Authors: James L. Conway
“Who is she?”
“We don’t know, yet,” Ryan said to Emily Devlin. “But, with your
help, we’re hoping to find out.”
Emily Devlin, Adam’s widow, sat in the living room of their Brentwood
home in her tennis outfit, a tight, pink Adidas Response Court tank and white
Response Court skirt. Her Adidas Barricade V tennis shoes completed the
ensemble given to the Devlin’s by a grateful Adidas Corporation after Adam
signed his superstar client, Olga, to an exclusive contract.
Though she’d been worried enough about Adam to report him missing early
that morning, Emily wasn’t so worried she’d miss her Wednesday tennis
league. She was just returning home, having kicked Alisha’s butt 6-3,
6-1, when Ryan and Syd drove up.
Emily correctly assumed they were cops as they climbed out of the Crown
Vic, and the grim expressions on their faces told her Adam must be dead.
Tears were already flowing as the cops introduced themselves and the pretty
female officer told her that they were sorry but her husband was dead, murdered.
They followed her inside, allowing her silent time to digest the
news. She led them into the living room, dropped onto her white Thomasville
Affinity sofa and stopped crying long enough to ask, “How did it… what
happened?”
Ryan and Syd exchanged a glance. This is where is got
delicate. Hearing your husband was dead was one thing, finding out he was
killed by a woman, in a hotel room, after they had sex, and then had his penis
cut off was something completely different.
“Mrs. Devlin,” Syd said. “Your husband was at the Bel Air Regent Hotel
with another woman.”
The tears seemed to stop falling midstream and freeze on Emily’s pretty
face.
“We believe she may have killed him.” Syd took out a color printout
of the close-up of the Lady in Red from the security camera. She showed
it to Emily. “Do you recognize this woman?”
Emily wiped
away the tears, looked at the picture. She shook her head. “Who is
she?”
“We don’t know, yet,” Ryan said. “But, with your help, we’re hoping
to find out.”
Emily looked at the picture again. “Was she a client?”
“We don’t think so,” Syd said. Then gently, “They had sex, Mrs.
Devlin. In a hotel suite. That’s where your husband’s body was
found.” No reason to dump the mutilation on her right now, Syd
decided. She’ll find out soon enough. “Are you sure you’ve never
seen her before.”
Emily stared at the photo. “No, I’ve never seen her before.”
Then a few gears meshed as Syd’s words sunk in. “My husband was having an
affair?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Syd said.
Emily looked first at Syd, then at Ryan. Her brain was processing
the information, the implications of Adam’s affair and death. “Where did
you get this picture?”
Ryan answered. “It’s from a hotel security camera, taped last night
at six twenty-two.”
“There is a video of them together?” Emily asked.
“Yes,” Syd answered.
“Do you have a
copy of it with you?”
Ryan had asked security to burn them a DVD before they left the hotel. “We
do,” Ryan
said.
The Devlins had a screening room; video projector, Blue-Ray DVD player,
and surround sound system provided by Sony. The six theatre chairs were
supplied by La-Z-Boy; Orville Redenbacher’s company donated the popcorn maker,
but the Devlins actually paid for the 15-foot Draper projection screen.
And it was on that giant screen that Emily Devlin watched her eager
husband and the Lady in Red stroll toward the elevator.
“He looks happy,” Emily said icily. “And I see he’s got his
favorite champagne, Cristal. Nothing but the best for Adam. Is she
a hooker?”
“We don’t know,” Syd said.
“She looks like a hooker, don’t you think? Cheap, tawdry.”
Actually, Syd thought, the Lady in Red looks anything but cheap and
tawdry. She looked classy, confident, and sexy as hell.
Then a horrifying realization dawned on Emily. “What are you going
to do with this video?”
“Use it to find your husband’s killer,” Ryan said. “We’ve
distributed it to all the news outlets. We’re hoping someone recognizes the
Lady in Red and tells us who and where she is.”
Panic seized Emily. “But you can’t! You’ve got to get those videos
back!”
Ryan threw a confused look to Syd. “It’s too late, Mrs. Devlin, I’m
sorry. They’re already running.”
“Then stop them, immediately.”
“We can’t,” Syd said.
“But don’t you see, it’s so embarrassing! Everyone’s going to know Adam
was cheating on me. I’ll be a laughing stock!”
Ryan caught Syd’s eye, clocked her surprise. People, Ryan thought.
You just never knew how they’d react. “With all due respect, Mrs. Devlin,
this is a murder investigation. We think this woman has killed three men
and may kill more. Our first priority is to find her and stop her.”
Any trace of grief was gone. Humiliation and anger fueled her
words. “Look, let’s be honest. I knew Adam had the occasional
affair,” then with a defiant look to Ryan she added, “We
both
had
affairs.”
Syd found it interesting Emily aimed that comment at Ryan. A
fuck
you
to men or a provocative statement to flirt?
“But I have the decency to keep mine private,” Emily said. Then
another realization rocked Emily. “Could this woman have been a
girlfriend? Someone he’s been seeing for a long time?”
“We have no way of knowing that yet,” Ryan said.
“Motherfucker,” Emily said racing for the phone. “Shit, what’s his
number?” she said to herself and then apparently remembered because she quickly
dialed. “Thomas, its Emily Devlin… Adam’s dead… Yeah, yeah, me,
too. Listen, has he made any changes to his will since we did the Trust
papers… Oh, thank God… What… Murdered, it’s on TV apparently… yes, yes,
let’s talk later.” She hung up. “I’m sorry,” she said to Ryan and
Syd, “Where were we?”
Watching you make sure you’ll get to keep all of your husband’s money,
Ryan thought. “We were trying to find your husband’s killer,” Ryan
said. “Do you know Zachary Stone?”
“Who’s Zachary Stone?”
“He is, or was, a lawyer in Orange County.”
Emily thought about it and then shook her head. “No. The only
people I know in Orange County are Adam’s parents. He makes air
conditioning ducts, I think, and she’s a big muckity-muck at one of the banks.”
“Orange County,” Syd said, jumping on the connection. “Was your
husband raised in Orange County?”
“Yes.” Emily saw the excited reaction from Ryan and Syd. “Why,
is that important?”
“How about Colin Wood?” asked Syd. “Did your husband know Colin
Wood.”
“Colin Wood, wasn’t he the actor that was killed yesterday?”
“Yes,” Ryan said. “Did your husband know him?”
Emily considered. “You know, I actually think I remember Adam
mentioning Colin Wood a few months ago. He was in a movie we saw; Adam
said he knew him.”
“How old was your husband?” Syd asked.
The rapid-fire questions were unsettling Emily. “Twenty-nine.”
Syd looked at Ryan. “Same age as Colin. And Kathy Tuttle’s
lawyer said he heard rumors about trouble when Colin was in high school.”
Ryan looked at Emily. “Did your husband go to school with Colin
Wood?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Ryan had a brainstorm. “I don’t suppose Adam kept any of his
high school yearbooks?”
Adam Devlin’s office was a mahogany and leather delight. The room
smelled of cigar smoke and floor-to-ceiling bookcases encircled a custom made Parnian
desk.
It took a while to find the yearbooks. Ryan enjoyed the search
because many of Adam Devlin’s books were first editions. There was a
shelf of American classics by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Faulkner; Adam Devlin
even had a signed first edition of
Moby Dick
by Melville.
Then there was a shelf of classic detective novels:
The Big
Sleep
, by Raymond Chandler,
The Thin Man
by Dashiell Hammett,
The
Postman Always Rings Twice
, by James M. Cain. Devlin owned scores of
books from the world’s most renowned detective writers: Agatha Christie, John
D. MacDonald, Rex Stout, Erle Stanley Gardner, Graham Greene, Cornell Woolrich,
Ross Thomas, Ruth Rendell; even signed first editions from contemporary masters
like Elmore Leonard, John Grisham, John Sanford, James Lee Burke and Michael
Connelly.
Ryan loved books and always dreamed of collecting first editions.
Of course, he never had the money to buy them or the library necessary to house
them.
Until now.
As Ryan scoured through the books, a strange feeling took hold. Now
he could buy any book he wanted. He could even buy Devlin’s entire
library and it wouldn’t make a dent in his money.
For the first time Ryan really understood the magnitude of his Lotto
winnings.
He could have a room like this.
He could have a house like this.
He could have all the toys.
He could have anything he wanted.
He had originally planned to give away all the money, but for the first
time he reconsidered. Why did he have to give it
all
away?
If he kept just ten percent, or twenty percent, even thirty percent would still
leave tens of millions for the foundation.
“Got it,” Syd said, excited. “I found the yearbooks.”
Ryan and Emily joined Syd. She knelt in a far corner of the
library, pulled out a yearbook from the bottom shelf. “Here’s the last one,
his senior year.” She handed it to Ryan. He flipped through the
senior pictures, found the one for Adam Devlin. He wore a yellow sweater
and a warm, open smile.
“Hasn’t changed much,” Syd said.
Emily touched the picture with her finger. “He was wearing that
sweater when I met him freshman year at USC,” Emily said, tearing up, suddenly
nostalgic.
She’s going to go through a lot of emotions for the next few weeks, Ryan
knew. Losing someone to murder, no matter how ambivalent you might feel
toward them, was always a jolting experience.
He flipped through the alphabetical pages of photos until he got to the
W’s. “Bingo,” Ryan said. Colin Wood’s picture was in the middle of
the page. “Mrs. Devlin,” Ryan said. “Did Adam ever mention any
trouble he might have had in high school?”
She thought about it. “No, not really. He told me his dad
caught him with dope one time, and his mom walked in on him masturbating.
I have too, by the way, but that’s another story.”
“I’ll bet the next victim’s in that book. Hell,” Syd said.
“I’ll bet the Lady in Red’s in that book.”
“Can we borrow this,” Ryan asked Emily
“Of course.”
“We’ll also need access to your husband’s address book and computer.”
“They’re both there on his desk,” Emily said, looking at Ryan as if she
was seeing him for the first time. “Detective, have we met before?”
Oh, shit, Ryan thought. Here it comes. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you an actor on the side or something?”
Syd knew where she was going, too. “No,” she said. “But you
may have seen him on TV recently.”
Then it hit
her. “You’re the Lotto winner, right. The cop who struck it rich.”
“That’s
right,” Ryan said.
“How much
did you win?”
“Thirty-four
million.”
Emily’s
eye’s dropped to Ryan’s ring finger. “I don’t see a wedding ring.”
“Oh, he’s
single,” Syd said, enjoying Ryan’s discomfort.
“Well,”
Emily said, a little of her old perkiness reemerging. “I’d be foolish not
to mention I’m suddenly single.”
“This guy
knows everybody in sports,” Syd said, thumbing through Adam Devlin’s address
book. They were driving east on Olympic from Brentwood to Hollywood,
suffering the fits and starts of rush hours. “Tiger Woods, Maria
Sharapova, Tony Romo, Michael Phelps. And even most A list actors: George
Clooney, Tom Cruise, Will Smith and, saving the best for last… Colin Wood.”
“He may not
have been on Hollywood’s A-list, but he’s certainly on mine.”
“So, how’s
this for a plan?” Syd asked. “I’ll check Colin Wood’s cell phone and
phone book for Adam Devlin’s number; if it’s there, then I’ll cross reference
all the names in both men’s phone books looking for matching names. Then
I’ll cross reference any matches to the names in Adam Devlin’s high school
yearbook. And if we get lucky, maybe, just maybe, we can get the names of
a few more potential victims.”
Ryan looked
at Syd, impressed. “Brilliant.”
“Look, I
know you need to meet Anne to go over stuff for the Lotto tomorrow, so drop me
at the station and I’ll call you if I find a match.”