few things we’ve
got left down the middle and call it a day.”
“Where will you live?”
“I don’t know.”
“What will you do?”
“I have no idea.” But she did have an idea. First thing in
the morning she was going to call the California Lottery and make an
appointment for Thursday morning. There should be plenty of press there
so what better place to announce that honest, hardworking homicide detective, Ryan
Magee, was going to set up a foundation and give millions of dollars to charity.
And she’d be sure to mention that she’d be heading up the foundation. It would
be a great way to launch her new law firm and get plenty of priceless
publicity.
Of course, with thirty-four million dollars to play with, you could give
away ten million and still have twenty-four million. Hell you could give
away twenty-four million and still have ten million. Point being, Ryan
was now rich. Gold-plated rich. If she could win Ryan back, they
could afford to buy a house on the beach. Her new offices would be in
Beverly Hills, not Culver City, and she could continue to live the life of
luxury she always dreamed about.
With a man she actually loves.
That’s right, because something happened to Anne while she was having
that drink with Ryan. She realized she still loved him.
They didn’t get divorced because they fought or he was cruel, or
inattentive or boring. They got divorced because Ryan was poor and she
met someone who was rich. But that didn’t mean Ryan and his adorable
dimples weren’t handsome, smart and charming.
But he had something else, something she rarely encountered in her law
practice, integrity. Oh sure, there were honest lawyers out there, but a
lawyer, by definition, was somebody who was always looking for a way to parse
the truth. Ryan didn’t parse. He stood on a razor blade with two
sides, right and wrong. He was going to give up a Lotto ticket worth tens
of millions because technically it wasn’t his. Who would do that?!
Ryan.
And sitting with him tonight she realized how much she admired him.
Here was a guy who loved his job, believed in right and wrong, and was honorable.
There was absolutely no bullshit in Ryan Magee.
Now admittedly, she tricked Ryan into taking the Lotto money with the
foundation idea, but Anne had no pretense about who or what she was.
So, part one of her plan was to get her hands on Ryan’s Lotto
money. But part two of her plan was even more important; getting her
hands on Ryan.